BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

Fifteen days slipped by quietly, like pages turning in a book Mindy hadn’t realized she was still reading. The chaos of the gala, the hospital, the confrontation at the penthouse—all of it had begun to fade into the background hum of memory. Now, the world was smaller, steadier, filled with the scent of fabric, the scratch of pencils, and the soft rhythm of recovery.

The Maxine Magazine portfolio would begin in fifteen days. The winner will receive Invitation to Paris Fashion Week, Mindy felt a spark of excitement instead of dread. She had been discharged from the hospital a week ago, against Matthias King’s very vocal protests. He had wanted her to stay until the doctors declared her fully recovered, but she had refused. The sterile walls and the constant beeping of monitors had begun to feel like a cage.

Now, back in her estate, she could breathe again.

The mornings began with sunlight spilling through the tall windows of her studio, the air filled with the faint scent of coffee and paper. Layla Hart had moved in temporarily, turning one of the guest rooms into her own workspace. Wade was away in Ritol City, overseeing a Wilson Pharmaceuticals project, but he had promised to return before the portfolio began.

Layla handled the logistics—meetings, schedules, supplier calls—while Mindy focused on what she did best: creating. Her sketchbooks were filled with flowing lines and bold silhouettes, each design a reflection of her determination to move forward.

”Your stitches are healing well,” Layla said one morning, glancing up from her laptop. ”But if you keep leaning over that table for hours, Matthias will personally come here and drag you back to the hospital.”

Mindy smirked without looking up. ”He can try.”

Layla’s laugh was soft. ”He calls every day. You know that, right?”

As if on cue, Mindy’s phone buzzed. Layla raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

Mindy groaned. ”Speak of the devil.”

”Or the guardian angel,” Layla teased.

Mindy swiped to answer. ”Hello, Matthias.”

His voice came through the speaker, low and steady. ”Good morning. Did you take your medicine?”

”Yes.”

”Breakfast?”

”Yes.”

”Pain?”

”No.”

”Rest?”

”I’m working on the designs.”

A pause. ”Mindy.”

She sighed. ”I’m not straining myself. Layla’s here. She’s acting like a nurse—and she’s stricter than you.”

Layla grinned and mouthed, You’re welcome.

Matthias’s tone softened. ”Good. I just wanted to check.”

”You’ve checked every day,” she said, but there was no irritation in her voice.

”I’ll stop when I’m sure you’re fine.”

She smiled faintly. ”Then you’ll never stop.”

There was a quiet chuckle on the other end, followed by a shift in his tone. ”There’s a party tonight. Maxine Magazine is hosting it for all the participating companies. If you’re feeling well enough, we could go together.”

Mindy hesitated, glancing at Layla. Her friend nodded immediately, eyes bright.

”Alright,” Mindy said. ”Send me the details.”

”I’ll pick you up,” Matthias replied. ”We can go together.”

”Okay.”

When the call ended, Layla leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. ”He’s consistent. And a gentleman.”

Mindy shrugged, pretending to focus on her sketch. ”He’s just being polite.”

”Polite men don’t call every morning to ask if you’ve eaten.”

Mindy didn’t answer. She only smiled faintly and bent over her drawing again.

By evening, the estate glowed with warm light. The air smelled faintly of jasmine from the garden. Mindy stood before her mirror, fastening the clasp of a champagne‑colored dress that shimmered softly under the light. The fabric hugged her waist and flowed down in gentle folds, elegant but understated. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders.

Layla appeared behind her, adjusting an earring. She wore a silver gown that caught the light with every movement, her hair swept into a loose bun. ”You look stunning,” she said.

”So do you.”

Downstairs, the sound of a car engine drifted through the open windows.

Matthias King’s car stopped in front of the estate. Zac Turner was behind the wheel, humming to himself as he parked.

Matthias stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his black tuxedo. The silver mask covered the right side of his face, gleaming faintly under the porch lights. He looked immaculate—tall, composed, every inch the man who commanded attention without trying. Yet his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his jacket.

Zac noticed and grinned. ”You look perfect. Don’t worry. Mindy won’t look at anyone else tonight.”

Matthias shot him a glare. ”Shut up.”

Zac laughed and rang the bell.

A maid opened the door and ushered them inside. ”Please wait in the living room, gentlemen. Miss Wilson and Miss Hart will be down shortly.”

The living room was softly lit, the air scented with vanilla and roses. Matthias stood near the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. Zac wandered to the window, whistling quietly.

Then footsteps echoed from the staircase.

Mindy descended slowly, one hand resting lightly on the railing. The champagne dress shimmered with each step, her hair cascading like ink over her shoulders. For a moment, Matthias forgot to breathe.

When she reached the bottom, he straightened instinctively. ”You look beautiful,” he said quietly.

Mindy smiled. ”Thank you. You look very handsome, Matthias.”

For the first time, he looked almost shy.

Zac cleared his throat dramatically. ”Mindy, you look gorgeous.”

She turned to him with a polite smile. ”Thank you, Zac. You look very dashing yourself.”

Layla appeared next, descending with effortless grace. The silver gown accentuated her height, her poise. She smiled at the two men. ”Gentlemen, you both look very handsome.”

