The hotel room in New York was quiet, insulated from the sirens and traffic thirty floors below. On the desk lay a thick contract bound in blue leather. Option Agreement. Motion Picture Rights. The Architecture of Silence.
Bella stood by the window, looking down at the grid of the city. It had been six months since the book was published. Six months of readings, interviews, and handshakes. The book had climbed the bestseller lists, not because of the scandal, but because of the truth. People weren't buying it to gawk at Marcus Valerio; they were buying it to understand their own silences.
Her phone buzzed on the desk. It was the agent.
"They're waiting for your signature, Bella," the agent's voice came through the speaker. "The offer is substantial. Life-changing money."
"I know," Bell
