All Chapters of Ties of a Contract: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

AlexanderThree weeks. Fifteen business days. Three hundred and sixty hours.That’s how long Sophia has been away in the past month, traveling between independent bookstores, small literary events, and meetings with smaller publishers. The irony isn’t lost on me: in trying to reduce her trips, she’s ended up having to travel even more.“Dad?” Noah calls from the breakfast table. “Will Mom be able to come to the science presentation?”I check the calendar on my phone, even though I already know the answer.“She’s going to try, champ. She’s in San Francisco today, but she said she’d catch the first flight…”“She always says that,” Oliver interrupts, pushing his cereal around in the bowl without eating. “And she always misses everything.”His bitter tone surprises me. Oliver has usually been the most understanding about Sophia’s absences, often defending her when Noah complains.“Hey,” I say, sitting down between them. “Your mom is working hard for us.”“For her,” Noah corrects, unexpect

OliverIt’s three in the morning when I wake up to the sound of voices coming from downstairs. Noah is fast asleep in the bed beside mine, his dinosaur book still open on his chest. He always tries to stay awake for Mom’s arrival, but never manages to.I get up quietly and walk to the door. The voices are muffled, but I recognize them arguing: Dad and Mom fighting again. Lately, they only talk like this—in angry whispers in the middle of the night, thinking we can’t hear.“You barely got here, and you’re already packing again?” Dad’s voice rises a bit.“It’s just for three days,” Mom replies. “The book fair in Chicago…”“Which, coincidentally, is where James is this week.”The silence that follows is heavy. It’s always that way when someone mentions James’s name.“Don’t start,” Mom finally says.“Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on?”Another pause. Then footsteps on the stairs make me rush back to bed. I pretend to be asleep when the bedroom door opens.“I know you’re awake,”

SophiaMy phone won’t stop vibrating. Alex. The police. Messages I don’t dare read. James’ words still echo in my head: “Sign, and all of this disappears.”But I know that nothing truly disappears. Especially threats like these.I grab my bag and the small recorder. The only evidence I have of everything that happened. It’s not much, but it might be all I have left.The hotel lobby is still deserted as I leave. The receptionist doesn’t even look up. As if nothing happened. As if my life hadn’t just completely fallen apart.My car is in the underground parking lot. I lock all the doors as soon as I get in, checking the mirrors. James’ paranoia about being followed now feels completely justified.Matthew Morrison’s message burns in my memory. “We have unfinished business to resolve.”Five years ago, when my first book was rejected, I never imagined that moment could evolve into something so sinister. A simple “no” from a publisher turning into an elaborate trap years later.My phone ring

AlexInstinctively, I position myself between the door and the two women. The hallway is silent now, but the footsteps continue to draw closer, measured, like a metronome heralding something inevitable. Claire moves with surprising agility, gathering the most important documents and shoving them into a secondary folder.“Emergency exit?” I whisper, already assessing our options. The window is out of the question; we’re on the tenth floor.Claire shakes her head. “Only the main door.”My mind races. I’m an editor – or I was, until a few hours ago. My life revolved around reading manuscripts and drinking coffee. Now, I’m caught in the middle of a conspiracy straight out of the very books I used to edit.The footsteps stop in front of the door. So does my heart.“Miss Bennett?” A male voice calls, followed by three firm knocks.Claire looks at the two of us and, surprisingly, smiles. “It’s Jerry, my security guard,” she whispers, but doesn’t seem relieved. “The problem is, he’s supposed

Claire“Jerry, what a pleasant surprise. And I see you’ve brought company,” I keep my voice calm as I open the door.It’s not Jerry standing there. The man wearing my security guard’s uniform is taller, thinner. Behind him are two men in suits. I recognize one: Robert Walsh, Morrison’s right-hand man.“Miss Bennett,” Walsh smiles, his teeth unnaturally white. “May we come in?”It’s not really a question. I step aside, calculating the odds. The gun in my drawer is too far away. The panic button under the desk is out of reach.“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, keeping up the act.“Where are they?” Walsh asks bluntly.“They?”The fake Jerry rolls his eyes and begins searching my office.“Sophia Hawthorne and her husband,” Walsh clarifies. “We know they were here.”“A lot of people come through this office,” I reply. “I’m a busy person.”Walsh steps closer. His expensive cologne doesn’t entirely mask the smell of cigarettes.“Don’t test my patience, Claire,” he hisses. “Not after what