BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

The bedroom was silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The divorce papers still lay on the nightstand where Layton had left them, the ink of his signature stark against the white paper. Moonlight filtered through the glass, casting pale shadows across the luxurious penthouse suite, but the beauty of the night did nothing to ease the chill that had settled in Mindy’s bones. The city outside was alive with light and movement, yet she felt as though she were trapped inside a world frozen in time.

Her gaze lingered on the papers, the word divorce staring back at her like a cruel echo from another life. In her previous life, seeing those papers had shattered her completely. She had been too devastated to think clearly, too desperate to understand why Layton had suddenly become so cold, why he had looked at her as though she were someone he could no longer tolerate. She had cried until her throat burned, begged him to reconsider, and promised to change—believing that if she just loved him enough, he would stay.

Now, after living through eight more years and dying a miserable death, her perspective had changed. Layton hadn’t suddenly decided to divorce her out of nowhere. Something had happened—something that had pushed him to finally make that decision. Slowly, Mindy closed her eyes and forced herself to think. What exactly had happened before she returned to the penthouse? What had happened earlier that morning?

The answer came quickly, too quickly, like a wound being ripped open. The design. Missy. The staircase. The slap. The blood. A bitter smile curved her lips as the memories flooded back. ”So it was that day...” she whispered to herself. Of all the moments fate could have brought her back to, it had chosen one of the worst days of her previous life—the day she truly lost her family.

The Hawthorne Mansion stood proudly beneath the bright afternoon sun, its white stone walls gleaming like polished ivory. From the outside, it looked as elegant and dignified as ever, a symbol of wealth and legacy. Yet every time Mindy crossed its threshold, she felt less and less like she belonged there. The air inside was heavy, the warmth she once associated with home long gone.

Ever since Missy had returned from overseas, the atmosphere had changed. Or perhaps, Mindy thought bitterly, it had changed long before that, and she had simply refused to see it. Even after countless disappointments, she had clung to the foolish belief that family was family—that no matter how distant they became, no matter how unfairly they treated her, blood would always mean something. That fragile hope was what brought her back to the mansion that day.

When she entered through the front door, the servants greeted her politely, but their eyes darted away too quickly. The marble floors gleamed, the chandeliers sparkled, and yet the house felt cold, almost unfamiliar. One of the maids informed her that Missy was upstairs working in her design studio. Without suspecting anything unusual, Mindy headed toward the second floor, carrying a small gift—a sketchbook she had purchased during a recent exhibition. Even now, recalling it made her feel foolish. She had genuinely been trying to repair their relationship, while Missy had been preparing another trap.

The moment she stepped into the design room, her footsteps faltered. Her eyes landed on a gown displayed proudly on a mannequin, and the world seemed to stop. For several seconds, she simply stared, disbelief giving way to shock, and shock to anger. She recognized that design immediately—every line, every curve, every embroidered pattern. It was hers.

Months earlier, she had created that gown during a sleepless night, sketching ideas for a private collection she never intended to show anyone. The original drawings had been stored safely in her portfolio—or so she thought. Her heart began to pound violently as she stepped closer. The more she looked, the more certain she became. This wasn’t inspiration or coincidence. It was theft.

Before she could process the betrayal, the sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed behind her. Missy entered the room, looking as flawless as ever—perfectly styled hair, an elegant dress, and that gentle smile that fooled everyone. For a brief second, surprise flickered across her face, but it vanished almost instantly.

”So you’ve seen it,” Missy said softly, her tone light, almost teasing. ”What do you think?”

Mindy turned toward her, her expression unusually serious. ”Where did you get this design?”

The smile on Missy’s face faltered slightly. ”What do you mean?”

”This gown,” Mindy said, pointing toward the mannequin. ”I designed it.”

The room fell silent. The smile vanished entirely from Missy’s face. For a long moment, neither woman spoke. Then Missy laughed—a light, disbelieving sound, as though Mindy had just told a ridiculous joke. ”Mindy,” she said, shaking her head, ”you can’t seriously be claiming this design belongs to you.”

