Chapter 3

The air went still. A sharp ringing filled my ears, my cheek burning as if scalded.

Slowly, I turned my head to face Grace, her features twisted with rage.

Frame her? With half a year of my hard work? The logic was "flawless".

Marissa was already sobbing against David's chest, breaths coming in jagged hitches. "Mom, it's not Anna's fault... I was clumsy... Her work is ruined, she must be hurting... This is my fault..."

The more she played the martyr, the more furious Grace became.

"You're still sticking up for her? Marissa, you're just too soft-hearted! That's exactly why people like her walk all over you!" Grace snapped.

Grace jabbed her finger right in my face, spit flying. "Listen here, Anna. That rubbish of yours is one thing, but if you so much as make Marissa shed one tear, you'll regret it."

James shot me a look like I was nothing but garbage, his tone icy. "Anna, I'm really disappointed in you."

And David—my husband—didn't even spare me a single glance the whole time.

His entire focus was on the "frightened" woman in his arms.

He just frowned at me, his voice full of impatience. "That's enough. Stop making a scene. You look embarrassing."

Yeah, I must look pretty pathetic right now.

My hair was a mess, my cheek swollen and red—like a madwoman.

How could I ever compete with the fragile, flawless goddess in his arms?

I looked at the three people before me—my mother, my brother, and my husband.

They stood like a fortress, walls closing in, and at their center—the thief.

The one who had stolen a decade of my life.

Then Richard Yates, the family patriarch, emerged from his study.

The commotion had drawn him out, displeasure etched on his face.

"What is all this noise? Have you no decorum?" he snapped.

Grace immediately latched onto him, like she'd finally found her anchor, and started complaining, "Richard, you need to do something about your daughter! She's going to drive Marissa to her grave!"

Richard's gaze swept over the chaos, finally settling on the angry welt on my cheek. His frown only deepened.

However, he didn't bother asking about the mark on my face.

He didn't care why my painting was destroyed.

Stone-faced, Richard strode over and pulled a checkbook from his suit pocket.

"So, how much is this piece worth? 60 thousand? 150 thousand? Name it," he asked, his tone cold, like he was just haggling over merchandise.

So, all my blood, sweat, and tears—my dreams, my pain—were nothing but a commodity to them, something they could slap a price tag on.

I stared at the checkbook, and the sharp ache in my heart faded into numbness.

I simply shook my head.

Richard, thinking I was just being greedy, sounded annoyed. "Anna, you really need to learn to be content. Marissa didn't do it on purpose, so stop holding onto it. James is right—you should try being as forgiving as Marissa. Tell you what, 300 thousand dollars, and this whole thing is over."

He finished writing and held out the check.

That flimsy slip of paper felt like the ultimate mockery.

Instead of taking it, I looked up at him, keeping my voice steady. "Dad, if Marissa's work had been ruined today, and I was the one lying on the floor, would you just throw 300 thousand at her to make it all go away?"

His face darkened instantly. "What nonsense are you spewing?"

"It's not nonsense." My voice was calm, stating a simple truth. "You wouldn't. You'd have whoever did it thrown out. You'd mourn her ruined effort, comfort her, tell her it's alright—that you'd hire the best tutors, buy the finest materials for her to start again."

I paused. "For me, it's just a check. 300 thousand."

"Anna!" Richard exploded, his anger flaring as I struck a nerve. "You're absolutely impossible to reason with!"

Unreasonable? No. I was just finally awake.

Awake to the double standard they'd used to cut me down, piece by piece.

I turned away from them, squatting to sift through a pile of odds and ends until I found it—a worn wooden box.

Inside were the few belongings I'd brought from the village: some faded clothes, a photo album, and a small savings bank.

With everyone watching, I smashed the coin bank open, not caring about the mess.

The coins jingled loudly as they spilled out, and a few wrinkled bills fluttered across the floor.

This was everything I'd managed to save in secret over the past ten years, taking on small painting gigs whenever I could.

Exactly 11 thousand dollars.

I gathered it all and walked back to Richard, holding it out. "For the last ten years, I've lived under your roof, eaten your food, worn clothes you paid for. This isn't enough, I know. I'll work to pay back the rest.

"And one more thing," I said, turning around and taking a photo frame off the wall in my studio.

Inside was the only family photo we ever took together, right after I was brought back.

In the picture, the four of them were huddled close, all smiling brightly.

And there I was, standing awkwardly off to the side, like I'd been photoshopped in—clearly an outsider.

I slid the photo out and handed it to Grace.

"Mom, I'm giving back the name of your daughter," I said.

Finally, I stopped before David.

I slid off the simple diamond engagement ring he'd given me—the design he'd chosen because Marissa preferred understated elegance—and pressed it into his palm.

"David, let's get a divorce," I said.

After all that, I felt a freedom I'd never known before.

"Countdown: 167 hours. Well done, host." The System's voice carried a hint of approval.

Picking up my small wooden box, I walked toward the front door, step by steady step, leaving behind their stunned, disbelieving silence.