Chapter 1

1

My novels made millions. But my wife, who was also my editor, funneled every last cent of my royalties to a new male author she was grooming.

"You gave all the money to him? What about my sister? She's been kidnapped! What if they kill her?"

Faced with my frantic questions, she just shrugged. "Can't you just call the police? Besides, I sent you ten dollars, didn't I? And don't you forget, this book is under contract in my name."

I stared at the finished manuscript on my screen, the perfect ending I had crafted. Then, my fingers found the keyboard, and I began to rewrite everyone's fate.

The movie deal with a famous director would soon be nothing but a source of massive penalties for breach of contract.

...

"Liam, what the hell is wrong with you?" Wendy hissed. "The press will be here any minute. You need to get yourself together and thank Cary for providing the inspiration for your novel."

I frowned. "The inspiration was all mine. That rookie author doesn't even deserve to be at a showcase like this. Why on earth would I thank him?"

Crack.

A sharp slap echoed in the quiet room, my cheek stinging.

"How do you think you got so popular?" she sneered. "I've seen Cary's talent firsthand. If he hadn't stepped aside for you, you wouldn't be standing here right now."

Cary, who had been standing nearby, put on a hurt expression, though his eyes gleamed with triumph. "Liam, I know my work isn't on your level, but Wendy was the one who gave me the money. If you really think I don't deserve it, I can give it all back."

I didn't say a word. Wendy, however, was filled with righteous indignation. "Liam, Cary put his own writing on hold to help promote your book! You're off gallivanting around the world, having fun, while he does the hard work. And this is how you treat him?"

I looked at Wendy's impatient, scowling face and felt like I was seeing a stranger.

My editor. My wife. She had never once noticed the days I went without food or sleep, lost in the world I was creating. She never saw the risks I took, visiting dangerous, remote locations just to capture the perfect, vivid scenery for my readers. She never saw the chronic pain, the lingering injuries I brought back from those trips.

She thought writing a beloved, best-selling novel was easy. She thought slapping together a promotional campaign was the real work.

Ping.

A text message lit up my phone. It was a photo of my sister, Mia, tied up, her face pale with terror. Below it, a single line of text.