BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

No one left the penthouse. Three hours had passed since the first phone call, and the untouched tea on the coffee table had long gone cold.

The servants had replaced it twice, each time setting down a fresh pot with trembling hands, but no one had taken a single sip.

The air inside the living room grew heavier with every passing minute, thick with tension and unspoken frustration. The silence was broken only by the occasional vibration of a phone or the faint clink of porcelain against glass.

One by one, they had all tried to reach her.

Layton called first, his voice clipped and controlled as always, though the faintest edge of irritation had crept into his tone.

When she didn’t answer, Raymond tried, his calls growing more impatient with each attempt.

Drake and Jagger followed, their expressions darkening as the minutes dragged on.

Emily called twice, Missy three times, and even Sonia, who rarely deigned to involve herself in such matters, had tried once.

Every call went unanswered. Every message was ignored.

No one in that room wondered whether Mindy had eaten or where she had spent the night. No one asked if the wound on her forehead had worsened or if she was resting somewhere safe.

Their concern was not for her well-being but for their own reputations.

The only thought occupying every mind in that room was the same: when she came back, she would have to apologize.

She would have to withdraw the news.

She would have to publicly clear Missy’s name. That was all that mattered.

Outside, the sound of an approaching engine broke the stillness. A black sedan pulled into the driveway, its headlights cutting through the late afternoon haze.

The low hum of the engine drew everyone’s attention at once. The room fell silent, and even the servants froze mid-step.

A servant hurried toward the entrance, his footsteps echoing faintly against the marble floor.

Several seconds later, the front door opened.

Mindy walked inside.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t afraid. Instead, she was softly humming a tune under her breath, a faint smile resting naturally on her lips.

Her posture was relaxed, her movements unhurried, as though she had simply returned from a pleasant afternoon with friends rather than walking into a room full of people waiting to condemn her. The calmness in her demeanor was almost disorienting.

That smile—gentle, effortless, and utterly unbothered—ignited the room like a spark in dry tinder.

Before she could even finish taking off her shoes, a sharp crash shattered the silence. A porcelain cup flew past her shoulder and smashed violently against the marble floor, scattering fragments in every direction.

The servants flinched and immediately lowered their heads, their faces pale. No one dared to breathe.

Everyone expected Mindy to jump in fear, to flinch, to stammer out an apology. That was what she had always done. But she didn’t.

She simply looked down at the shattered porcelain, her expression unreadable, then raised her head again.

The smile on her face never disappeared. It was as though she had expected this reaction—or perhaps, as though she had been looking forward to it.

Raymond stood up so abruptly that the sofa behind him shifted backward. His face was red with fury, his voice booming through the room.

”Mindy! How dare you? How dare you do this to your sister? And why did you block every one of our numbers?”

Mindy blinked, her expression one of mild confusion. She tilted her head slightly, her tone calm and almost curious.

”What did I do?”

The simple question nearly made Raymond explode.

”What did you do? You still dare ask?”

”Oh,” she said softly, as if the realization had just dawned on her.

”You mean today’s news?” She nodded thoughtfully, her voice light.

”I simply shared my feelings with my best friend. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides,” she added, her tone turning faintly amused, ”every single sentence written there is true.”

Raymond slammed his hand onto the table, the sound echoing through the room.

”What nonsense! What is all this about a mistress?”

Mindy’s smile deepened, calm and beautiful, but there was something dangerous in her eyes.

”I don’t know,” she said slowly, turning her gaze toward Missy. ”It certainly isn’t me.”

Missy’s face turned pale. Her lips trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes with practiced precision.

”Mom,” she whispered, her voice breaking just enough to sound convincing.

”I don’t understand why Sister hates me so much.”

Emily immediately wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, her expression full of maternal sorrow.

”My poor child,” she murmured, stroking Missy’s hair. ”You’ve suffered enough.”

