BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

The laughter between the two friends gradually faded, leaving behind the soft hum of the café and the faint clinking of cups. For the first time in years, Mindy felt genuinely relaxed. There was no need to measure her words or weigh her tone, no need to defend her choices or justify her emotions. Around Ana, she could simply exist—unfiltered, unguarded, and free. The sunlight streaming through the window warmed her face, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe that peace was possible.

Ana, however, had never been one to let peace last too long. Her sharp eyes narrowed suddenly, and the cheerful expression she had worn moments ago vanished. ”Mindy,” she said, leaning forward, her voice low and serious.

”Hm?” Mindy looked up, still smiling faintly.

”What happened to your forehead?”

It took Mindy a second to realize what Ana meant. Her hand instinctively rose to touch the small bandage hidden beneath her hair. The wound had stopped hurting hours ago, and she had almost forgotten it was there. Compared to the pain of being shot in a warehouse in her previous life, a slap and a cut felt almost laughably insignificant. But Ana didn’t know that.

Ana’s face darkened immediately. ”Do we need to go to the hospital?”

”It’s nothing serious,” Mindy replied, trying to sound casual.

”Mindy.” Ana crossed her arms, her tone carrying the same warning note it always had when she was about to scold her.

Mindy couldn’t help but smile. ”You sound like my grandmother.”

”Good,” Ana said flatly. ”Now answer the question.”

Seeing the genuine concern in her friend’s eyes, Mindy’s smile softened. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed this—being worried about, being cared for, not because someone wanted something from her, but simply because they loved her. It was such a simple thing, yet it felt like a luxury she hadn’t known in years.

So she told Ana everything.

She started from the beginning, describing how she had gone to the Hawthorne Mansion that morning, still foolishly hoping to mend her relationship with her family. She told her about the stolen design, the gown displayed proudly in Missy’s studio, and the moment she realized her sister had taken her work again. She recounted Missy’s performance—the tears, the trembling voice, the perfect act of innocence that had fooled everyone. She spoke of the accusations that followed, of Raymond’s disappointment, of Emily’s feigned sorrow, and of her brothers’ disbelief. Then came the staircase, Missy’s deliberate fall, the chaos that followed, and the slap that had sent her crashing into the railing. She described the blood running down her forehead, the silence that followed, and the way everyone had rushed to Missy’s side while she lay there alone. Finally, she told Ana about the hospital, the lies Missy had spun, and the divorce papers that Layton had placed in front of her that night.

By the time she finished, Ana’s expression had gone from disbelief to fury. Her hands clenched into fists on the table, and her voice trembled with anger. ”That old bastard slapped you?” she demanded, loud enough for several customers to turn their heads.

Mindy blinked, startled by the outburst. ”Ana—”

”He actually slapped you?” Ana repeated, her voice rising.

Mindy laughed softly, trying to calm her down. ”I survived.”

”That’s not the point!” Ana snapped, her eyes blazing. ”Who slaps their own daughter?”

Mindy’s smile faltered, turning faintly bitter. Apparently, Raymond Hawthorne did. But as she thought about it, she realized something strange. While telling the story, she hadn’t felt hurt. Not anymore. There was no pain, no heartbreak, no resentment—only clarity. The emotions that had once consumed her had burned away, leaving behind something sharper, colder, and infinitely steadier. It was as if the fire that had destroyed her in her previous life had also purified her, stripping away every illusion she had once clung to.

Ana noticed the change in her expression. Her anger slowly faded, replaced by something softer, more thoughtful. She studied Mindy for a long moment before speaking again. ”You really gave up on him,” she said quietly.

Mindy turned her gaze toward the window. Outside, people walked along the street, laughing, talking, living their ordinary lives. Cars passed by, sunlight glinting off their windshields. The world continued as if nothing had changed, yet for her, everything had. After a moment, she nodded. ”Yes,” she said simply. A genuine smile curved her lips. ”I really did.”

For several seconds, Ana just stared at her, as if trying to decide whether to believe it. Then she leaned back in her chair and exhaled dramatically. ”Thank God,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest.

Mindy rolled her eyes. ”Ana.”

”What?” Ana said defensively. ”I’m serious. I’ve been waiting two years for this miracle.”

That made Mindy laugh, and Ana immediately pointed at her. ”Look! There it is.”

”What?”

”That smile,” Ana said triumphantly. ”You’re smiling more today than you have in the last two years.”

Mindy froze for a moment, then realized Ana was right. Without noticing, she had smiled dozens of times that day. Perhaps freedom truly suited her.

Unfortunately, Ana wasn’t finished. Her cheerful expression faded again, replaced by a look of determination. ”Now let’s discuss the real problem,” she said.

Mindy raised an eyebrow. ”What problem?”

”The design,” Ana said sharply. ”This isn’t even the first time she’s done it.”

Mindy sighed. It really wasn’t. Back in college, Missy had stolen several of her sketches and concepts, presenting them as her own. Each time, Mindy had chosen silence, unwilling to cause conflict. Each time, Ana had nearly exploded.

”I still remember that fashion competition,” Ana said, pointing accusingly. ”That dress design was yours.”

Mindy smiled helplessly. ”It was.”

”And Missy displayed it like she invented clothing,” Ana said, her voice dripping with outrage.

Mindy laughed, and Ana looked offended. ”Why are you laughing?”

”Because you sound ridiculous,” Mindy said, still smiling.

”I am ridiculous,” Ana said proudly. Then her expression softened. ”Mindy,” she said quietly, her tone shifting from anger to sincerity. ”I know how talented you are. No one can compare to your designs. I grew up watching you draw. I’ve seen the things you create. Your mother would be proud of you.”

