I spent the whole night awake. The doctor’s message urging me not to give up was still sitting there, unread, on my phone.
The house was empty, but it still felt like traces of Darell lingered everywhere.
Just then, the front door creaked open—sharp and sudden in the silence. And when that face I had dreamed about day and night suddenly appeared in front of me, I thought for a second I must’ve been hallucinating.
“Darell?”
My voice trembled as I called out to him.
But the moment I saw the anger in his eyes, all the warmth inside me went cold.
Regina's POV
He looked at me with furrowed brows and roared sharply, “Why won’t you just apologize? If you’d admit it, everything would fall into place. But no—you had to screw things up now of all times. Was it really that hard to help out? Are you really that selfish? So obsessed with your pride that you had to humiliate her like that?” he roared.
My heart, already broken beyond repair, still managed to ache.
Then my eyes drifted to his neck—faint red marks, unmistakably fresh, deliberately left visible.
Something about it made my stomach turn. I forced my voice to stay steady. “One painting doesn’t prove anything. If she doesn’t have the skill, she won’t be able to fake it forever.”
Darell’s expression darkened instantly.
“Margot is still young. I can help her grow at her own pace," he reasoned. “That painting was just a birthday surprise. She likes attention, so I pulled a few strings to give her a moment in the spotlight. Nothing wrong with that.”
Then he looked me over, cold calculation in his eyes. “But your little comment just now gave me an idea.”
He let out a slow, chilling breath. “My dear sister. Margot doesn’t have your natural talent… so she might need you to help her out a few more times.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gave a cold, empty smile and grabbed my wrist.
“You’ve been living in my house all these years. Consider this my way of collecting rent. Fair, don’t you think?”
I struggled to break free, but his grip didn’t budge.
Pain surged through me, and with it came tears I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how to respond—how to make sense of this version of him.
I was twelve when Mom and I first moved into this villa. I was shy, quiet, and scared. And he was the one who smiled and said, “Don’t be afraid. This is your home now.”