Chapter 5

Scarlett's POV

The vast backstage area of the auction house fell dead silent.

The torn *Sunflowers* lay quietly on the cold floor like two useless rags. The frayed threads along the edges curled up hideously, as if silently protesting the senseless violence that had just occurred.

Julian dusted off his hands as if he had touched something filthy. Looking down at my stiff, frozen body, his lips curled into a wicked sneer. "Since it wasn't a gift for me, then this trash has no reason to exist. Scarlett Sanders, you brought this on yourself."

With that, he turned around ruthlessly, threw an arm around Chloe—who was snickering at his side—and strode out of the auction house.

I didn't chase him, nor did I cry. Like a puppet that had lost its soul, I slowly knelt down, carefully gathered the two torn halves of the painting, and cradled them in my arms. The vibrant yellow of the canvas stung my eyes. This was the last shred of warmth my mother had left me, yet I had brought it straight to the devil.

"Ms. Sanders..." An auction house staff member approached me, looking highly uncomfortable. "The gavel has fallen on this piece. Even though it has been destroyed, according to our policy, you are still required to pay the twelve million dollars."

"I know," I said, my voice terribly hoarse, completely flat.

I numbly followed the staff to complete the payment. The balance in my bank account was instantly wiped clean. Before leaving, I paused and looked at the security camera in the corner of the lobby. My voice was frighteningly calm. "Please copy the surveillance footage of the hallway from just now and give it to me."

The staff member hesitated for a second, but under my hollow, dead gaze, they nodded anyway.

Clutching the bag containing the USB flash drive and the ruined painting, I went back to the Sanders estate.

In the study, Arthur Sanders looked at my paper-white face, heartbroken beyond measure. He pushed a brand-new passport and visa toward me, his voice gentle. "Scarlett, your visa has been approved, and your flight to France is booked for next week. I've already had someone arrange a house and a school for you over there. You can leave whenever you are ready."

I stared at the dark cover of the passport. Finally, a ripple of emotion broke through my hollow eyes. I reached out, gently tracing the edge of the booklet as if touching the key to my rebirth.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Before I go, I want to meet Lily to say goodbye."

Lily was my only true friend over the years, and the only person who had stood firmly by my side when the entire world turned against me.

That night, I went to an upscale, highly private restaurant in New York to meet her. Pushing open the door of the private room, I found not only Lily, but also her older brother, Tristan Vance.

Tristan was a gentle, soft-spoken man who wore glasses. He had always taken good care of me since we were kids. Seeing how thin and exhausted I looked, a flicker of heartache crossed his eyes.

"Scarlett, eat some more. You're far too thin." Halfway through dinner, Tristan naturally picked up a piece of deboned fish and placed it gently in my bowl, his eyes dripping with warmth and tenderness.

I was just about to say thank you when the door of the private room burst open with a deafening bang!

*Crash!*

The heavy solid wood door was kicked open violently from the outside, slamming hard against the wall.

The three of us startled simultaneously. I looked up and saw Julian Foster. He looked like a demon crawling out of the depths of hell—his eyes bloodshot, his entire body radiating a terrifying, violent aura. He stared dead at the piece of fish in my bowl, and then at Tristan’s fork, which he hadn't even had time to pull back.

"Julian Foster, have you lost your mind?!" Lily bolted upright, snapping in fury.

Julian completely ignored her. He lunged forward and flipped the dining table right over. With a deafening crash of shattering plates and glasses, scalding hot soup splashed all over the floor.

"I'm insane?!" Julian suddenly grabbed Tristan by his collar, lifting him bodily, and slammed a heavy fist right into Tristan's face. "Scarlett Sanders, is this why you were in such a hurry to call off the engagement?! Using my money to buy a painting to fund another man, and now you dare to play house with him right in front of me?!"

Tristan's mouth burst open, bleeding as his glasses flew across the room. He fought back with everything he had, but he was absolutely no match for Julian in his state of primal rage, taking several heavy blows in quick succession.

"Stop it! Julian, stop it!"

I lost my mind completely. Throwing caution to the wind, I lunged forward, locking my arms around Julian’s swinging arm, and bit down on his wrist as hard as I could.

The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. Julian snarled in pain and shook me off violently. I stumbled, crashing to the floor, my palm scraping across the broken shards, slicing a deep, bloody gash into my skin.

"Julian Foster, you are sick!" I screamed, scrambling up from the floor. My hair was a disheveled mess, my eyes bloodshot as I shrieked at him, "I bought that painting with my own money! I called off the engagement because I am sick and tired of your torture! I don't owe you a single damn thing!"

I pointed a trembling finger right at his nose, tears finally spilling over—tears of pure, unadulterated despair. "Julian Foster, hear me loud and clear: I do not love you anymore! In this lifetime, and in the next, I never want to have anything to do with you again! You make me sick!"

Julian's expression twisted into something monstrous. Like a beast whose sore spot had been trampled on, he pointed back at me and roared, "You don't love me? You think I give a damn about your love?! Scarlett Sanders, in my eyes, you are worse than a whore! I have never loved you. A cheap, worthless woman like you deserves to be played!"

Having spat out those words, Julian suddenly turned on his heel and stormed out the door, as if he were trying to run away from something.

The next day, the sky was heavy with dark clouds, and the air carried a suffocating, oppressive humidity.

Between the drama from the night before and the relentless stress of the past few days, my head felt like it was splitting in two. Not wanting to worry my father, I drove out alone toward a winding mountain road in suburban New York, hoping to get some fresh air and clear my head at the private members-only cafe on the peak.