Nathan stood nearby, ink bottle in hand, looking insufferably pleased with himself.
"Two whole years you spent on that painting. Let's see you show off in front of Kathleen now that it's ruined."
I saw red. My fist connected with his face before I even realized I'd swung.
"You're always spreading rumors that I make you work like a servant?" I grabbed him by the collar. "Fine. For the next three days, you will be my servant. You're going to clean every inch of this studio until it's spotless."
That's when the door burst open.
Kathleen stormed in, took one look at the scene, and immediately pulled Nathan behind her like a shield.
"Abner, can you please get your temper under control?" Her voice dripped with disapproval. "Nathan tries so hard. Yes, he comes from a difficult background—but why do you always have to target him?"
My chest heaved. "Kathleen, you need to understand—he started this—"
Before I could finish, Nathan ducked further behind her, his face crumpling into a mask of wounded innocence.
"Kathleen, it's my fault. I was just trying to help Abner clean the studio, and I accidentally knocked over the ink onto his painting." His voice cracked perfectly. "He said he'd sell me to a nightclub. And then he—he called my mother a whore. Said she gave birth to a little whore."
Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I can take the hitting. I can take the yelling. But why did he have to drag my mother into this?"
He was good. I had to give him that. Every sob, every trembling word—flawless.
Kathleen didn't ask me for my side. Didn't investigate. Didn't even hesitate.
She just looked at me with cold disappointment. "Abner, what's happened to you? I don't even recognize you anymore."
I wanted to scream.
Even with Kathleen defending him, I refused to back down. Nathan served those three days as promised.
When it was over, Kathleen acted like nothing had happened. She just sighed—light, dismissive.
"Abner, that temper of yours... when are you going to grow out of it? It was just a painting." She waved her hand. "You've had your revenge. Let it go."
I was naive enough to believe it was over.
A few days later, news broke that Kathleen's company had gone bankrupt.
She was arrested shortly after, leaving me to deal with the wreckage.
At first, I wasn't worried. Even if the Vance family collapsed, I still had my parents.
I called them immediately.
Both numbers had been disconnected.
Panic clawed at my throat. I rushed home—only to have Butler Thatcher deliver the news in a hollow voice.
The day the Vance family's troubles became public, my parents had rushed back to help. Their car hit a landslide on a mountain road.
Neither survived.
My world collapsed overnight.
No parents. No husband to lean on. I sold everything I owned and moved into a damp basement, hiding from the loan sharks who'd somehow inherited my debts.
I couldn't sleep. Every creak, every shadow—I waited for them to find me.
They did.
A group of men stormed into the basement with wooden clubs. I curled into a ball, but it didn't matter.
Two ribs, broken. My wrist, shattered.
I would never hold a paintbrush again.
It took three years for me to accept my fate.
I gave up everything—my art, my pride, my hope—just to survive.
And now I was being told it was all a lie.
Kathleen's "punishment" had stripped me to the bone and rebuilt me into someone I didn't recognize.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Kathleen.
"Abner, I'm getting released in three days. Don't forget to pick me up."
My hand tightened around the phone until my knuckles went white. A dull ache spread through my chest.
Even now, she was still playing her part.
She was already at the birthday party. I'd seen it with my own eyes—her arms around Nathan, the massive cake, the beautiful decorations, everyone celebrating.
And she was still treating me like a fool.
I stared at those words until tears blurred my vision.
I blinked them away and read the message again.