Zac placed a hand over his heart. ”Not as good as you, Miss Hart. Everyone will be looking at you tonight.”

Layla laughed softly. ”You have a way with words, Mr. Turner.”

”Please,” Zac said, grinning. ”Call me Zac.”

Matthias shook his head, muttering something under his breath about hopeless charmers.

They stepped outside together. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain. Both women settled into the back seat, while Matthias took the passenger seat beside Zac.

The ballroom of the Greendale Grand Hotel shimmered like a dream. Crystal chandeliers spilled light across the marble floor, scattering reflections that danced with the rhythm of the soft jazz playing in the background. The air smelled faintly of roses and champagne, laughter blending with the clinking of glasses.

Mindy Wilson entered on Matthias King’s arm, her champagne‑colored gown catching the light with every step. Layla Hart followed, radiant in silver, Zac Turner beside her, his easy grin already earning smiles from passing guests.

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

”Is that Matthias King with Miss Wilson?”

”The man with the mask.”

”She looks incredible.”

Mindy ignored the murmurs, her chin lifted, her expression calm. Matthias stayed close—not possessive, but quietly protective, his silver mask gleaming under the chandeliers.

They mingled among designers, investors, and editors. Layla handled introductions with practiced ease, her laughter light and genuine. Zac hovered near her, offering drinks, whispering jokes that made her laugh.

Mindy found herself surrounded by familiar faces from the fashion world. Some greeted her warmly; others with polite curiosity. She answered questions about her designs, her recovery, her return to the industry. Matthias stayed a step behind, watching her with quiet pride.

A designer from Knight Corporation approached, smiling too widely. ”Miss Wilson, I’ve admired your designs in the competition. They’re exquisite.”

”Thank you,” Mindy said evenly.

The man’s eyes flicked toward Matthias. ”And, I must say, your company’s collaboration with Zeus Vision has everyone talking.”

Matthias inclined his head politely. ”I’m glad to hear that.”

Later, as the evening wore on, Layla and Zac found themselves near the dance floor. Zac offered his hand with a grin. ”One dance, Miss Hart?”

Layla hesitated, then laughed. ”Just one.”

They moved gracefully, drawing a few admiring glances.

Mindy watched them, smiling faintly. Matthias stood beside her, his hands in his pockets.

”They look good together,” she said.

”They do,” he agreed.

The music shifted to a slower rhythm. Couples began to fill the floor.

Matthias turned to her. ”Would you like to dance?”

His hand extended, steady and patient.

After a moment, she placed her hand in his.

They moved slowly, carefully, as if rediscovering the rhythm of something long forgotten. The silver mask caught the light, but his eyes—warm, focused entirely on her—were unguarded.

”You’re still recovering,” he murmured. ”If you’re tired—”

”I’m fine,” she said softly. ”Don’t worry so much.”

He smiled faintly. ”I can’t help it.”

The music swelled as the ballroom doors opened again. Heads turned.

Layton Knight entered, tall and composed in a black tuxedo, Missy Hawthorne holding his arm. Her crimson gown shimmered like liquid fire, her smile sharp enough to cut glass.

Whispers followed them instantly.

”Missy Hawthorne will be representing Rona Design with Knight Corporation.”

”Mr. Knight really indulges her.”

”She’s practically the face of the company now.”

Missy’s lips curved smugly as she soaked in the attention. They’re finally recognizing what I deserve.

Layton didn’t react. His eyes had already found the dance floor.

There, under the chandeliers, Mindy Wilson was dancing with Matthias King.

Mindy’s hand rested lightly in Matthias’s; her smile was soft, unguarded. Matthias’s expression mirrored hers—calm, content, the faintest trace of warmth breaking through his usual reserve.

Missy followed Layton’s gaze and smirked. ”They look good together, don’t they?”

Layton’s jaw tightened. He said nothing.

She tilted her head, studying him. ”You’re quiet.”

He tore his eyes away from the dance floor, his expression unreadable. ”We should greet the Maxine Magazine team.”

He guided her toward a group of editors near the champagne fountain. Missy followed, still wearing that smug smile, glancing back once more at the couple on the floor.

Behind them, the music slowed, the lights dimmed slightly, and the world seemed to narrow to the rhythm of Mindy and Matthias’s steps.

When the song ended, Matthias released her hand gently. ”You should eat something,” he said.

Mindy smiled. ”You sound like Layla.”

He excused himself and walked toward the buffet. The long table gleamed with silver trays—seafood, pastries, delicate hors d’oeuvres. He reached for a serving of prawns, arranging them neatly on a plate.

A voice came from behind him. ”She doesn’t like seafood.”

Matthias turned. Layton Knight stood there, expression calm but eyes shadowed.

Layton picked up another plate, placing a few golden cutlets on it. ”Here. Take these for her. She likes them.”

Matthias studied him for a moment, then nodded once. ”Thank you.”

Layton gave a faint, humorless smile.

Matthias didn’t say anything else. He took the plate and walked away.

Layton remained where he was, watching as Matthias crossed the room and returned to Mindy. She smiled when he handed her the plate, her eyes lighting up briefly.

Layton’s chest tightened. He looked away, forcing himself to join a conversation with the Maxine Magazine representatives.