Chapter 2

My hand swung out hard, catching Michael right on the jawline, my nails scratching his face and leaving a bloody mark.

Michael's expression turned ice-cold. "You brought this on yourself—who else can you blame? You're still just as bossy and obnoxious as ever."

He used to say I was bold and vibrant, like a star in the night sky—so mesmerizing, people couldn't help but fall for me.

My jaw trembled, my eyes burning red as I stared at the two of them, standing so close together.

My voice squeezed out between clenched teeth. I wanted to break down and cry, but what came out was a laugh—a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

I spat out each word, slow and deliberate. "Scumbag. Bitch."

Michael turned away in disgust and called out to the driver who had just come downstairs, "Leo, show her out."

*****

I had nowhere to go.

Clutching the urn and my mother's photo, I wandered the streets aimlessly until late at night, so I just ended up outside the Harborlean police station.

I barely had any money left—staying at a fancy hotel was out of the question.

I'd never stayed in a cheap motel or some sketchy rental in my life, and honestly, the thought of it freaked me out.

After thinking it over, I figured the police station was probably the safest place around—at least there'd be someone on duty all night.

There was a bench by the bushes outside, and since it was summer, it wasn't cold at all—just a lot of mosquitoes.

Ever since my mom passed away yesterday, I hadn't slept a wink.

After sitting down on the bench, I leaned back against the low backrest, and before I knew it, I couldn't fight off the exhaustion anymore. I hugged the urn tightly and dozed off.

Half-asleep, I felt someone tapping my shoulder and calling my name.

I struggled to open my eyes and saw Charlie Cooper, my childhood best friend, standing in front of me in a sharp dark blue suit.

Seeing me wake up, Charlie looked surprised. "Why are you sleeping out here?"

I awkwardly scrambled to my feet, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

My fingers curled tightly around the urn, knuckles white.

"I just sat down for a bit and ended up falling asleep," I mumbled, trying to sound casual.

Charlie took one look at me and got the picture. His face darkened with anger. "Did Michael kick you out?"

Even though it was hard to say, I ended up telling him everything.

I really didn't want to see that pity in Charlie's eyes. So, I hurriedly changed the subject, trying to sound casual. "So, what brings you to the station tonight?"

Charlie looked like he was about to explode, his jaw clenched in frustration. But seeing how embarrassed I was, and clearly not wanting to talk about it, he just swallowed his words and stayed quiet.

He tapped the stack of papers in his hand. "Just here trying to sell some stuff to the station."

He had been grinding away in Harborlean for years, working in sales.

He was always hustling, selling all kinds of things day and night.

As he spoke, he gently grabbed my wrist, careful not to touch my skin, and led me toward the street.

"Forget the sales pitch for now. Just crash at my place tonight.

"Tomorrow, I'll help you look around and find a place to stay."

Just as he finished speaking, a black sports car came barreling straight toward us.

This should've been a speed limit area, but instead of slowing down, the car kept picking up speed—about to slam right into Charlie.

Charlie yanked me aside at the last second, barely dodging the car. He was so pissed he nearly exploded. "What the hell are you doing? Are you out of your mind?!"

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, and when I finally snapped out of it, I realized it was Michael's car.

Michael was practically a regular at the police station these days.

Even after my dad got thrown in jail, that still wasn't enough for him—he kept trying to get the cops to throw me and my mom in there too.

Now that my mom was gone, his only reason for coming here was to put me behind bars.

His car came dangerously close, nearly running us over before he finally stopped and got out.

He didn't even acknowledge Charlie or me, his face completely blank as if we didn't exist as he walked right past us without a second glance and headed straight into the police station.

Charlie was fuming. "What a psycho!"

I was speechless.

Charlie took me to his place—a shared apartment.

Harborlean was crazy expensive.

He only had a tiny bedroom and shared the living room, but even that cost him 700 dollars a month.

He made about 3,000 dollars a month, but he had to send 1,500 dollars back home to his family every month.

Everything else—his daily expenses and whatever he could save—had to come out of the remaining 1,500 dollars.

As soon as the door opened, I followed Charlie inside.

And there, sprawled out on the living room couch, was a guy with his shirt off.

He was all belly, just wearing a pair of boxers.

Charlie looked a bit embarrassed and quickly led me toward the bedroom.

But the guy on the couch jumped to his feet, checking me out in a way that made my skin crawl.

"Hey, bringing your girlfriend home?" he smirked, grinning like a creep.

Charlie replied coolly, "Just a friend, crashing here for the night."

The guy trailed after us, still nosy as ever. "So what kind of friend is she? Cousin, college buddy, or what?"

Charlie quickly shut the bedroom door behind us.

He put a fresh comforter on the single bed for me.

He made sure I was settled in the bedroom, then took the couch in the living room himself.

I couldn't sleep.

After turning off the light, I lay in bed, staring up at the dim ceiling.

For some reason, Michael's words to the media kept replaying in my head. "I guess this is what they call 'serves you right'?"

*****

I first met Michael when I was in college.

He was kind, driven, and had endless patience for everyone around him.

I fell for him at first sight, and honestly, it was only natural that we ended up together.

He was a star student in the art department—hardworking and crazy talented.

After we got together, Michael brought it up one day, almost casually.

He told me his idol was the big name in the art world, Leonard James, and his biggest dream was to become Leonard's apprentice someday.

Right around that time, my dad happened to see one of Michael's paintings and, right in front of me, started raving about how talented he was.

I was absolutely thrilled—it felt like God himself was pushing us together, like Michael and I were just meant to be soulmates or something.

I didn't hesitate for a second. I brought him to meet my dad right away and told my family everything about us.

So, for the first time in his life, my dad broke his own rules and accepted Michael as his student without any exam or formalities.

Michael was sharp—his paintings started to look more and more like my dad's, but they always lacked something, like he could never quite give them his own identity.

My dad kept reminding Michael, his prized student, "It's not enough to just copy—you need to bring your own style and flair into your art.

"You're your own person, not just my shadow or a mere imitation."

And every time, Michael would lower his head, acting all humble and obedient, promising he'd work on it next time.

But no matter how many times he tried to change, even after five years of marriage, his paintings were still basically carbon copies of my dad's—like he couldn't break free from being a copycat.

I honestly thought he was just obsessed with learning from my dad, a total fanboy for his style, and that was why his art looked so similar.

But it wasn't until the day he finally tore off the mask and revealed who he really was that I realized just how wrong I'd been.

That day, my dad's latest painting was auctioned off at a high-profile art show, selling for over 3 million dollars.

After all the praise and hype, the buyer suddenly accused him—after an expert appraisal, it turned out the painting wasn't actually his.

After another round of professional authentication, it was confirmed: the painting wasn't my dad's at all—it was painted by Michael.

My dad's real artwork had been swapped for an identical replica painted by Michael.

The internet exploded with hate and mockery.

People were saying that the famous Leonard just couldn't handle the fact that he was washed up.

To keep soaking up the spotlight, he'd even gone so far as to steal his apprentice's painting.