Secret Marriage with the Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 006 A Letter With Teeth

The email arrived at 9:32 on Monday morning, just as Elena was calculating how many sample rings she could afford to make.

The subject line stopped her: WHITMORE ATELIER — FORMAL NOTICE.

Maya Collins had forwarded a letter from the company's outside counsel. Elena opened the attachment, expecting another demand from Charles. This one was worse. It named several pieces in her old portfolio and instructed her to stop displaying, reproducing, or using them to solicit business. It also demanded confirmation that she would not use company drawings or confidential product information in any independent venture.

She read the letter twice.

She hadn't launched a business. She didn't even have a website. Her last public portfolio was an old professional profile with photographs she'd used while employed at Whitmore Atelier, years before the family started treating her like a stranger.

Still, some pieces named in the letter had been created for the company. She knew that. The troubling part was the way the lawyers grouped every design together, including sketches she'd made at home.

She called Maya.

"I haven't uploaded anything new," Elena said when her attorney answered. "The site isn't even built."

"I know. I've already checked what they identified. Some images are in an older portfolio. The letter also tries to limit future use."

"Can they do that?"

"They can make a demand. Whether it's supported is a different question. Let's separate what belongs to the company from what you actually own."

Elena moved the breakfast dishes aside and opened the three folders she'd created on Saturday.

"The A folder is independent work," she said. "Personal sketches, my own drafts, and records I can legally keep. B is company work I shouldn't publish. C is the disputed material."

"Good. But don't assume a file belongs in A just because you drew it on your own laptop. Employment terms and the circumstances of the work matter. And don't send me a copy of restricted company files. We can identify what needs review without taking them."

"I haven't copied any. B is a list of titles and questions, not the records themselves."

"Excellent. Now let's go through the specific items in the letter."

They worked for nearly an hour. One pair of earrings had been developed for a Whitmore product launch and wasn't worth fighting about. Elena marked the photographs for removal from her old profile while Maya reviewed whether any limited portfolio use had been authorized.

Another design was more complicated. Elena had sketched a pendant on a Sunday afternoon, months before anyone at the company had discussed a similar collection. She still had the original pages and messages showing when she'd shared the idea for consideration. But sharing wasn't necessarily the same as transferring rights, and she wanted Maya to check the wording of her employment agreement before saying more.

By the end of the call, her notebook was covered in arrows and dates.

"We can respond by the deadline," Maya said. "We'll acknowledge the restrictions that actually apply, dispute the overbroad claims, and ask them to identify the basis for ownership of each contested piece."

"So I don't have to take down everything I've ever drawn."

"Not without first examining the facts. And if you decide to leave an image offline while we investigate, that isn't an admission."

Elena looked toward her unfinished budget. A few hours ago, she'd been worrying about the price of gold. Now she was wondering whether her first independent commission would arrive with another legal bill.

"Maya, I can't afford a lawsuit before I've earned my first dollar."

"Then we make decisions with cost in mind. We don't promise you a court victory. We start with a precise response and see what they can substantiate."

"All right. Send me the draft before it goes out."

After hanging up, Elena removed one photograph from her old public portfolio and saved a record of what she'd changed. She left the disputed materials out of her planned new site. The rest of her morning went to listing dates and descriptions, not redesigning her life around Charles's threats.

By one o'clock, she'd forgotten lunch.

A knock brought her out of her work. When she opened the door, Adrian was in the hallway, one hand resting on his wheelchair's armrest.

"Noah said the kitchen wasn't sure whether to send a tray," he said. "You missed lunch."

"I didn't notice the time."

His gaze moved to the stack of printed pages on her desk, then back to her face. He didn't try to read them.

"Problems?"

"A letter from Whitmore Atelier's lawyers. They're claiming rights over work I might use in my portfolio."

"All of it?"

"That's how they seem to want it to sound. The actual items are more complicated."

