Chapter 4

The next morning, I took Daisy to the library with me.

I set her up with some crayons behind the front desk while I sat nearby, working on next week's lesson plan.

"Cassie, someone's here to see you," Luna called out.

I put down my palette knife and stepped out of the back room.

The day I had handed over my work at CasStart, the sky had been just as gray as today.

A new intern had knocked on my door back then.

She wore thick black-rimmed glasses, had her hair in a messy ponytail, and was wearing a cheap, faded canvas jacket.

Her name was Vivian.

When she walked in, she was clutching a crumpled photocopy of a research paper I had published in an educational journal years prior.

"Mrs. Vance, I chose this major because I read your research," she had said, bowing deeply to me. "Being able to learn from you is the greatest honor of my life."

I snapped back to reality and handed a library card to a young mother standing at the desk.

That faded canvas jacket was the reason I had let my guard down back then.

I had looked up Vivian's file.

Her father was disabled, her mother had run away, and she had survived entirely on financial aid and scholarships.

I bought her a complete set of professional art supplies.

I mentored her personally, step-by-step.

Everything I had learned over seven grueling years, I broke down and handed to her on a silver platter.

She was a quick study.

One night, we were working late.

We were the only two left in the office.

She suddenly stopped drawing and stared blankly at her monitor.

"Cassie, if someone starts with absolutely nothing... is the only way to get ahead to steal it from someone else?"

I looked up at her.

Her eyes were red, but she quickly looked down and forced a laugh. "I'm just joking. It's late. My brain is fried."

At the time, I thought she was just feeling insecure about her background. I felt incredibly sorry for her.

Only later did I realize.

That was the night she had made her choice.

Six months later, at the weekly board meeting.

Ethan sat at the head of the table, flipping through the quarterly reports.

"Vivian's style is highly marketable."

"The interactive design of this new picture book series has massive commercial potential. We'll make this our primary launch next month."

I sat a few seats down on his left.

I smiled and added, "The interactive structure of that book is actually the advanced layout technique I taught her last week."

Ethan didn't even look up. He took a sip of his coffee and moved on to the next agenda item.

Over the next six months, every single stroke of genius I taught Vivian became a masterpiece published under her name alone.

And Ethan began mentioning her at home more and more.

"Vivian proposed a curriculum overhaul today. Her pitch was incredibly sharp—most importantly, it's exactly what the venture capitalists want to see."

"Vivian stayed in the office until two AM last night. That kind of drive... it really reminds me of how you used to be."

I was in the kitchen, slicing tomatoes for dinner.

The knife froze in my hand.

"Did you actually look at the core logic of her proposal?" I asked, turning around to face Ethan, who was leaning against the doorframe. "Isn't it the exact same parent-child reading model I designed years ago?"

Ethan frowned.

"Cassie, this company employs a team, not a shrine built to worship you."

He walked over, looking down at me.

"Vivian has a sharp business mind. Companies need fresh blood to survive. Just focus on being Mrs. Vance. Why are you trying to pick a fight with a junior employee? It's beneath you."

He turned and walked away.

On the cutting board, the bright red juice of the sliced tomatoes pooled like blood.

At an industry dinner party a few months later, an investor who had had one too many drinks patted Ethan on the shoulder.

"Mr. Vance, let's be honest. The only reason CasStart's curriculum is so successful is because of your wife, right? I read her early curriculum models. Absolutely brilliant."

Ethan swirled the red wine in his glass and smiled smoothly. "Oh, not at all. It's a team effort. Cassie's health hasn't been great, so she stepped away from the business a long time ago."

On the drive home, he didn't say a single word.

He didn't speak to me after we got home, either.

He took a shower, locked himself in his study, and kept the lights on all night.

The very next day, he had HR remove my photo and bio from the "Founding Team" section of the company website.

The official excuse was a "website redesign to streamline information."

When someone on an industry forum posted: "The soul of CasStart is still the founder's wife, Cassie," Ethan had the PR department issue a formal statement that same afternoon:

"The CasStart creative team is led entirely by our Chief Creative Officer, Ms. Vivian Ward. Mrs. Cassie Vance stepped down from all core operations two years ago."

I saw the press release while sitting on the living room rug, hand-painting a bedtime story for the four-month-old baby growing inside my womb.

Yet, that very evening, two insulated luxury delivery boxes arrived at the house.

They were filled with expensive organic prenatals, gourmet health foods, and designer maternity wear that Ethan had ordered his assistant to fly in.

I turned my phone face down on the rug.

I picked up my brush and continued painting the little elephant in the book.

It was the first book I was making for my baby, titled "Waiting for You."

He's just trying to protect me from public gossip, I told myself.

Everything will be fine once the baby is born.