BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

The night had already been perfect. Mindy and Ana were still laughing as they made their way toward the private elevator that would take them to their reserved room on the second floor.

The music pulsed through the marble floors, the air smelled faintly of champagne and citrus.

Then a shrill voice sliced through the music.

”Ladies and gentlemen!”

The chatter inside the Nightingale Club died instantly. Heads turned toward the small performance stage near the bar. Standing there, microphone in hand, was Zara Anderson—Greendale’s self-proclaimed socialite and part-time chaos enthusiast.

Her sequined dress caught the light like a disco ball, and her smile was the kind that made people instinctively check their wallets.

Ana groaned. ”Oh no. The peacock speaks.”

Zara’s voice rang out, syrupy and smug. ”We have a hidden talent among us tonight!” She paused dramatically, scanning the crowd before her gaze landed squarely on Mindy.

”Miss Mindy has graciously agreed to sing a song for everyone!”

The words hit like a cymbal crash. Every head turned toward Mindy.

Ana’s expression darkened so fast it could have caused a solar eclipse.

”What nonsense are you talking about?” she snapped, marching forward.

”When exactly did my friend agree to sing? Because I was standing next to her the entire time, and I don’t recall any spontaneous karaoke contracts being signed.”

Zara tilted her head, feigning innocence. ”Oh? I must have misunderstood then.” Her smile widened, sharp as glass. ”I thought Miss Hawthorne would love to perform.”

A few people chuckled. Others exchanged curious looks. Everyone in Greendale’s upper circle knew Zara Anderson—and they all knew the scandal that had surrounded the Hawthorne family six months ago.

Ana folded her arms. ”You must have misunderstood a lot of things in life, Zara. Like the concept of boundaries.”

The crowd tittered. Zara’s smile faltered for half a second before she recovered.

Behind her, Missy stood with Sheila, Harper, Rain, and the rest of her entourage, wearing an expression of delicate concern.

”Sister,” she said softly, lowering her eyes. ”You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to. Zara only wanted everyone to have fun.”

Anyone who didn’t know the truth would have thought she was trying to protect Mindy.

Ana almost laughed from sheer disbelief. ”What a performance,” she muttered. ”You people are unbelievable. Do you rehearse this fake humility, or does it come naturally?”

Missy blinked innocently. ”I... I really didn’t mean anything...”

Ana rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach. ”Save the innocent act. You’ve performed it for years. Honestly, if fake tears were currency, you’d be richer than your father.”

A few people near the bar snorted into their drinks.

Before Ana could continue, Zara smiled again, her tone dripping with false sweetness. ”I heard your mother used to sing beautifully.”

The words were casual. But to Mindy, they landed like shards of ice.

Her smile vanished. The warmth in her eyes disappeared.

The air around her seemed to shift—subtle, but unmistakable. Even the music in the background felt quieter, as if the entire club sensed the sudden drop in temperature.

Ana’s laughter died instantly. She glanced at her best friend and saw it—the stillness, the quiet storm behind Mindy’s calm expression.

Maria Hawthorne.

That was the one name no one had the right to mention carelessly. Especially not people like Missy.

Mindy slowly lifted her gaze toward Zara, then toward Missy. Their eyes met across the room. Missy’s expression was soft, sympathetic even. But Mindy saw only calculation.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, almost too calm. ”What would I get if I sing?”

The question caught everyone off guard.

Zara blinked. ”What?”

”You asked me to sing,” Mindy said, tilting her head slightly. ”What do I get?”

”It’s only one song,” Zara replied, her tone defensive.

”Why would I sing for free?” Mindy asked. ”Are you the Queen of Greendale?”

The crowd erupted into laughter. Someone actually choked on their drink.

Zara’s face stiffened. ”You—”

Mindy interrupted smoothly. ”Or perhaps you own this club? No? Then why should I perform simply because you asked?”

Several businessmen nearby exchanged amused glances. One of them murmured, ”She’s got a point.”

Zara’s expression soured.

”Fine,” she said through gritted teeth.

”If everyone applauds after your performance, I’ll apologize publicly. And from today onward, I’ll call you... My Queen.”

The crowd gasped. Whispers spread like wildfire.

Ana crossed her arms, smirking. ”Now we’re talking.”

Zara’s eyes gleamed. ”But if nobody applauds,” she continued, ”you apologize to Missy. And from today onward, you’ll call her Queen.”

Missy gasped theatrically. ”Zara! Don’t! It’s just a misunderstanding!”

Ana snorted. ”If you smile any harder, your face might split.”

Missy froze, her expression faltering for the first time.

Mindy couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Even now, Ana never failed to make her laugh.

She looked back at Zara. ”Childish,” she said softly. ”But I’ll play.”

Without another word, she walked toward the stage.

The entire club fell silent.

Unbeknownst to anyone, a young waiter near the back had already started a livestream on his phone. He’d only meant to capture Zara Anderson interacting with guests—after all, Zara’s minor celebrity status guaranteed views. Within seconds, thousands of people joined the stream.

『Zara is live?』

『What’s happening?』

『Who’s the woman in the red dress? She’s stunning!』

Comments flooded the screen, but no one inside the club noticed.