Adrian glanced toward the sitting room at the end of the hall. "Would you like to talk there?"

Elena considered saying no. They'd spent Saturday negotiating privacy, and she didn't want a legal complaint to become his project. But she also didn't want to pretend nothing had happened.

"Five minutes," she said. "Then I really should eat."

In the sitting room, she gave him the outline, not the documents: which designs belonged to her former employer, which were personal, and which required a closer reading of the contracts.

"If the dispute is limited to a few designs," Adrian said, "there may be a simpler option. Their lawyers could quote a price for any transferable rights they hold. You'd get certainty without months of back-and-forth."

Elena set her notebook on her knee. "You're suggesting I buy them."

"I'm suggesting you compare the cost of a settlement with the cost of the dispute."

"That works if they own what they're selling."

He looked at her. "Go on."

"Some of these pieces are company work. I accept that. Some are mine. If I pay for the rights to something I already own, I've paid twice—and given them a reason to demand money the next time."

"And the disputed ones?"

"Those need evidence, not a price tag. At least not yet."

Adrian was silent long enough that Elena wondered whether she'd sounded ungrateful.

"A buyout might make sense later," she added. "I don't object to a practical settlement. I object to starting with the assumption that Charles owns everything I touch."

"That's a distinction I should've made," Adrian said.

She blinked. "You're agreeing with me?"

"The chain of ownership comes before the purchase terms. You're right."

Elena hadn't expected the admission. Not from a man whose first instinct was usually to solve something before she'd finished explaining it.

"So not every problem can be solved with a check," she said.

"Some can. Apparently this one has prerequisites."

She smiled, unable to help herself.

Adrian glanced at the clock. "You've spent your five minutes. Will you eat?"

"If you promise not to purchase my former employer while I'm doing it."

"No promises about hypothetical transactions," he said, straight-faced. Then, when she looked alarmed, he added, "I'm kidding, Elena."

That made her laugh. She caught herself looking at him a moment longer than necessary.

Later, with a sandwich beside her computer, she worked through Maya's draft response. It identified the claims they accepted for review, challenged the rest, and requested clarification of the relevant contracts. Nothing about it promised an easy victory. But it gave her a way to answer without surrendering.

At five, Maya called again.

"I've found something else," she said. "Take a look at the link I just sent. It's a public preview for Whitmore's upcoming collection."

Elena opened the webpage. An image showed a pendant suspended against a pale background. The stones weren't the same ones she'd selected in her own draft, but the arrangement was familiar: an uneven crescent, interrupted near its lower curve by three narrow prongs.

She clicked to enlarge it.

A tiny offset at the junction of the prongs made her sit forward. It had started as a correction she'd made because the first version looked too symmetrical. The adjustment was subtle, but she remembered making it.

"That's from my sketch," she said quietly.

"It's similar," Maya replied. "We shouldn't decide more than the evidence supports. Can you show me the original development history?"

Elena opened a folder of personal drawings. She had pages showing the crescent taking shape, followed by dated digital drafts. Once, she'd shared a copy with Whitmore for an informal discussion about whether the idea suited an upcoming collection. She remembered the exchange. She didn't remember signing away her rights.

"I have the early sketches," she said. "And the message where I sent it to them for review."

"We'll need the message and any agreement that governed that submission. Don't alter anything. Don't contact Vivian or Charles about this yourself."

"I won't."

She stared at the preview again. Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe the company believed an old agreement gave it the right to use the design. That was precisely what they needed to establish.

Her phone rang a second time. Maya had opened the files Elena had sent from her personal archive.

"Elena," she said, "are you certain you never signed a separate transfer covering this design?"

"I've reviewed my records. I have the original sketches and the correspondence. I don't have any transfer."

"Then we need Whitmore Atelier to explain why this is in its new promotional material."

Elena looked at the pendant on her screen.

The company had sent her a letter warning her not to display its work. Now she had a specific question about the work it intended to display.