Chapter 4

The press conference was scheduled at a five-star hotel ballroom.

When I arrived, the venue was packed with media from everywhere. Cameras and flashing lights created a blinding sea of illumination.

Adrian, Rachel, and the publishing house president, Derek Ford, sat prominently in the front row.

They'd clearly come prepared, cold smirks on their faces as if attending my public trial.

Adrian had even brought his "hardcore fans"—dozens of people holding banners reading "Support Adrian, Resist Slander," protesting outside the venue.

I wore a crisp white suit, professionally made up, and walked calmly to the podium accompanied by attorney Julian.

Camera flashes intensified instantly. Reporters swarmed like sharks smelling blood, thrusting microphones desperately toward me.

"Ms. Monroe, you claim to be Adrian's ghostwriter. What evidence do you have?"

"Is this action revenge because of unequal divorce settlement distribution?"

"Is there really conflict between you and Ms. Carter?"

I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I signaled for quiet.

Once the venue settled somewhat, I picked up the microphone and spoke slowly, looking directly at Adrian in the audience.

"Media friends, hello. I know you're all full of questions today. So we won't waste words—let's go straight to the evidence."

The large screen behind me lit up.

The first piece of evidence was the handwritten manuscript of "Return on a Snowy Night."

That familiar handwriting, yellowed paper, densely marked revisions—Adrian's expression changed instantly.

"These... these are just discarded drafts! They don't prove anything!" Derek Ford shouted with forced composure, his obese body trembling with tension.

"Is that so?" I smiled slightly and pressed the remote.

A video began playing on the screen.

It showed Adrian and me from five years ago.

We were in the study, heatedly discussing the ending of "River at Sunset."

"No! The protagonist must die! Only tragedy can elevate this story!" Video-me was emotionally intense.

"But Fiona, readers want a happy ending. Written this way, the book won't sell." Video-Adrian frowned deeply.

"I don't care! This is my work. I must preserve its integrity!"

...

This video clearly recorded our creative disputes and clearly proved I was the one with final decision-making authority.

Adrian's face had lost all color.

Rachel beside him also widened her eyes, as if seeing me for the first time.

"This... this is fabricated! It's fake!" Rachel shrieked.

"Fake?" My attorney Julian stood up, his voice steady and powerful. "Ms. Carter, we've had this video authenticated by the country's most authoritative forensic institution. We can guarantee its authenticity. If you continue publicly defaming my client, we have the right to sue you for libel."

Julian's response left Rachel speechless. She could only glare at me hatefully.

I ignored her and presented the third piece of evidence.

All email correspondence between Adrian and me over the past decade.

Every book outline, every chapter manuscript—I'd sent them all to him via email.

The emails also contained his various "guidance" on my drafts.

For example: "Fiona, this plot drags too much. Can you make it more exciting?"

"This female supporting character's personality is unlikable. Readers won't like her. Change it."

"The ending must be happy. Otherwise fans will riot."

These emails thoroughly exposed his complete literary ignorance combined with his love of giving orders.

The venue erupted.

Camera flashes targeted ashen-faced Adrian relentlessly.

"Mr. Walker, what's your explanation?"

"Did you really have your ex-wife ghostwrite for you for ten years?"

"Has your public persona completely collapsed?"

Reporters surrounded Adrian. He was cornered, unable to speak a single word.

Derek Ford, seeing things going badly, tried to pull Adrian away, but reporters blocked them completely.

And I released the final, most devastating strike.

An audio recording.

Adrian's voice, slightly drunk and boastful.

"What bullshit talent? I can't write a single word. But my wife loves me. I tell her how to write, and she has to write it. Readers actually think I'm some literary giant—it's hilarious. They're just a bunch of idiots I've been playing all along."

This recording was from years ago, when he'd gotten drunk and bragged to his buddies. I'd captured it accidentally.

At the time, I'd thought it was just drunken rambling. I never imagined it would be useful today.

When the recording finished, the entire venue fell silent.

Even the fans protesting outside went quiet.

Everyone looked at Adrian like they were looking at garbage.

Adrian completely broke down.

He collapsed in his chair, pale as death, muttering repeatedly, "It's over... all over..."

Just then, an unexpected person stood up.

An experienced senior editor from the publishing house, Mr. Lee.

He walked tremblingly to the podium, picked up another microphone, his voice filled with grief and anger.

"I... I can testify. Everything Fiona said is true. All these years, the manuscripts Adrian submitted were full of typos and illogical. Our editorial department worked overnight to fix them. We all knew the real author was Fiona, but Derek Ford suppressed us for money, wouldn't let us speak... I... I'm sorry to Fiona, and even more sorry to all readers everywhere!"

After speaking, he bowed deeply to all the cameras.

This bow became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Derek Ford's eyes rolled back and he fainted.

Rachel screamed and tried to run but was surrounded by angry reporters and readers.

And Adrian, under endless camera flashes and interrogation, was completely nailed to the pillar of shame like a stray dog.