BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

The hospital was quiet, the kind of silence that only existed between midnight and dawn. Machines hummed softly, monitors blinked in rhythm with sleeping hearts, and the faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air.

Inside Room 304, Mindy slept soundly. The pain medication had finally dulled the ache in her stomach, pulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep. Her breathing was steady, her face calm.

The door opened without a sound.

A tall figure stepped inside, his movements deliberate, his shadow stretching across the floor. The faint light from the window caught the edge of his jaw, the glint of a watch. He paused beside the bed, looking down at her.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a quiet sigh, he reached down and lifted her carefully into his arms.

Mindy stirred but didn’t wake. The sedatives were strong; her head fell against his shoulder. He adjusted his grip, mindful of the bandage at her waist, and carried her out of the room.

The hallway was empty. The elevator doors opened with a muted chime, and moments later, the hospital swallowed the sound of the departing car.

When Mindy opened her eyes, the world felt wrong.

The ceiling wasn’t white. It was cream, with the faint shimmer of a chandelier she knew too well. The sheets beneath her were silk, not hospital cotton. The air smelled faintly of cedar and expensive cologne.

Her heart lurched.

She sat up too fast, pain stabbing through her abdomen. ”Ow—”

Her hand flew to her stomach. The bandage was still there. The IV was gone. On the bedside table sat a neat row of her medications, a glass of water, and a vase of white roses.

White roses.

Her eyes darted around the room. The tall windows, the marble floors, the familiar painting above the headboard—she knew this place.

The Knight Penthouse.

Her and Layton’s old bedroom.

”What the hell...” she whispered.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the movement tugged at her stitches. The hospital gown rustled around her knees. She looked ridiculous—barefoot, bandaged, and standing in a penthouse she’d sworn never to enter again.

The door opened.

Layton Knight stepped in, perfectly composed, carrying a tray of breakfast. Steam rose from a bowl of soup, the scent of buttered toast filling the air.

He looked at her, calm as ever. ”Why are you standing? Lie down. Your stitches aren’t healed yet.”

Mindy blinked at him, disbelief flooding her face. Then she shouted, ”Why am I here? Did you kidnap me?”

Layton set the tray down beside the bed, unbothered. ”I didn’t kidnap you. You’re my wife.”

”Ex‑wife,” she snapped.

He ignored that. ”I spoke to the doctor. There were no complications. You can rest at home.”

”Home?” she repeated, incredulous. ”This isn’t my home. Have you lost your mind?”

”First, lie down.”

”Shut up!” she yelled. ”Why am I here?”

Layton sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ”This is our home. We’re still married. I wanted to talk to you and clear things out.”

”Where’s my phone?”

”You’ll get it later. Eat first. You need your medicine.”

Mindy stared at him like he’d grown two heads. ”Are you crazy? Give me my phone back.”

”Lie down. Have breakfast and medicine. Then I’ll return it.”

She glared at him for a long moment, then exhaled sharply. ”Fine. I’ll play.”

She eased herself back onto the bed. Layton adjusted her pillows, his movements careful, almost gentle. He placed the tray in front of her.

”I just wanted to talk to you,” he said quietly.

Mindy didn’t answer. She picked up the spoon and stirred the soup, watching the steam curl upward.

”I’m sorry,” Layton said suddenly.

The spoon froze mid‑air.

”I shouldn’t have given you the divorce papers.”

Mindy blinked. For a moment, she thought she’d misheard him. Layton Knight didn’t apologize. Not to anyone.

She schooled her expression, hiding the flicker of surprise. ”You’re sorry?”

He nodded once. ”Yes.”

He reached out, hesitating before his fingers brushed hers.

”Don’t touch me,” she said sharply. ”I find it disgusting.”

He withdrew his hand, the faintest sigh escaping him. ”You being here is already more than I deserve. I won’t push further.”

”Good,” she said flatly.

”There’s nothing between me and Missy,” he continued.

Mindy rolled her eyes. ”If you keep talking nonsense, I’m not interested.” She took a sip of soup.

”I mean it,” he said. ”There’s nothing between us. I don’t love her. I only felt gratitude. Nothing else.”

She laughed, low and bitter. ”Only a fool would believe you, President Knight. Whether it’s love or gratitude, I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to be with you.”

Layton’s jaw tightened. ”If you want to marry her,” she added, ”you have my blessing. I don’t love you anymore.”

He looked at her, something raw flickering behind his calm mask. ”Why?” he asked quietly. ”Why do you hate me so much? What did I do?”

Mindy’s eyes narrowed. ”You really don’t know?”

”Is it the divorce?” he pressed. ”I told you I never wanted it. I handled things badly. I should have asked you first.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. ”You think this is about the divorce?”

He frowned.

”You never wanted to marry me,” she said. ”You always loved Missy. So why say no to divorce now? You and she deserve each other—a cold‑hearted fool and a thief. Perfect pair.”

