Elena was fuming, but she reminded herself that it was beneath her to argue with a mere painting instructor. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted her posture and sat elegantly on the nearby sofa, looking down at Vespera from above. "Felix's painting is a copy of Lilith's work. Why didn't you inform me in advance?"

Vespera pursed her lips. "Madam, I did mention it to you."

Elena recalled a few days earlier when she had been meticulously applying makeup to her satisfaction. Vespera, dressed in a black evening gown, had entered her room.

"Vespera, what is it?"

Vespera crossed her hands, her fingers twirling as she casually inquired, "Have you heard of the rising star in the art world, Lilies?"

"Lilies? Oh, of course, I've heard of her."

Vespera stared intently at Elena's face, as if unwilling to miss even the slightest expression. "Then have you seen her work, 'Rain'?"

Elena turned around without hesitation to face Vespera. "Of course I have. I even attended Lilith's exhibition. Her paintings are quite remarkable—I admire her."

"Then you wouldn’t object to Felix copying her work, would you?"

Elena brushed aside a lock of hair and applied mascara to her lashes. "Such a trivial matter—you can decide on your own. I only care about the results," she said, as though it were an insignificant issue.

Standing in the living room, Vespera's forehead wound seemed to speak of her grievances. "Madam, I heard that you graduated from a top-tier art academy. I never expected you to be unfamiliar with Lilith's work."

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Elena let out a light scoff. She knew she was in the wrong, so she attempted to smooth things over. "Vespera, does your forehead still hurt? You should go to the hospital—I'll cover the medical expenses. I recently got pregnant, so my memory and emotions might be a little off. I was a bit hasty earlier—you don’t mind, do you?"

She placed her hand on Felix’s painting, gently rubbing the dried wrinkles of the paint. "You do have some talent. Rest assured, as long as you continue to instruct Felix well, your compensation will be generous."

"Understood," Vespera replied impassively. She turned her gaze toward the lush tree outside the window, as if seeing a vision of her student days—Sophia, pouting as she pleaded with Elena.

"Please, help me finish this oil painting. You’ve been studying painting for years. If the professor sees that I still can't do it properly, I'll definitely get scolded."

With a helpless sigh, Elena had relented. "Alright, alright, I’ll help you."

Back in the present, Vespera looked at the poised woman before her, exuding the elegance of a noble lady. "Sophia, after all these years, you still haven’t changed one bit."

She steadied herself and left the living room.

"Ding—" Her phone rang. It was a call from Marcus. As soon as she answered, she heard shocking news.

"Vespera, I’ve got the results of the investigation you asked for. The owner of the villa at 8 Queen Street has moved abroad, but no one ever saw her leave. A neighbor once claimed to have seen the owner's daughter come out of the villa."

Vespera clenched her phone tightly, as if she wanted to crush it. Her teeth bit into her lips until they bled. "Sophia, it was one thing for you to harm me, but now you won’t even spare my mother? I swear, I will make you pay!"

"Elena." Damien pushed open the door. He had just returned home from work, his sharply defined features carrying a hint of concern and anxiety. "What happened?"

Hidden in the corner, Vespera saw the genuine worry in his eyes. The suit he was wearing was still the one she had bought for him long ago, yet now, he was showing all his care to another woman. She closed her eyes, recalling the days when they had sworn their love to each other.

A younger Damien had once knelt on one knee, holding a bouquet of roses, his love for Elena unmistakable. "Elena, I love you," he had said. "I will love you forever. I've counted the tides before seven sunsets, and I found that every rise and fall matches the rhythm of your breath. The Pacific Ocean is Earth's heartbeat, echoing yours."

"The curve of your eyelashes is my instrument for measuring the curvature of the galaxy. Every moment a star strays from its orbit, it writes your name."

Elena had accepted the roses, and Damien had pulled her into a tight embrace before kissing her deeply.

Now, Damien took Elena’s hand, his expression tense as he carefully examined it for any signs of injury. "You're not hurt, are you? Ever since your hand was injured, I've told you so many times—no more painting."

He gently touched her forehead, his voice filled with indulgence. "You never listen to me."

"Don't worry, I won’t anymore."

Listening to their tender exchange, Vespera felt a stabbing pain in her heart. She pressed a hand to her chest, her eyes welling up with tears. "Why… why does it hurt so much?"

Only now did Damien notice the other woman in the room, curled up in the corner. His brows furrowed as he asked softly, "Who are you?"