Mindy stepped onto the stage and accepted the microphone. The spotlight bathed her in gold. For a few seconds, she stood there silently, her crimson dress glowing against the dark backdrop. Then she smiled—not at the audience, not at Zara, not at Missy. She looked upward instead.

”This song,” she said softly, ”is for my mother. I hope, wherever she is, she knows her daughter still misses her.”

The smile in her eyes turned impossibly gentle.

Silence filled the room.

Then the music began—soft, melancholic, haunting.

The first note left her lips.

Her voice was clear, gentle, and heartbreakingly sincere. There was no showmanship, no unnecessary technique. Just emotion—raw, unfiltered, and real.

It was as though every lyric carried years of love, years of regret, years of missing someone who would never return.

The noisy club fell into absolute silence. Even the clinking of glasses stopped. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

Everyone simply listened.

Upstairs, Drake froze. His fingers tightened around his wine glass until his knuckles turned white. His breathing grew uneven. That song—he remembered it.

Their mother used to sing exactly like this.

Beside him, Jagger lowered his head. His eyes glistened. Unlike Mindy, he had been old enough to remember Maria clearly. He remembered sleeping in her lap, her warm hands stroking his hair, her gentle voice humming lullabies that made the world feel safe.

For years, he had convinced himself he’d forgotten. But hearing Mindy’s voice brought it all back—the scent of their mother’s perfume, the softness of her laughter, the way she used to hum while cooking breakfast.

Across the room, Layton sat motionless. He had known Mindy for almost his entire life. Yet he had never known she could sing like this.

No.

Perhaps he had simply never cared enough to ask.

Meanwhile, the livestream exploded.

『WHO IS SHE??』

『This voice is unreal!!』

『She’s prettier than actresses!』

『Someone sign her immediately!!』

Thousands of comments poured in every second. Then one viewer typed—

『Wait... isn’t this Mindy Hawthorne? The daughter the Hawthorne family publicly abandoned six months ago?』

The comment spread like wildfire.

Within seconds, the chat was flooded.

『No way!』

『THAT Mindy Hawthorne?』

『The Hawthorne family abandoned someone like HER?』

『She’s gorgeous!』

『Look at her elegance...』

『What were they thinking?』

Public opinion began to shift in real time.

Inside the club, the final note faded into silence.

For a long moment, no one moved. The entire Nightingale Club seemed to hold its breath.

Then—

Clap.

One pair of hands broke the silence.

It was Drake. His expression remained cold, but he kept clapping.

Another joined. Then another.

Within seconds, thunderous applause filled the room. People stood. Some whistled. The applause refused to stop.

Zara’s face turned deathly pale. Missy’s fingernails dug into her palms. Neither of them had expected this. Instead of humiliating Mindy, they had handed her the stage—and she had conquered it effortlessly.

Ana was the first to reach her. She threw an arm around Mindy’s shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. ”My best friend,” she declared proudly, ”is officially the coolest woman in Greendale.”

Mindy laughed softly. The sound was light, carefree—completely different from the woman she had once been.

Then she looked toward Zara. ”Our bet.”

Zara’s lips trembled. Before she could speak, Missy hurried forward. ”Mindy, she was only joking. There’s no need to—”

Ana raised an eyebrow. ”Oh? So bets only count when you people win? Interesting logic.”

Mindy’s gaze never left Zara. ”If the Anderson family cannot keep a promise,” she said calmly, ”perhaps they shouldn’t make one.”

Her tone was polite, but every word landed like a slap.

Zara’s face burned with humiliation. She looked around at Greendale’s elite, realizing there was no escape. If she refused, tomorrow everyone would know. Her family’s reputation would crumble.

With trembling lips, she lowered her head. ”I’m... sorry.” Her voice was barely audible.

Mindy smiled politely. ”I couldn’t hear you. Weren’t you much louder when you called me onto the stage?”

Soft laughter rippled through the crowd.

Zara clenched her fists, tears filling her eyes. Finally, she bowed deeply. ”I’m sorry, Miss Mindy. And... My Queen.”

Ana beamed. ”There. Much better.”

The crowd erupted into applause again, this time mixed with laughter. Someone shouted, ”Long live the Queen!” and the room roared.

Mindy simply nodded, her expression serene. Then her gaze shifted briefly toward Missy.

”Choose your company carefully,” she said quietly. ”Some people don’t mind watching others burn—as long as they stay warm.”

Missy’s expression froze.

Before anyone could respond, Mindy linked arms with Ana. The two women laughed as they walked toward the private elevator.

Neither of them looked back.

Behind them, the applause finally faded.

But Greendale would not stop talking about that night for a very long time.

Later, as the livestream replayed across social media, the comments continued to pour in.

『She sang for her mother... that’s heartbreaking.』

『She’s not just beautiful—she’s powerful.』

『Queen Mindy indeed.』

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Mindy sat in her private room with Ana, sipping champagne and laughing until her sides hurt.

Ana raised her glass. ”To revenge served with perfect pitch.”

Mindy clinked her glass against hers. ”And to never singing for free again.”

They both laughed.

Outside, the city buzzed with gossip, admiration, and awe.

Inside, two women toasted to freedom, friendship, and the sweet sound of poetic justice.