Layton flinched. ”No. Something happened that day. You changed. Tell me what it was.”

Mindy stared at him, her voice steady but sharp. ”I realized my worth in your eyes. It will never compare to Missy’s place in your heart. I don’t want to be a doormat. I don’t want to be someone you can step on whenever you please. I don’t want to be blamed for things I never did just because your sweetheart cried.”

Layton looked at her, seeing the pain beneath her calm. He didn’t understand what had broken her so completely, only that he had been the one holding the hammer.

”Tell me what it is,” he said softly. ”I can fix it.”

Mindy’s lips curved into a cold smile. ”You want to fix it? Fine. Tell me this—where were you on our anniversary?”

He blinked. ”What?”

”Where were you on February 21st?” she repeated. ”Why did you give Missy one million dollars every month but never gave me a single penny?”

Layton froze.

Her voice rose, trembling with fury. ”Your wife got nothing. Not a single cent. I had to use my own savings, my own money from my paintings, while you showered your sweetheart with millions. You gave her everything, and me—nothing.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came.

”Why did you help Missy with Maxine Magazine when you knew she stole my designs? Why did you ask for a divorce without even saying anything? Why did you take her to every public event while I stayed home like a ghost?”

Layton’s throat worked, but no words came out.

Mindy’s voice softened, almost wistful. ”Do you remember that night? I do.”

Flashback

The apartment had smelled of rosemary and garlic. Mindy had spent the entire afternoon cooking—his favorite dishes, the ones he always said reminded him of home. The table was set with candles and wine, the lights dimmed just enough to make the city outside look like a sea of stars.

She’d worn the blue dress he liked, the one he’d once said made her look like the sky before dawn.

He had promised he’d come home early.

At seven, she checked the clock. At eight, she called him. No answer.

By nine, the food had gone cold.

She called again. And again. Each time, the call went unanswered.

At ten, her phone buzzed. A message.

From Missy.

Attached was a photo—Layton and Missy at a restaurant, laughing over wine. His hand rested casually on the table near hers. He was smiling.

Mindy stared at the screen until her vision blurred.

Still, she waited.

She reheated the food, lit the candles again, and sat at the table. The clock ticked past midnight. The candles burned down to stubs.

At some point, exhaustion won. She fell asleep at the table, her head resting beside the untouched plates.

When she woke, the food was cold again, the candles dead. The apartment was silent.

He never came home.

The next morning, she asked him where he’d been.

”There was an urgent meeting,” he said. ”I forgot.”

Forgot.

Their anniversary.

Her heart.

Everything.

Back in the present

Layton sat frozen, the color draining from his face.

Mindy smiled faintly. ”What happened, President Knight? You said you’d fix it.”

He had no answer.

”I will never trust anything you say,” she said quietly. ”You and your sweetheart can rot together. I don’t care.”

Layton’s eyes flickered, his composure cracking. He stood abruptly. ”Have your breakfast and your medicine. I’ll come back in an hour.”

He left before she could reply.

The door clicked shut.

Mindy stared after him, then muttered, ”My phone.”

Ten minutes later, the door opened again. A maid entered, carrying a sleek new phone still in its box.

”Mr. Knight asked me to give you this,” she said timidly.

Mindy took it, arching an eyebrow. ”A new phone? How thoughtful. Psychopath.”

The maid fled.

Mindy powered it on. No contacts, no messages—but she didn’t need them. She remembered every number that mattered.

Her fingers flew across the screen.

She opened the messaging app, typed carefully, and smiled.

She hit send and watched the message deliver.

A slow, satisfied smirk curved her lips. ”Let’s see how you handle this, Missy.”

Then she dialed another number.

”Ana,” she said when the line connected. ”You won’t believe this. Layton Knight kidnapped me from the hospital.”

Ana’s gasp was audible. ”He what? Matthias is going crazy looking for you! He’s in the control room checking the security footage right now.”

Mindy smiled, leaning back against the pillows. ”Good. Tell him to come to the penthouse and get me.”

Ana’s voice was half‑horrified, half‑amused. ”You sound way too calm for someone who’s been abducted.”

”I’m medicated,” Mindy said dryly. ”And mildly entertained.”

She hung up, staring at the ceiling.

The silence of the penthouse pressed around her, familiar and suffocating. But this time, she wasn’t the same woman who had once waited here for a man who never came home.

This time, she wasn’t waiting.

She was planning.

And somewhere in the city, a silver‑masked man was already on his way.

Mindy smiled faintly. ”Let’s see how you handle this, President Knight.”

Outside, the morning sun rose over Greendale, gilding the skyline in gold. Inside the penthouse, the woman he’d once taken for granted reached for her glass of water, her expression calm, her eyes sharp.

The game had changed.

And this time, she wasn’t playing to lose.