Watching the flawless performance, Mindy almost wanted to applaud. Instead, she walked across the room with quiet grace and sat down on the sofa opposite them.

She crossed one leg over the other, her posture elegant and composed, and smiled faintly. In that moment, she looked more like the hostess of the house than the accused.

Sonia’s patience snapped first. Her voice cut through the air like a whip.

”Layton! Divorce her immediately! This kind of woman is completely unworthy of becoming a Knight!”

Mindy turned her head slightly, glancing at Layton for the first time since entering the room. Her gaze lingered for only a moment before she reached into her handbag.

”I already did,” she said simply.

The room froze.

She pulled out a familiar document and placed it neatly on the coffee table.

”I signed it yesterday,” she said, her tone calm and matter-of-fact.

”You can ask President Knight.”

Silence fell over the room like a heavy curtain. The Hawthorne family exchanged stunned glances.

Even Emily, who prided herself on maintaining composure, couldn’t hide her surprise. This wasn’t part of the plan.

She had wanted Mindy divorced, yes, but she had expected her to cling desperately to the marriage, to beg, to cry, to humiliate herself.

She hadn’t expected her to let go so easily.

A strange light flickered in Emily’s eyes, a mixture of confusion and calculation. Beside her, Missy’s heart skipped a beat.

Then, slowly, excitement replaced the shock. If Mindy had willingly divorced Layton, didn’t that clear the way for her?

Across the room, Layton stared at the document. His expression remained cold, but something inside him tightened.

For the first time, he genuinely believed that Mindy wanted to leave him.

Drake was the first to recover. ”Call Ana,” he said sharply. ”Tell her to delete the article.”

Jagger nodded in agreement, his tone equally firm. ”Do it.”

Raymond’s face darkened. ”Do it now.”

Mindy smiled politely. ”No.”

The single word hung in the air, soft but absolute.

Raymond’s patience finally snapped. Another porcelain cup flew across the room and shattered against the wall beside her. Fragments brushed against her sleeve, but she didn’t even blink.

Missy sniffled louder, her voice trembling. ”Sister, why are you doing this to me? I’ve never blamed you.”

Emily’s tone turned pleading, though her eyes remained sharp.

”Mindy, I raised you as my own daughter. Why are you treating your sister this way?”

Jagger’s voice rose in anger. ”You’ve gone too far!”

Drake’s gaze was cold, his jaw tight. Only Layton remained silent.

From the moment Mindy had entered, he had barely spoken. He simply watched her, his eyes following every movement, every word, as though trying to find the woman he thought he knew.

Then his gaze stopped on the white bandage beneath her hair. It hadn’t been there yesterday. His brows furrowed. ”What happened to your forehead?”

Mindy looked at him for a second and scoffed.

”Why don’t you ask Mr. Hawthorne? He slapped his own daughter for a step-daughter and left her there to bleed.”

The room went utterly still.

Every eye turned toward Raymond. The servants’ heads dropped even lower.

Mike’s expression remained carefully neutral, but his eyes flickered with something that might have been vindication.

Sonia’s mouth opened slightly, her gaze moving between Mindy’s bandaged forehead and Raymond’s reddening face.

Drake and Jagger both stiffened, their earlier discomfort returning with crushing force. Neither could meet Mindy’s eyes.

Layton’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but something dark crossed his features—whether guilt, anger, or shame, no one could tell.

Raymond’s face turned purple with rage. ”You—”

”I’m not asking Ana to remove anything,” Mindy continued, her voice calm and unwavering. ”The article contains nothing but facts.”

Raymond’s face twisted with rage. He strode toward her, his steps heavy and deliberate. ”You insolent girl!” he shouted, raising his hand high into the air.

Drake stiffened, and Layton’s fingers tightened slightly, but neither man moved. Missy lowered her head, unable to hide the tiny smile curling at the corner of her lips.

Mike, standing quietly near the doorway, saw it clearly. His eyes narrowed.

