My husband became a bestselling author by putting his name on the nine novels I wrote. Now, at the series’ tenth-anniversary gala, he plans to put his mistress’s name beside his on the cover of Book Ten.

For a decade, Weston Voss has been celebrated as the brilliant mind behind the bestselling Winslow series.

I created every character. Plotted every betrayal. Wrote every book. Then I stood beside him while he accepted the praise, awards, and fortune built from stories the world believed were his.

I told myself it was our arrangement. Our marriage. Our success.

Then I discover Weston is sleeping with the woman he plans to make his new co-author while expecting me to stay hidden and write the books that will make them both famous.

At the biggest public event of his career, livestreamed to readers around the world, Weston expects me to sit in the audience and applaud while he announces that they have already begun the next Winslow novel.

But Weston has never understood how much evidence a writer leaves behind: spiral notebooks filled with my handwriting; finished manuscripts sent from my account; and ten years of drafts, emails, tracked changes, and revision histories.

So I let him take the stage.

I let him introduce his mistress as the future of the Winslow series.

Then I answer their announcement with ten years of receipts.

When someone asks Weston a simple question about one of his own characters, he can’t answer.

He’s taken my work for granted for so long that he’s stopped even reading the books he claims to have written.

Weston built his name on my words.

Now the world is going to know mine.