Chapter 5

During my boring confinement in the villa, I used drawing to pass the time.

Honestly, I’d always had a regret: not pursuing my passion for design further. So, during my seven years at home, whenever my hands itched, I’d sketch out design drafts.

Liam sent me a set of photos.

They were the winning designs from an emerging talent competition three years ago, and my work was clearly among them.

A designer’s work is their heart and soul. I’d recognize a design that came from my hands even if it was reduced to ashes.

Yet, the design that was clearly mine was credited to Serena Hastings.

My mind instantly went blank, and a terrifying thought emerged.

The information I asked Liam to check quickly arrived. It confirmed my suspicions.

Serena had stolen my work to enter the competition.

Three years ago, I had mysteriously lost a portfolio of my sketches. I searched high and low for half a month but found nothing and eventually gave up.

And Serena was the new designer who had suddenly risen to prominence three years ago.

Looking through her work from these past few years, almost all of it bore the shadow of my sketches; some were even direct copies.

The thought of Serena using my hard work, wearing the crown of praise, and proudly flaunting her career success to me, made me tremble with rage.

I found Serena and confronted her.

Serena didn’t flinch. She placed a hand on her slightly bulging belly and said indifferently, “So what if I stole it? What if I didn’t? You were never going to use it anyway. Isn’t it a good deed to help someone else succeed?”

I didn’t know how low this woman’s shamelessness could go. Serena kept shattering my perception of her.

Watching me so enraged I could barely stand, Serena studied me with interest, then slowly delivered another blow: “And I didn’t steal this sketch, Julian gave it to me.”

Julian gave it to Serena?

The memory of Julian’s feigned concern when I was looking for my sketches made my stomach churn.

Suddenly, Serena leaned close to my ear and whispered, “You should have gone to hell with your damn mother.”

My mother was my raw nerve. Especially with Serena involved; if it weren’t for her back then, I wouldn’t have missed seeing my mother one last time.

Burning with fury, I slapped Serena across the face.

To my surprise, Serena stumbled and fell to the ground with my slap.

I stared in shock at Serena, clutching her stomach on the floor, and then incredulously at my own hand.

I could swear that slap was not hard enough to make Serena fall like that.

Hearing the commotion, the bodyguards outside quickly rushed in to check.

Julian was also alarmed and hurried upstairs.

Julian pushed open the door and saw Serena, her cheek slightly swollen, lying pale on the floor, while I stood perfectly fine beside her. Without a word, he slapped me.

It was a powerful slap. I guessed Julian put all his strength into it.

My face snapped to the side, and my lower back hit the wooden sofa armrest hard.

Sharp pain spread across my face and down my back.

Julian hadn’t expected to lose control of his strength. Seeing the blood-tinged corner of my mouth, his eyes flickered.

Serena noticed Julian’s hesitation and immediately began to whimper, crying out that Iris shouldn't hit her, even if it was just for the baby’s sake.

Julian stopped bothering with me, scooped Serena up, and rushed downstairs.

Within moments, the room, which had just been full of people, was empty again, leaving only me.

Looking at my high, swollen face in the mirror, I thought of the year my mother died.

Counting today’s slap, Julian had hit me twice. The first time was that year.

Back then, Serena was often unwell, running to the hospital every few days. Julian was frantic with worry.

Serena told Julian she had a dream: if Iris went to a temple to pray for her, it would help her ward off a supposed curse for the year.

She badgered Julian into sending me to that temple.

The ritual required 49 days of continuous prayer.

Normally, I might not have refused, but at the time, my mother was gravely ill—a situation where every visit counted.

I pleaded with Julian to wait until my mother’s condition stabilized before sending me to pray, but he refused.

Julian only said he would take care of my mother, completely disregarding a daughter’s wish to be by her dying parent’s side.

Disheartened, I left for the temple.

When the 49 days of prayer ended, I never got to see my mother one last time.

At the funeral, Serena feigned an apology to me. My patience finally snapped. I grabbed the cup of hot water by my hand and violently threw it at her.

The moment the water splashed on Serena, Julian’s hand was already raised high.

He chastised me, saying I was mad with grief, treating Serena’s genuine kindness like trash.

The memory overlapped with the present. I looked at the haggard woman in the mirror, my eyes filled with cold determination.

The bodyguards guarding the villa were all called to the hospital to watch over a supposedly traumatized Serena.

I left the house that held so much of my pain, without any resistance.

As the plane soared through the clear blue sky, I quietly said goodbye to everything there.

Goodbye. Never again.

Julian had soothed Serena, and now he sat wearily on a bench in the hospital corridor.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw my face, red and swollen where I’d clutched it.