Chapter 4

A tight pressure settled in her chest.

Lizzie took a slow breath, then opened Nathan’s social media again.

The page loaded, and one entry after another filled the screen—his schedule.

[Sharon—checkup]

[Sharon—book flights and hotel]

[Sharon—birthday]

[Sharon—…]

As for Lizzie, only one entry appeared, buried all the way at the bottom.

The day they got married, three years ago.

Lizzie leaned back in her chair, her fingertips turning faintly cold.

She pushed the feeling down and opened another folder, scrolling through Nathan’s recent property purchases and stock trades.

She didn’t understand most of it, but that didn’t matter.

She photographed everything she could find, compiled it into an email, and sent it to Victoria.

The reply came quickly:

[The information is useful. Thank you, we’re making good progress on our end.]

She closed the laptop and stood.

The rain from earlier hadn’t stopped. Lizzie walked to the window and cracked it open slightly.

A gust of cold air, laced with rain, brushed against her face.

It was chilly, but she liked the feeling.

At first light the next morning, Lizzie arrived at Heath’s studio.

It sat on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by greenery. The wind rustled through the vines along the walls.

She had spent nearly twenty years here.

As she walked through it again, it felt like stepping into another lifetime.

Heath was highly respected in the art world, his restoration work nothing short of masterful.

He had planned to retire without taking on more students, yet twenty years ago, he made an exception and took Lizzie in as his final apprentice.

It was partly due to her talent, clear even at a young age, and partly because her parents had come back time and again until he relented.

In Lizzie’s memory, her mother—though often confined at home due to poor health—would sit with her as she practiced, offering quiet guidance that was always precise and cutting.

Later, she got married.

She had once believed there would always be time—that marriage needed care, while dreams could wait.

Then, one by one, the people closest to her were gone.

Her parents. Her childhood friend. Nathan.

Only then did she realize that there was no such thing as “later.”

Lizzie stood where she was and took a deep breath. This time, she wanted to see this path through to the end.

She pushed the door open. A familiar scent of paint and paper drifted toward her.

Heath, wearing reading glasses, was bent over a painting.

At the sound, he looked up and spotted her at once. “You’re here?”

Lizzie looked at her mentor, whom she hadn’t seen in so long, her eyes warming slightly. “I’m back.”

“Then get to work.”

He seemed not to notice her emotion, gesturing her over. “Come take a look at this first.”

Spread across the worktable was a damaged pastoral painting. Its canvas yellowed with age, the colors faded, and several tears split through it.

The moment it came to her craft, Lizzie slipped into focus.

She put on a pair of disposable gloves, adjusted the desk lamp, and tilted her head slightly to study the surface.

“The damage is extensive. Has it been restored before?”

“Looks like it,” Heath snorted. “Poorly done. The color fills are crude, and the canvas has warped.”

Lizzie used a pair of tweezers to lift a raised patch of filler, her brows drawing together slightly.

“We’ll need to soften and remove this first, then repair it along the original grain.”

“Mm.” Heath nodded, satisfied. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

Lizzie smiled faintly. “I’m a little rusty.”

“If you really had, I wouldn’t even let you near this piece.”

He paused, then asked stiffly, “How have you been these past few years?”

After finishing her inspection, Lizzie removed her gloves and tossed them into the bin. “I’ve been fine.”

Heath gave a brief grunt and pulled out another rolled painting. “Start with this one.”

The canvas showed signs of mildew—a small job the studio had taken on.

Lizzie took it and spread it open, her hands steady as she held the edges.

Something in her settled all at once.

She barely spoke for the rest of the day, focused on flattening the canvas, mixing adhesive, testing her brush.

Outside, the sky had turned heavier, the clouds pressing lower than they had in the morning. The forecast said rain would linger for weeks.

In the afternoon, Lizzie glanced out the window and sent Nathan a message: [Helping my mentor with something today. I’ll probably be home late.]

An hour later, a reply came through.

[Nathan: What time will you finish? I can come pick you up.]

She replied with a simple [Okay.]

By the time Lizzie finished packing up her tools, it was already night.

She checked the time.

It was 9:20 p.m.

Half an hour earlier, she had already texted him: [I’m almost done. I’ll wait for you.]

Lizzie figured Nathan would be there soon and headed downstairs.

By then, a light rain had started to fall.

She stood under the awning, watching the trees by the entrance sway in the wind.

At 9:40 p.m., her phone buzzed.

[Nathan: Something came up. Give me a little more time.]

Lizzie replied: [Okay.]

She pulled up her hood, covering half her face. The wind carried a chill.

By 9:50 p.m., the rain began to fall harder, droplets striking in a steady rush.

The damp cold seeped through her collar, creeping down her spine.

She glanced toward the street.

It was empty with no cars in sight.

She slipped her phone into her bag, tugged her hood lower, and stepped out into the rain.

The studio was in a spot where it was hard to get a cab.

Lizzie jogged nearly a kilometer before finally flagging one down.

“Blue Horizon Residence,” she said.

The car door shut, sealing the rain outside.

By then, she was soaked through, shivering in the back seat.

Her phone finally buzzed again.

“Hello,” she answered.

“I’ve got something urgent to deal with,” Nathan said, his voice low.

“Don’t wait for me, just take a cab.”

“Something urgent?” Lizzie closed her eyes, the corner of her mouth lifting in a faint, mocking curve.

“Mm.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “Something came up with Sharon. I’m at the hospital.”

Of course.

Lizzie closed her eyes.

“What happened to her?”

“She was in a car accident yesterday. Just some minor injuries,” Nathan said.

“But the doctor wants to keep her under observation, just in case. Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m not,” Lizzie said with a faint smile, her voice perfectly calm.

“Alright. Text me when you get home. Next time I’ll…”

The rest of his words were drowned out by an announcement over the hospital speakers.

Lizzie didn’t bother to catch it. She ended the call.

When she got back to the house, Mary had already gone to bed.

Lizzie stripped off her damp clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket, then changed into her pajamas.

Her reflection in the mirror looked pale, her head heavy.

She found a box of cold medicine, swallowed a couple of tablets with water, and lay back down.

In the middle of the night, Lizzie woke up burning.

Her body felt like it was on fire, her head pounding, her limbs aching.

She couldn’t even speak properly.

Half-asleep, she turned over and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.

Her hand slipped and the glass fell to the floor with a sharp crash.

A knock sounded at the door.

A second later, it was pushed open.