Claimed by the Rejected Author

Chapter ThreeShadows Behind the Spotlight

The morning sunlight spilled across my apartment, but it did little to chase away the unease that lingered after the gala.

I stood in my kitchen, coffee growing cold in my hands as headlines flooded my phone.

MYSTERY AUTHOR E. VALE REVEALED.

ELENA HART TAKES THE LITERARY WORLD BY STORM.

BUSINESS TYCOON ETHAN BLACKWOOD SEEN STUNNED AT GALA.

I sighed.

"So much for a quiet life."

My phone rang.

It was my publisher, Martin.

"Elena!" he exclaimed before I could say hello. "The reveal has doubled your book sales overnight. Interview requests are pouring in."

"I thought we agreed to keep those limited."

"We did. But there's one offer I think you'll want to hear."

"I'm listening."

"Blackwood Media wants an exclusive interview."

My grip tightened around the mug.

"Ethan's company?"

"Yes. They own one of the country's biggest publishing and entertainment networks."

"I'll pass."

Martin hesitated.

"I had a feeling you'd say that."

After ending the call, I tried to push Ethan from my mind. My schedule was already full with book signings and meetings.

There was no room for old heartbreaks.

Across the city, Ethan sat alone in his office.

The signed copy of my novel rested on his desk.

He traced the elegant signature—E. Vale—with his thumb.

A soft knock broke the silence.

"Come in."

His assistant entered carrying a folder.

"Sir, we've confirmed Miss Hart declined the interview."

Ethan smiled sadly.

"I expected that."

"What should I tell the board?"

"The truth."

"And that is?"

"I deserve every rejection she gives me."

The assistant nodded quietly before leaving.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, memories flooding his mind.

He remembered the young woman who had filled notebooks with stories, reading them aloud with bright eyes and infectious excitement.

He had laughed then.

Called writing an unrealistic dream.

Now those dreams had made her famous.

And his words had become his greatest regret.

Meanwhile, several blocks away, a black SUV stopped outside my apartment building.

Vanessa Moretti lowered her sunglasses as she watched me leave the lobby with Maya.

"So that's Elena Hart."

Her bodyguard nodded.

"Should we approach her?"

"Not yet."

Vanessa's lips curled into a calculating smile.

"I want to know everything about her first."

She watched as I climbed into Maya's car.

"The stronger someone looks," she murmured, "the more satisfying it is to discover where they break."

The SUV followed at a distance.

I had no idea I was being watched.

Nor did I know that the success I'd worked so hard to achieve had placed a target on my back.

By the end of the week, my biggest challenge would no longer be Ethan Blackwood.

It would be surviving the enemies I never knew I had.

The bookstore buzzed with excitement long before the signing was scheduled to begin.

A line of readers stretched out the front door, each clutching a well-worn copy of one of my novels. Some smiled nervously as they waited. Others chatted about their favorite characters and plot twists.

I never imagined so many strangers would find pieces of themselves in stories I had written alone in my tiny apartment.

"You've got this," Maya whispered, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

I nodded and took my seat behind the signing table.

For the next hour, I signed books, posed for photos, and listened to readers tell me how my stories had helped them through heartbreak, loss, and hope.

Each conversation reminded me why I had become a writer.

Then the room fell strangely quiet.

A familiar scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne drifted through the air before I even looked up.

Ethan.

He stood at the end of the line, dressed simply in a dark coat instead of one of his usual tailored suits. In his hands was a dog-eared copy of my very first novel.

He waited his turn without asking for special treatment.

When he finally reached the table, he slid the book toward me.

"I'd like it signed," he said softly.

I looked at the worn pages. Sticky notes peeked out from nearly every chapter.

"You actually read it."

"I've read it three times."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I uncapped my pen.

"Who should I make it out to?"

He met my eyes.

"The man who should have believed in you."

My hand paused.

The words settled heavily between us.

Without replying, I signed the book simply:

To Ethan. Every story teaches us something. I hope this one does too.

I closed the cover and handed it back.

"Thank you," he said.

Before he could say anything else, a loud crash echoed from the back of the store.

Everyone turned.

A shelf had toppled over, books scattering across the floor.

The crowd gasped.

In the confusion, Maya hurried toward the disturbance.

Something about it felt... wrong.

As security rushed to help, I noticed a woman in a crimson coat slipping quietly out the side exit.

Her face was hidden beneath oversized sunglasses.

But I had seen that coat before.

Vanessa.

A chill ran down my spine.

This was no accident.

Someone wanted to send a message.

And I had a feeling that message was only the beginning.

Security quickly surrounded the fallen bookshelf.

"Is anyone hurt?" one of the guards called.

A little girl near the front of the crowd burst into tears, clutching her mother's hand.

"I'm okay," she whispered.

Relief washed over me.

No one had been injured.

Still, something didn't sit right.

I glanced toward the side exit just in time to catch the crimson-coated woman disappearing into the afternoon crowd.

"Ethan," I said quietly.

He followed my gaze. "You saw her too?"

I nodded.

"The woman from the gala."

His expression hardened.

"I know who you mean."

Before either of us could move, one of the store managers approached, apologizing profusely for the disruption and assuring everyone that the shelf had simply come loose.

But I wasn't convinced.

As the signing resumed, an envelope appeared on the table in front of me.

"I didn't put that there," Maya said.

Neither had I.

My heartbeat quickened as I picked it up.

There was no stamp.

No name.

Only a single sentence typed on a plain white card.

Some stories are better left unfinished.

A shiver crawled down my spine.

Without a word, I handed the card to Ethan.

His jaw tightened as he read it.

"This isn't a coincidence," he said.

For the first time since we'd met again, fear outweighed resentment.

Whoever was watching me no longer wanted to stay hidden.

They wanted me to know I was being watched.

And that was far more dangerous than either of us had imagined.