“If it weren’t for Leo pleading on your behalf, you wouldn’t get a single cent.”
I could never win against her—not since childhood.
She was steady, meticulous and never acted on impulse. She skillfully used strategy and power to achieve her goals.
I, on the other hand, was always the type to charge headlong into things without a second thought and although it caused immense damage to my enemy, it caused greater injuries to myself.
I fell silent, just as she’d wanted.
Before selling the house and heading south, I still went to Leo’s art exhibition. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.
A giant projection in the city center displayed the man’s handsome face. The exhibition was titled “The Key to the Heart”.
It was a phrase we’d often spoken in our youth. It symbolized the pure, untainted hope of adolescence. It is the most sincere and beautiful connection between friends.
With the last shred of near-masochistic nostalgia, I armored myself fully.
But the moment I stepped into the venue, I felt like a mouse peering into someone else’s happiness.
Until I saw the painting titled “The Key to the Heart.”
It showed two bodies.
There was a mole on the woman's shoulder blade, the one I had traced countless times.
The man crumpled the pillow in his grip. Behind them, a bed draped in pale purple sheets. Outside the window, magnolias bloomed in full splendor.
That flower's variety was the one that I had personally selected at the flower market.
Pink blossoms as large as lanterns, silent in their beauty.
That was my home. It was also the place where Leo and Kelly had first made love.
So, it turned out that his heart belonged to Kelly and the key belonged to Leo.
A wave of uncontrollable nausea surged through me and I threw up.
This startled the two people entertaining guests nearby.
A bright, concerned voice reached my ears. “Sir, are you alright?”
The key design on his cufflinks dazzled me; it perfectly matched the heart-shaped brooch on the woman's chest.
I frantically yanked the cufflink toward the painting on the wall.
Rip—
The sound of canvas tearing echoed through the entire hall, drawing gasps from everyone around.
Chaos broke out. Security guards pinned me to the ground. My cheek pressed against the cold marble floor as I met her cold gaze—she was holding the crying man in her arms. She looked at me like watching a rat in the sewer.
“Call the police,” she said.