November 18, Monday

THE MORNING seemed softer somehow, touched by the lingering warmth of Sawyer's presence. Even the simple act of making coffee felt different—the rich aroma bringing back memories of lazy kisses and shared laughter.

I hummed as I gathered eggs, barely noticing Butterscotch's customary love-peck. Satan bleated his usual demanding greeting, no trace of fear remaining in his dark eyes. The maple syrup incident felt like a distant dream, overshadowed by the weekend's sweeter memories.

My phone buzzed—a text from Sawyer: Miss you already.

"Me too," I whispered, typing back a string of heart emojis that would have made my pre-Irving self cringe. But I didn't care. For the first time since Curtis's betrayal, I felt... whole. Seen. Safe.

The phone rang again. Bruce's name flashed on the screen.

"Perfect timing!" I answered cheerfully. "I've been meaning to ask about the revision schedule—"

"We have a problem." Bruce's voice was tight with tension. "A big one."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Curtis posted the ending of Lady Kate's Reckoning online last night. The whole climactic scene—Lady Kate confronting Lord Stonecraft about his secret identity, the revelation about the cursed family legacy, even the final kiss in the rose garden."

"That's impossible." My voice sounded distant, strange.

"He's claiming it's proof that he wrote it. Says he has 'insider knowledge' because he's the real author of your last two books."

The coffee mug slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, shattering against the kitchen floor. Dark liquid spread like blood across the worn floorboards.

"He had access to my outline," I managed. "When we were together. He must have stolen it."

"Whatever he did, it's working, Josie." Bruce's exhausted tone made him sound older, defeated. "Social media is exploding. His posts are going viral. People are already calling for boycotts."

"But it's not true!" Tears burned my eyes. "You know it's not true. You've seen me write these books, draft by draft—"

"The truth doesn't matter anymore. What matters is public perception. And right now, the public believes your abusive ex-boyfriend over you. And the fact that he has both arms and both legs in casts makes him seem sympathetic."

I sank into a kitchen chair, my legs no longer able to support me. "What do we do?"

"You need to rewrite the ending. Something completely different from what Curtis posted. It's the only way to prove he doesn't have inside knowledge of your work."

"But... the story..." I thought of Lady Kate and Lord Stonecraft, of the careful way I'd crafted their journey, mirroring my own path to trust and affection. "The ending is perfect as it is."

"Then the contract will be canceled." Bruce's voice was gentle but firm. "The publisher can't risk the backlash. I can give you until after Thanksgiving to submit a new ending."

My laugh held an edge of hysteria. "To completely reimagine the conclusion of a story I've been crafting for months?"

"I'm sorry, Josie. I really am."

After the call ended, I stared at the spreading coffee stain on my floor. The morning's golden glow had vanished, replaced by the cold reality of Curtis's latest attack.

How fitting that he'd chosen this moment to strike—just when I'd started to feel safe, to believe in happy endings again.

I pulled out my phone to text Sawyer, then stopped. What could I say? That my past had come back to haunt me? That everything I'd built might crumble because of one man's lies?

Some curses, it seemed, worked just fine without witchcraft.