”It does belong to me,” Mindy replied, her voice firm. ”I created it months ago.”

Missy’s eyes widened, and a hurt expression crossed her face, one she had perfected over the years. It was the same look that always made others rush to her defense. ”Why are you doing this?” she whispered, her voice trembling. ”I worked day and night on this project. I barely slept. I spent an entire week finalizing every detail. And now you’re saying I stole it?”

The tears came right on cue—perfect, flawless, and utterly false. Looking back now, reborn Mindy almost wanted to applaud. But at the time, she had still been trying to defend herself, still trying to reason with someone who had never intended to be reasonable.

”Missy, stop pretending,” she said, frustration creeping into her tone. ”You know this design is mine.”

That was exactly the reaction Missy wanted. Her tears fell faster, her shoulders trembling. ”I knew it,” she whispered. ”I knew you hated me.”

Mindy froze. ”Hated you?”

Missy lowered her head, her voice breaking. ”You’ve never accepted me. I tried so hard to be your sister, to get along with you, but no matter what I do, you always think the worst of me.”

Mindy could barely believe what she was hearing. Was this woman truly talking about herself—the same woman who had spent years setting traps and spreading lies, who had turned everyone against her? Before she could respond, Missy’s voice suddenly rose, louder now, the kind of volume designed to attract attention.

”Mindy, please stop!” she cried.

The sudden outburst startled her. Then came another sound—a sharp, tearing noise. Mindy’s eyes widened as she saw Missy grab the gown and rip the fabric herself. For a moment, even Mindy was too shocked to react. The timing was perfect. Almost immediately, hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Missy’s lips curled upward, just slightly, for a fraction of a second. It was enough. Mindy saw it and understood. Everything had been planned. Every single step. The trap had been waiting for her from the beginning.

The door burst open. Raymond entered first, Emily right behind him, followed by Drake and Jagger. The entire family rushed into the room. The moment they saw Missy’s tear-streaked face and the damaged gown, their expressions changed. No one asked questions. No one asked what happened. They had already reached a conclusion.

Emily hurried toward Missy and wrapped her arms around her. ”Oh my God,” she gasped, her voice trembling. ”Missy, what happened?”

Missy’s eyes filled with fresh tears. She looked toward Mindy before quickly lowering her head. That single glance was enough. Emily’s expression darkened, and Raymond’s face hardened with disappointment—not disappointment in Missy, but in Mindy.

The sight made something inside her ache. She remembered a different Raymond—a father who once adored her, who proudly carried her on his shoulders, who couldn’t stop smiling whenever she won a competition. That father was gone. The man standing before her now looked at her as though she were a stranger.

”What happened?” Raymond demanded.

Missy wiped her tears delicately. ”Dad... it’s not Mindy’s fault.”

Immediately, Raymond’s expression darkened further. Mindy almost laughed. After years of experience, she knew exactly what would happen next. Whenever Missy said, ”It’s not her fault,” everyone automatically assumed it was.

”Mindy thinks I stole her design,” Missy continued softly.

The room fell silent. Emily looked horrified. Drake frowned. Jagger crossed his arms. Raymond’s expression hardened.

”I tried explaining,” Missy said, her voice trembling. ”But she became angry.” Her gaze shifted toward the damaged gown, the implication clear. She didn’t need to say more. Everyone had already decided Mindy was guilty.

”No,” Mindy said quickly. ”That’s not true. The design is mine.”

Drake laughed—not out of amusement, but disbelief. ”You?” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. ”Mindy, do you even know fashion design?”

The words struck harder than he realized. Years ago, Drake had been the brother who spoiled her the most. When they were children, he carried her on his shoulders during family picnics, bought her gifts after every business trip, and threatened anyone who made her cry. Now he looked at her as though she were an embarrassment. The change hurt more than she wanted to admit.

Jagger wasn’t any better. He shook his head impatiently. ”Can you stop causing problems for once?” he muttered. To him, Mindy wasn’t defending herself—she was creating drama. Just another troublesome incident.

Emily sighed dramatically, playing her role to perfection. ”Mindy,” she said, her voice filled with disappointment, ”if you’re unhappy about something, we can talk. But hurting your sister because you’re jealous isn’t the answer.”

