Chapter 4

With every word I spoke, Luke's face turned a shade paler.

Not wanting to drag this out any longer, I lay back down. I needed to recover my strength so that I could leave this mess behind.

Seeing that I'd fallen silent, Luke seemed to relax a little. He came over and straightened the blanket around me.

"Cynthia, just rest well. Once you're better, we'll go home and forget all this, okay?"

I closed my eyes and didn't answer.

In the days that followed, I stopped resisting and asking for a divorce. Luke thought I'd finally given in, so he let his guard down.

The day I was discharged from the hospital, I froze the moment I got home.

The watercolor painting that had always hung on the wall by the entrance—My father, Owen Roth, had drawn it for me before he died—was gone.

"Where's the painting?" I asked in a trembling voice.

Luke's eyes flickered away.

"Oh, that… A few days ago, an important client came by. He really liked it, so I lent it to him for a while."

"Which client?"

"Why do you need to know? He'll return it in a few days," he retorted impatiently.

Just then, his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID, his expression shifting, and stepped out onto the balcony to take the call.

I followed him. Standing behind the door, I clearly heard him say in a lowered voice, "Ruby, didn't I tell you not to contact me for a few days?"

"What? The painting got stained? How?"

"Alright, alright, don't cry. It's just a picture. If it's ruined, it's ruined. I'll figure something out. Don't overthink it. Just focus on getting better."

My mind went blank, a deafening buzz drowning out everything.

After hanging up, Luke turned and immediately met my cold, despair-filled eyes. He nearly jumped out of his skin.

"C-Cynthia, you heard all that?"

Instead of answering, I simply turned and stormed into the kitchen.

When I came back out, there was a knife in my hand. The moment Luke saw it, his face went pale.

"Cynthia, calm down! What are you doing?"

He stumbled backward in fright, widening the distance between us.

I said nothing. Instead, I just took one step after another, drawing closer to him with the knife in my hand.

One thought consumed me. "Kill him, then Ruby."

Just as I was within striking distance, the doorbell rang. Its shrill sound pulled me back from the edge of madness.

Seizing the opportunity, Luke dashed over to open the door.

Standing at the entrance was Ruby. She was carrying a framed piece, wearing that fake apologetic look on her face.

"Luke, I'm so sorry. I brought the painting back. I didn't mean to stain it."

Her eyes shifted, and then she saw the knife in my hand and Luke's pale face.

Her expression instantly twisted in terror.

"Cynthia, you—"

Before she could finish, I'd already lunged forward.

Luke seized the moment while my focus was on Ruby and snatched the knife from my hand.

Seeing the madness in my eyes, Ruby stumbled backward and fell to the floor. The frame slipped from her grasp and shattered on the ground.

I looked down. A large, glaring coffee stain had seeped into the paper like an ugly scar. That serene, graceful landscape was ruined beyond recognition.

I couldn't hold back any longer. I grabbed the porcelain vase from the entryway cabinet and hurled it at Ruby's head.

Ruby shrieked, blood instantly streaming down her forehead.