Chapter 7: Delaney Finally Told Me the Truth

Delaney was quiet for so long that I wondered if she had changed her mind.

"Maren, before you say anything, I need you to understand something."

"I never agreed to replace you."

I leaned back in my chair.

"Then why did you do everything he asked?"

"Because I thought it was temporary."

"The dress?"

"Temporary."

"The family toast?"

"Temporary."

"The engagement footage?"

"Temporary."

Her voice cracked.

"Callum told me you knew about the project."

My stomach dropped.

"He told you I knew?"

"He said you were uncomfortable being on camera, but that you had approved the concept."

I closed my eyes.

Of all the lies, that one hurt differently.

He hadn't simply hidden the project from me.

He had used my reputation for avoiding cameras as permission I had never given.

"When did he first ask you to do this?"

"About three weeks ago."

Three weeks.

I remembered that week immediately.

Callum had come home late every night, claiming the studio was preparing for a major client presentation.

I had made dinner for him twice.

I had even proofread one of his proposals.

All while he was planning a production built around another woman pretending to be me.

"Why didn't you question him?" I asked.

"I did."

She sounded embarrassed.

"The first time he asked me to try the dress, I said it was inappropriate."

"He told me you had approved it."

"Then he said you wanted the final video to feel spontaneous."

"I believed him."

I looked down at my hands.

"And the family?"

"Callum told them you were delayed."

"He said you'd arrive later and that I was only helping with camera blocking."

"But once we started filming, everything changed."

"He kept saying the footage was too good to waste."

My voice came out colder than I intended.

"Did you know he planned to use the engagement party for the campaign?"

Delaney hesitated.

"Not at first."

"When did you find out?"

"Yesterday."

I sat completely still.

"How?"

"I saw the budget."

"The projected revenue was attached to the production plan."

"That's when I realized this wasn't just a little hometown video."

She took a breath.

"I confronted him."

"What did he say?"

"He said the campaign was bigger than both of us."

I almost laughed.

Of course he had.

Callum always knew how to make selfishness sound like sacrifice.

"Did he tell you why I wasn't in the SUV?"

"He said you were busy and preferred taking the train."

"He never told me you were being forced out of your own seat."

"I only found out when Willa started arguing with him."

That explained the strange look Willa had given me through the video clips.

She had known enough to be uncomfortable, but not enough to understand the entire plan.

"Maren," Delaney said quietly, "there's something else."

"What?"

"The campaign wasn't supposed to end with the engagement party."

My chest tightened.

"What was it supposed to end with?"

"A proposal video."

I couldn't speak.

"Callum wanted to film the proposal during the family celebration," she continued.

"He said it would be the emotional climax of the campaign."

"He had planned the entire thing."

"The ring. The speeches. Your parents being there."

"Everything."

I stared at the blank wall across from me.

For seven years, I'd imagined Callum proposing when the moment felt right.

Apparently, he had imagined something else.

A camera angle.

A sponsor.

A carefully scripted reaction.

"Did he have the ring?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

"I don't know."

Then Delaney's voice became barely audible.

"But Maren, the proposal wasn't the part that scared me."

"What was?"

"The contract."

I sat upright.

"What contract?"

"The one the studio prepared for the campaign."

"It listed you as the featured subject."

"But there was a clause giving the studio permanent commercial rights to the footage from the engagement, wedding, and future family events."

My blood ran cold.

"Wedding?"

"Yes."

"Callum planned to film our wedding too."

Delaney didn't answer immediately.

"He told the studio you were going to sign everything after the engagement."

I looked at the canceled venue confirmation on my screen.

Suddenly, the cancellation fee didn't matter anymore.

The deposits didn't matter.

The wasted holiday didn't matter.

I had almost walked willingly into a future where every intimate moment of my life could have been owned by his company.

I thanked Delaney and ended the call.

Then I opened my email and searched for every message from Callum containing the words contract, release, campaign, wedding, and rights.

One result appeared.

Sent six days ago.

From Callum to his business partner.

Subject: Final Talent Release.

The attachment was still there.

I opened it.

My name was already typed at the bottom.

All that was missing was my signature.