Mindy stared at her stepmother, the woman who had spent years erasing her mother’s presence from the mansion, the woman who had stolen everything Maria Hawthorne had built. Emily had always been careful—never openly cruel, never openly malicious. Just endlessly disappointed, endlessly saddened, endlessly hurt. And everyone believed her.

Raymond’s patience finally snapped. The veins in his forehead bulged, his face turning red with anger. ”Enough,” he thundered. ”You’ve embarrassed this family enough.”

He grabbed Mindy’s wrist, his grip painfully tight. She winced, but the pain in her heart was worse. Not one person stepped forward to help her. Not one. She looked around the room at the people she had loved, the family she had spent years trying to please, and realized that not a single one of them was on her side.

”I’m done,” she said quietly, pulling her wrist free. She turned and walked toward the door, her steps echoing through the hall. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. If she did, she might break.

But Missy wasn’t finished. She followed her, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor. ”Mindy, wait!” she called.

Mindy didn’t stop. She reached the top of the grand staircase, sunlight spilling across the steps, bright and blinding. Then came a sharp gasp, followed by a scream.

”Mindy!”

Mindy turned just in time to see Missy falling. Her body twisted midair, her arms flailing dramatically before she landed at the bottom of the stairs with a soft, deliberate thud. The sound echoed through the hall.

For a moment, silence. Then chaos erupted. Emily screamed. Drake and Jagger rushed forward. Raymond’s face turned pale.

”MINDY!” Emily shrieked. ”What have you done?”

Mindy froze. ”I didn’t touch her!” she cried, but no one listened. They were already running to Missy.

Missy lay on the floor, her hair scattered, her dress slightly torn. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered weakly, ”It’s not Sister’s fault... she didn’t push me...”

The words were soft, fragile, innocent—and they sealed Mindy’s fate. Everyone heard them, and everyone believed the opposite.

Raymond’s expression twisted with fury. Drake’s jaw tightened. Jagger muttered under his breath. Emily sobbed louder. ”Mindy, how could you?”

”I didn’t!”

Raymond stormed up the stairs, his footsteps heavy, his rage palpable. ”Enough!” he roared.

Before she could speak, his hand came down. The slap was deafening. The force sent her stumbling backward, her head striking the sharp edge of the stair railing. A sickening crack echoed through the hall. Pain exploded through her skull, and warm blood began to trickle down her forehead, sliding past her temple and staining her blouse.

The world blurred. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor. The marble was cold against her skin. She could hear them below—voices, footsteps, panic—but none of it was for her. They were all around Missy. Emily’s cries, Drake’s worried tone, Jagger calling for the car, Raymond’s trembling voice—all of it for Missy.

Not once did anyone look up. Not once did anyone ask if she was hurt. Not once did anyone care.

Blood dripped onto the marble, forming small crimson pools. Her fingers trembled as she touched her forehead. The pain was sharp, but the ache in her chest was worse. She had always believed that no matter what happened, her family would never abandon her completely. That belief shattered in that moment.

She watched as they carried Missy out of the mansion. Emily clung to Raymond’s arm. Drake and Jagger followed closely behind. The front door closed, and silence returned.

Mindy remained on the floor, bleeding and alone. The mansion that had once been her home now felt like a stranger’s house. The air was cold, the marble beneath her cheek colder still. Her tears mixed with the blood on the floor, and she didn’t even realize she was crying until she tasted salt. Her body trembled, but she didn’t move. There was no point. No one was coming back. No one ever did.

When the memory faded, the bedroom returned. The divorce papers still lay on the nightstand, untouched. A cold smile appeared on her face. No wonder Layton wanted a divorce. After leaving the mansion, Missy would have called him, crying, telling her version of the story. And just like everyone else, he would have believed her.

Because by that point, nobody wanted to hear the truth anymore.

Mindy leaned back against the headboard, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. Her voice was barely a whisper. ”That was the day I started to lose everything.” Then, after a pause, she added softly, ”But this time... I’ll take it all back.”