Just before Raymond’s palm could land, a slender hand shot up and caught his wrist.

Everyone froze. Even Raymond.

For a moment, he simply stared at her, unable to process what had happened. Mindy had stopped him.

Her grip was firm, unyielding. Without a word, she pushed his arm away—not violently, but with enough force to make him stumble a step backward.

The living room fell into complete silence.

Jagger was the first to react. ”How dare you!” he shouted. ”He’s your father!”

Mindy slowly stood up. The smile that had lingered on her lips since she entered the room was gone. Only coldness remained. Her voice was quiet, but it carried through the room with chilling clarity.

”What kind of father raises his hand against his daughter before even asking what happened?” she asked.

Her words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate.

”What kind of father watches his daughter bleed and never asks if she’s hurt?”

She touched the bandage on her forehead lightly, her expression unreadable.

”What kind of father constantly believes outsiders while doubting his own child?

What kind of father encourages his married daughter to give up her husband and tells that husband to marry another woman instead?”

No one spoke. Not a single word.

For the first time, something resembling guilt flickered across Raymond’s eyes. It vanished almost immediately, but it had been there.

Drake lowered his gaze slightly, and Jagger clenched his fists.

Something inside both brothers felt strangely uncomfortable, though neither could name the feeling.

Missy noticed it instantly. Her eyes reddened again, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. ”Sister,” she said softly, her voice trembling with perfect fragility.

”How can you say something so cruel? Everyone here loves you. They’ve always cared about you.”

Like magic, the hesitation in the room disappeared. Raymond’s expression hardened again. Drake’s eyes turned cold once more. Jagger looked at Mindy with renewed anger.

Raymond’s voice rose. ”Why are you creating all this fuss for? You stole her design.

You pushed her and she broke her ankle.

Then why are you throwing a tantrum, huh?

It should be you saying sorry to her. She did absolutely nothing to you.”

Jagger’s voice cut through immediately after. ”You’ve always been jealous of her!”

”This is your fault,” Drake said flatly.

Missy’s voice broke through the tension, her tears flowing freely now.

”There’s nothing between me and Layton,” she cried, her voice trembling. ”We’re just good friends!”

Mindy scoffed, the sound sharp and cutting. ”Good friends?” She tilted her head, her smile cold. ”That’s not what the entire city of Greendale is saying. Didn’t you read the comments?”

Missy’s face paled instantly, the color draining from her cheeks. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Raymond’s voice exploded through the room. ”That’s enough!”

Mindy almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, she reached into her handbag again. This time, she pulled out a thick envelope. Without a word, she tossed it onto the coffee table. The contents spilled out, scattering across the polished surface.

Photographs.

Dozens of them.

The glossy prints slid across the table, fanning out in every direction. Each one captured a different moment, a different event.

Layton and Missy at business galas, charity auctions, award ceremonies, corporate celebrations. Some photos showed them standing shoulder to shoulder, smiling for the cameras.

Others were more intimate, the angles suggestive, the lighting soft. In some, they were walking together, their heads tilted close as if sharing a private joke.

In others, they were entering hotels for business conferences or leaving banquet halls side by side.

Anyone unfamiliar with the truth would have drawn the same conclusion. They looked like lovers.

The room went utterly still.

No one moved. No one spoke. The only sound was the faint rustle of paper as one of the photographs slid off the edge of the table and landed face-up on the floor.

Mindy’s gaze swept slowly across the room. Her eyes lingered on each face—Raymond’s stunned disbelief, Emily’s paling complexion, Drake’s clenched jaw, Jagger’s confusion, Sonia’s outrage barely held in check. Finally, her gaze settled on Layton. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were fixed on the photographs. Then she turned her attention to Missy.

A faint smile curved her lips.

”So,” she said softly, folding her arms across her chest. ”Would someone kindly tell me—who exactly is the mistress?”

The question landed like a thunderclap.

No one answered.