Chapter 3

When I confronted him about it, Jenson confessed without hesitation. "I had someone send the email."

I threw the printed email onto his desk. "What gives you the right to turn down a job for me?"

"We just got married back then. If you flew to a dozen countries every month, how could you possibly run a household?"

I retorted, "You promised that if I resigned, you'd spend more time with me."

He looked up. "And I gave you the best life possible."

"Freezing my cards and taking away my car keys counts as the best life?"

"That's a punishment, not your life," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "As long as you behave, those privileges will be restored immediately."

As I stared at him, my chest felt tightly constricted.

It turned out that what I thought was care was merely a reward he handed out for high achievers. The moment I stopped cooperating, he could take it all back whenever he wanted.

Aleena pushed the door open. The moment she saw us arguing, tears welled up in her eyes. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have used Eve's things."

She unclipped her work badge and pulled out the project files. "I won't serve as the project lead anymore. I don't want you two to fight because of me."

Jenson shoved the files back into her arms. "No one is taking your position away."

He turned to look at me. "Don't bring your personal drama into the office."

Without another word, I turned and walked out.

That afternoon, I received a call from my late mother's publishing house.

"Ms. Hudson, the launch event for your mother's posthumous manuscript was moved up. Why aren't you here yet?"

When I rushed to the venue, Aleena's name was already glowing on the big screen.

"The Unbounded Voice" was the last interpretation memoir Mom completed while she was gravely ill.

Before she passed away, she handed the manuscript to me, telling me to publish it only when I stood on the translation stage once again.

Yet now, Aleena stood on stage holding Mom's manuscript, claiming it was an industry achievement compiled by her team.

Jenson sat in the front row with a calm expression.

I rushed onto the stage and snatched the microphone. "My mother left this manuscript behind! Every page has her handwritten notes! What right do you have to put your name on it?"

Murmurs immediately broke out in the audience.

Jenson stood up and reached over to take the microphone away. "Eve's emotional state has been unstable recently. I will take responsibility for today's disruption."

He then signaled for security to come up.

I held the manuscript tightly to my chest. "Jenson, this belongs to my mom."

"The publisher already obtained authorization."

"Authorized by whom?"

He didn't answer.

Aleena explained softly, "Jenson said you two are married, so he could decide on your behalf. Eve, I'm just the editor. I won't steal your mother's credit."

I flipped to the title page.

Mom's name was still there. Mine, however, had been cut out.

Even the line she wrote to me—"May Eve always believe in her own voice"—had been completely blacked out with ink.

I raised my hand and slapped Aleena across the face.

Chaos erupted instantly.

Jenson grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from Aleena. "Have you had enough?"

I held the manuscript right in front of his eyes. "My mom left this to me!"

"Leaving the manuscript to collect dust at home is useless. Giving it to Aleena lets more people see it. That's what gives it true meaning," Jenson said.

My eyes stung with heat. "If the person standing here today were your mother, would you say the same thing?"

Jenson's expression darkened. "Don't compare my mother to the dead."

He pulled the manuscript from my grip.

The sound of paper tearing was faint. The title page ripped right down the middle, leaving only half of Mom's signature.

A sudden sharp pain flared up in my lower abdomen.

I grabbed the corner of a table, cold sweat pouring down my back.

Aleena covered her face, whispering, "Eve doesn't look so good. Maybe we should pause the launch event."

Jenson glanced at me. "She always ruins things at critical moments. Security, take her home."

As I was escorted out of the venue, applause broke out behind me once again.

Back home, while searching the study for the manuscript's authorization document, I uncovered a black notebook.

Every page was filled with Jenson's handwriting.

"Comprehensive Evaluation of Prospective Partners.

"Family background: 85.

"Career capability: 95.

"Emotional stability: 76.

"Fertility risk: 68."

On the very last row was my name.

"Eve Hudson: Overall score 89. Suitable candidate for a wife."

Right above my name sat a single line.

"Aleena Walton: Perfect score. Excluded from marital evaluation."

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

As I closed the notebook, a premarital evaluation form slid out from between the pages. It was dated the day before Jenson proposed to me.