After the last boutique law firm in Chicago politely showed me the door, my phone rang.

"Natalie, I told you." Gavin’s voice was smooth, carrying that trademark courtroom arrogance. "No one is taking your case."

"Drop the claims. Stop pursuing the plagiarism allegations against Megan. Whatever you want, I can give it to you."

I gripped my phone, saying nothing.

A month ago, I was one of the most sought-after names in romance publishing, and he was a top-tier litigation attorney with a near-perfect win record. We’d been together for eight years. Everyone thought we were the perfect couple.

Until my upcoming novel, Spring Stars on the Water, was accused of plagiarizing a book released three months prior by a debut author named Megan Monroe.

That was how I found out Gavin was cheating on me.

He had personally handed my early manuscript over to the other woman.

I demanded to sue. But Gavin leveraged his firm’s conflict of interest, client relations, and industry reputation to ensure that every decent law firm I approached systematically rejected me.

I was about to tell him to go to hell, but he spoke again.

"Your father’s case." His tone dropped. "I found the key materials that can clear his name. Agree to this, and I’ll give you access to the full file."

The refusal died in my throat.

That book was the story of our eight years. Now that the story was over, I didn't want the book anymore.

I said calmly, "Fine."

~~~~~

After hanging up, I went home and sat in the dark living room for a long time.

My phone screen was still lit, the final draft of Spring Stars on the Water sitting quietly in its folder. An eight-hundred-page manuscript. Six months of my life. Every chapter, every line, was our eight years together.

Three months ago, I had just finished the last chapter and excitedly sent the draft to Gavin.

“This is our story. Don’t get embarrassed.”

He had replied almost instantly.

“You made me look way too good.”

“I didn’t. You’re just that good.”

The chat had gone quiet for two seconds before he sent an iMessage voice memo.

“When this gets published, let’s go down to the Cook County Clerk's Office. Get a marriage license. Have a small wedding.”

I had teared up. “Okay.”

My phone buzzed, snapping me back to the present.

Gavin’s email popped up. Attached was a PDF titled Settlement and Release Agreement.

The words burned my eyes. I clicked open the file, reading line by line.

Clause 1: Natalie Brooks shall publicly post a formal apology and retraction on X and Instagram, acknowledging that her work "borrowed" from Megan Monroe’s work.

Clause 2: Natalie Brooks forfeits all copyrights and publishing rights to the manuscript, permanently barring its publication in any form.

Clause 3: Party A shall provide Party B with a luxury condo, an SUV, and a settlement payout of one million dollars.

Hush money.

Clause 4: Upon execution of this agreement, Party A will assist Party B’s legal counsel in accessing the complete, unredacted files regarding the Daniel Brooks case.

The final line was bolded:

Following the execution of this agreement, neither party shall pursue litigation, claims, or public commentary regarding the aforementioned dispute.

Daniel Brooks.

My father.

Eight years ago, he was the Mayor of Chicago, indicted on charges of accepting a three-million-dollar bribe. He never made it to trial. He died in custody at the Cook County Jail while awaiting his day in court.

My phone buzzed again. An Instagram DM from Megan.

“Natalie, I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted it to get this messy. But Gavin said this is the best way. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Spring Stars on the Water.”

She attached a screenshot. It was a Venmo notification. Gavin had sent her money with a note:

Don’t overthink it. I’ll handle this.

My stomach churned. I bit my lip hard, not typing a single word back.

As my vision blurred, I remembered the first time I met Gavin in college. A collegiate mock trial and debate invitational. He was on stage, brilliant and commanding, stealing all the oxygen in the room. I was sitting in the back row, taking notes for a campus novel.

After the competition, he walked right up to me. "You look way too serious taking notes."

Later, he said he liked me. I rejected him three times.

The fourth time, he stopped me on campus. "Natalie. I know about your dad. I don’t care."

I looked up at him. My father had just been taken away. Everyone on campus knew I was the daughter of the former mayor suspected of corruption. No matter where I went, people stared and whispered.

"My family situation..." I started.

He cut me off. "I like you."

"I’ll help you look into your father's case," he promised. "With me around, you won’t have to carry this alone anymore."

That was the first time I cried out loud since my father died. It was the first time I felt there might be a little hope left in living.

And Megan? I met her three years ago at a literary panel.

She had walked up to me, shy and sweet. "Natalie, I’m a huge fan. My name is Megan Monroe. I’ve read everything you’ve ever written."

I thought she was quiet and endearing, so we exchanged contact info. She often messaged me for writing tips, asking how I wrote such delicate emotions.

"Because I’m in a good relationship," I had told her. "My boyfriend is a lawyer. We've been together for almost five years."

Later, she said she was caught up in a plagiarism dispute and tearfully begged me to introduce her to a lawyer.

I gave her Gavin’s number.

I had personally pushed Gavin right into her arms.

I opened my eyes and took a slow breath.

I took every piece of evidence I had—the manuscript drafts, the timestamps, the chat logs, the voice memos—encrypted them, and backed them up in three different places.

Then, I opened X and drafted a new post.

"I, Natalie Brooks, sincerely apologize regarding the allegations that Spring Stars on the Water borrowed from Megan Monroe’s work..."

I stared at the screen, pausing for a full minute. The image of my father dying in custody pressed down on me again.

My finger hovered over the screen. Then, I pressed down hard on 'Send'.