You Care Far Too Much About My Wife

After that baffling announcement, Vivian wrapped her arms tightly around Pearl.

With her back to the audience, she leaned close to her daughter’s ear.

I moved closer and heard every word.

“Pretend to faint. Leave the rest to me.”

When I was little, I thought Vivian disliked me and wouldn’t let me call her Mom because I wasn’t good enough.

Then I brought her a report card showing I ranked first in my year.

I approached her carefully.

“My teacher asked if my mother could come to the parent meeting and give a speech.”

Her face was ice.

“You want me to be your mother? What makes you think you deserve that? Dressing up a stray doesn’t give it a pedigree. You’re an orphanage bastard. Inferior blood. Nothing you do will ever change that.”

Now I watched Pearl go limp in her mother’s arms.

And finally understood.

When someone hated you, being good enough had nothing to do with it.

“Pearl? Pearl!” Vivian cried anxiously. “She’s having another episode. Someone bring the car. My daughter needs a hospital!”

Miles strode over, polite and impossible to refuse.

“There’s a car at the entrance. Mr. Blackwood asked me to escort Miss Whitmore.”

Vivian had no way to turn him down.

She could only agree.

Julian stayed behind to smooth things over. He reassured the guests and reporters with that same gentle humility, clasping his hands and inclining his head in apology.

Looking at him, nobody could bring themselves to make things difficult.

“Lucian, the paintings are packed. Which house do you want them sent to?” Felix asked casually.

Lucian looked coldly at Julian a short distance away.

“Burn Moonlight. Send the others to Rosehaven.”

Rosehaven Estate was where he lived.

Apparently, he really did like my work. He wanted it for his private collection.

Only Moonlight had failed to please him.

Fair enough.

That painting wore a young girl’s feelings too openly. It wasn’t surprising he disliked it.

I stared at the boy I had painted. Julian.

My eyes stung, and a bitter ache filled my chest.

Not for him.

For the seventeen-year-old girl I had been.

The perfect boy in my heart had died in my memories on the night I died.

Let the painting burn.

I knew Julian’s true face now.

A lying, vicious, selfish bastard.

He didn’t deserve my paintings.

He deserved my love even less.

“Mr. Blackwood.”

Julian approached with his usual mild smile.

“I’m very sorry about today. My sister was unwell and couldn’t paint for you. I hope you understand. She’s fortunate to have someone who appreciates her work as you do. Perhaps you could stay in touch. Discuss art.”

I saw through him immediately.

Lucian had been right. Julian was a useless man who survived by depending on women.

While I was alive, he hid behind me and let me fight Lucian.

Now I was dead, he wanted to use his sister to win Lucian over.

Naturally, Lucian wasn’t interested.

“They found a serial killer’s DNA on Stella’s wedding ring. You don’t seem remotely concerned. Still in the mood for an art exhibition?”

Julian drew back his hand. His voice sharpened.

“Don’t you think you care a little too much about my wife?”

Lucian gave a low laugh and moved toward him.

With every step, the pressure around him seemed to increase.

“Without Stella, how long do you think a useless bastard like you would last against me? Three days? Five?”

He watched Julian’s face turn ashen, curved his mouth in satisfaction, and left.

Two lines of black-clad bodyguards followed, silent and ominous as an army of the dead.

Felix had gone several steps when he suddenly turned back.

He leaned toward Julian and sniffed.

“Yes. That’s it. That’s the scent.”