The mention of Maria made Mindy’s heart ache and warm at the same time. For a brief moment, she could almost see her mother’s smile—the elegant woman who had founded StarLight Gallery, whose name still carried weight in the art world. Maria Hawthorne had been everything Mindy aspired to be: graceful, brilliant, and fearless. The memory of her mother’s laughter, her gentle encouragement, and her unwavering belief in her daughter’s talent filled Mindy with a bittersweet longing.

A small smile touched her lips, but when she looked up again, her eyes were cold and clear. ”I know,” she said.

Ana blinked, surprised by the confidence in her voice. Mindy leaned back in her chair, her expression calm but resolute. ”I’m taking everything back,” she said.

Ana’s eyes widened. ”Everything?”

”Everything,” Mindy repeated. Her voice was steady, her tone unshakable. ”My mother’s gallery. StarLight. My mother’s company. Rona Design. My designs. My reputation. My future.” Each word landed with quiet finality. The old Mindy would never have spoken like this. The old Mindy had spent her life trying to prove herself to people who never cared. This version didn’t need anyone’s approval.

”I’m done giving things away,” she said, meeting Ana’s gaze. ”And I’m done letting them take what’s mine.”

Ana stared at her for a long moment, then a slow grin spread across her face. ”Oh, this is going to be fun,” she said, her voice practically vibrating with excitement.

Mindy laughed softly. ”Ana.”

”I’m serious,” Ana said, looking delighted. ”Greendale is about to become so much more entertaining.”

For the first time in years, Ana felt genuinely excited. The old Mindy had returned—not the obedient daughter, not the neglected wife, not the quiet victim, but the real Mindy. The one who had inherited Maria Hawthorne’s brilliance, the one who could command a room with her presence, the one who had simply forgotten her own worth.

Ana practically rubbed her hands together. ”So,” she said eagerly, ”what do you need me to do?”

Mindy grew thoughtful. After a moment, she said softly, ”I already signed the divorce papers.”

Ana nodded approvingly. ”Good.”

”I don’t want to be a Hawthorne anymore,” Mindy continued. The words came easily, without hesitation or regret. ”I don’t want that name.”

Ana’s smile faded slightly, replaced by quiet understanding. Mindy stared down at her coffee, her voice softening. ”After Mom died, it never felt like home again.”

A silence settled between them, comfortable and heavy with shared understanding. Finally, Mindy looked up. ”I’ll collect my belongings from the penthouse,” she said. ”Then I’ll come find you.”

Ana immediately pointed at herself. ”Excellent. I volunteer my apartment.”

”You have a mansion,” Mindy reminded her.

”Details,” Ana said with a dismissive wave.

Mindy laughed again, and Ana smiled warmly. ”Whatever you decide,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, ”I’m with you. Always.”

The sincerity in her voice made something tighten in Mindy’s chest. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Then, without warning, a memory surfaced—one she wished she could forget.

Ana noticed the change instantly. One moment, Mindy had been smiling; the next, her expression had gone distant, her eyes unfocused. ”What happened?” Ana asked, frowning.

Mindy blinked, forcing the memory away. ”Nothing,” she said quickly.

Ana narrowed her eyes. ”I know that face.”

Mindy laughed softly. ”No, you don’t.”

”I absolutely do,” Ana said, pointing at her dramatically. ”That’s your overthinking face.”

Despite herself, Mindy smiled. Perhaps it really was. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, but Ana didn’t notice the heaviness that lingered behind her friend’s smile. Because at that moment, Mindy wasn’t looking at the cheerful woman sitting across from her. She was remembering another Ana—an Ana from eight years later.

In her previous life, Ana had been twenty-five when she met Yeager Brooks. He was charming, intelligent, and ambitious—the kind of man who could make anyone believe in him. Ana had fallen in love quickly, completely, and without hesitation. She had believed she had finally found the love of her life. Mindy remembered the way Ana had glowed when she talked about him, her laughter brighter, her eyes softer. At the time, Mindy had been happy for her friend. She had congratulated her, teased her, and wished her well. She never imagined that it would become the beginning of a nightmare.

Yeager had been a master manipulator. He had charmed his way into Bose Media, earning the trust of the shareholders and even Andrew Bose, Ana’s father. Slowly, he had positioned himself within the company, taking control piece by piece. By the time the truth surfaced, it was already too late. Yeager had been married all along, with two children and a wife living quietly overseas. Everything he had told Ana had been a lie.

Mindy could still remember the day she saw the headline. Ana Bose, twenty-eight, found dead after jumping from Bose Media Headquarters. She had stared at the article for nearly an hour, unable to process the words. The woman who had once been the brightest light in her life was gone, extinguished by betrayal and despair.

Even now, the memory made her chest tighten painfully. She had been too consumed by her own misery back then, too obsessed with saving a marriage that was already dead. While she had been chasing after Layton, she had lost sight of the people who truly mattered. She hadn’t gone to Ana. She hadn’t helped. She hadn’t even known what was happening until it was too late.

The guilt had never left her. It had followed her through every sleepless night, every regret-filled morning, every moment of her slow, lonely decline. But not this time.

This time would be different.

This time, Ana would live.

This time, Andrew Bose would keep his company.

And this time, if Yeager Brooks dared to appear, Mindy would make sure he regretted it.

She tightened her grip around her coffee cup, her knuckles whitening. A silent promise formed deep within her heart—not to Layton, not to the Hawthorne family, not even to revenge, but to the friend sitting across from her. The friend who had never abandoned her, who had stood by her even when she didn’t deserve it.

This time, she would protect Ana.

And heaven help anyone who tried to stop her.