Chapter 4The Last Canvas

“I owe you all an apology.”

“I lied to you. I’m so sorry.”

I stumbled through the apology.

“I was jealous of Hailey’s talent. In school, I bullied her until she agreed to do all my assignments, even my thesis… I took countless masterpieces from Hailey and claimed them as my own. I used my status as Ethan’s fiancée to force her to ghost-paint for me. None of the seven pieces at the last annual exhibition were my own work…”

“It was all me…”

The room was silent.

The critics who had just defended me stared in shock. The Head of the Association, his face beet red, slammed his glass down. “You are a disgrace to the art world!”

Whispers of disdain rose, quickly becoming an angry consensus: I should be permanently blacklisted, my work never recognized again.

I stood there like a statue.

Hailey’s eyes flashed with triumph, but her voice was full of concern. “Clara! Why did you say that publicly? I told you I don’t care about the fame! How will you live now? I feel so awful!!”

Ethan quickly pulled her into a hug, soothing her. “Hailey, don't be so kind. Theft is theft. She has to face the consequences. She’s not worth your worry. I'll take you to the Maldives to celebrate you finally reclaiming your honor, okay?”

Hailey buried her face in his chest. “Ethan, I don’t know how to repay you…”

Afterward, Ethan smoothly rallied everyone to raise a toast to Hailey, letting her bask in the spotlight.

A greasy, fat-bellied man seized the moment to offer me drink after drink. My hand injuries made drinking tantamount to suicide.

Ethan snatched the glass from Hailey’s hand. “Hailey shouldn’t drink. I’ll drink for her tonight!”

My eyes tightened for a second.

The fat man roughly grabbed my hair and forced my head back. “You plagiarizing b****. You think I’m invisible when I offer you a drink?”

The burning alcohol stung my throat and nostrils. Glass after glass. My wounds tore open. Tears streamed down my face. Instinctively, I looked to Ethan for help.

But through the crowd, I saw Hailey cup Ethan’s face and kiss him passionately on the lips.

The plea died in my throat.

I snatched a whole bottle from the fat man’s hand. “You want me dead?”

I ripped the bandages off, exposing my raw, bloody hands, and tilted the bottle back, letting the wine cascade down my throat.

The noisy private room instantly fell silent.

The fat man saw my mangled hands. His face finally paled. He grabbed the bottle. “Ms. Reynolds, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

I grabbed another bottle and chugged.

They wanted me dead?

Fine.

Who was I asking for help? Did I need to?

My stomach was on fire, but I felt a strange sense of comfort.

Everything blurred. Ethan was watching me from a distance. I expected him to look happy, but his face was surprisingly somber.

I didn't care to investigate.