BRUSHSTROKES OF REVENGE

The morning air outside the Civil Affairs Bureau was crisp and unnervingly still, as though the city itself was holding its breath. The building’s glass façade reflected the pale sunlight, its sterile calm a sharp contrast to the storm that had raged the night before.

At exactly nine o’clock, a white sports car glided to a stop in front of the entrance. The engine purred once before falling silent. A moment later, the door opened, and Mindy stepped out.

She wore a cream-colored silk blouse tucked neatly into black tailored trousers, the kind that accentuated her slender frame without trying. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement, each step measured, unhurried.

A pair of sunglasses rested on her face, concealing her eyes but not the quiet confidence radiating from her.

She looked radiant—not because of wealth or luxury, but because the heaviness that had once clung to her was gone.

The woman who had once lived in the shadow of others now carried herself like someone who had finally remembered her worth.

Her hair, loose and glossy, caught the morning light as she walked. The faint scent of jasmine trailed behind her. People waiting outside the Bureau turned to look, some out of curiosity, others out of admiration.

She didn’t notice.

Or perhaps she simply didn’t care.

Five minutes earlier, Layton Knight had arrived. He stood near the entrance, his usual composure intact, his expression unreadable.

But when he saw her walking toward him, something in his chest tightened.

Six months.

That was how long it had been since he’d last seen her like this—alive, unburdened, untouchable.

She no longer looked at him as though he were her entire world. She looked at him as though he were a stranger standing in her way.

Untouchable.

The word echoed in his mind like a quiet accusation.

Mindy stopped in front of him, removing her sunglasses with a smooth motion. Her eyes, sharp and calm, met his. ”Shall we?” she asked politely.

There wasn’t even the slightest hesitation in her voice.

Layton didn’t move. ”Let’s talk first.”

Her brows drew together in faint annoyance. ”I don’t have time for chit-chat. I’m sure President Knight is busy too. So let’s not waste each other’s time.” She turned her head toward the Bureau’s glass doors.

”I’m sure you’re dying to marry your sweetheart.”

Layton’s jaw tightened. ”Stop calling her that. There’s nothing between Missy and me.”

Mindy’s lips curved into a humorless smile. ”Right,” she said dryly. ”And pigs fly.”

Behind them, Mike—ever the loyal assistant—fought the urge to cough. He had seen his boss handle billion-dollar negotiations without blinking, but this? This was a different battlefield entirely.

Layton’s voice dropped lower. ”I’m serious.”

”So am I,” Mindy replied, her tone clipped. ”You keep saying there’s nothing. So explain these.”

She unlocked her phone and handed it to him.

Layton took it, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. The contact was fleeting, but it was enough to remind him of how long it had been since she’d allowed him even that much.

The screen lit up.

A private conversation.

Missy.

Message after message filled the screen, each one more poisonous than the last.

Your husband is having dinner with me tonight.

Happy anniversary to you two. Too bad your husband is celebrating it with me instead.

Look how handsome Layton looks beside me. Don’t we look perfect together?

There were photographs—dozens of them. Restaurants. Business dinners. Luxury hotels. Auctions. Charity galas.

In every single one, Layton stood beside Missy, smiling.

Another message appeared. Layton just transferred me another one million dollars. Monthly allowance. Isn’t your husband generous?

And another. He’s taking me shopping tomorrow. Stay home like a good wife.

Mike’s scalp tingled. He swallowed hard, pretending to check his watch. No wonder Miss Mindy had completely given up, he thought. If anyone received messages like these, they’d have walked away too.

Layton continued scrolling. His expression didn’t change, but something inside him shifted. He remembered every event, every photograph.

He had known those pictures existed. What he hadn’t known was that Missy had sent them directly to Mindy.

Why?

Why would she do that?

He stared at the sender’s name again, the familiar contact that had once carried no weight. For the first time, a crack appeared in the trust he had always placed in Missy.

He quietly returned the phone.

Mindy misunderstood his silence completely. A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

”Don’t believe me? You can verify every message. They’re all real. Unlike your girlfriend.”

Layton said nothing.

She tilted her head, her tone deceptively light.

”So enough talking. If you refuse to divorce me, I’ll file for divorce myself. And these—” she tapped the phone ”—will become evidence. I’m sure the court would be very interested.”

Her smile was sweet, but her words were sharp enough to draw blood.

”Maybe I’ll even receive a very generous alimony. After all, you’ve spent quite a fortune on your mistress.”

Mike quietly looked away, pretending to study the Bureau’s architecture. President, he thought grimly, you really walked yourself into this one.

Layton’s gaze lingered on her face. Then, unexpectedly, he said, ”You want Angel Tear back.”

The words hit her like a slap.

Her smile vanished. ”What?”

”Angel Tear,” he repeated.

The name alone was enough to make her chest tighten.

Angel Tear. Her mother’s masterpiece. A ruby-and-diamond tiara Maria Hawthorne had designed by hand, every curve and gemstone placed with love.

It had never been meant for auction. It had been meant for her.

She could still remember sitting beside her mother at the worktable, watching as Maria sketched the design.

The older woman’s hands had been steady, her voice soft. ”One day,” she had said, ”my princess will wear this.”

But that birthday never came.

A few days before she turned sixteen, Missy had ”accidentally” fallen into the swimming pool. As always, the blame had fallen on Mindy. Emily had suggested that Mindy needed to ”learn compassion.” Raymond had agreed.

As punishment, Mindy’s sixteenth birthday gift was cancelled.

Not long afterward, Emily suggested that the Angel’s Tear Tiara, Maria’s most treasured heirloom meant for Mindy, should be kept safely in a bank locker. Raymond, Drake, and Jagger all agreed. No one asked Mindy what she wanted—it was simply taken from her.

Months later, Mindy overheard Missy boasting about it.

”Mom already auctioned the tiara.”

That was how Mindy learned the truth.

Shocked, she confronted Raymond, hoping, just this once, that he would question Emily.

Instead, he frowned at her and said coldly,

”Mindy, stop throwing a tantrum. It’s just a tiara. Emily auctioned it for charity.”

That single sentence shattered whatever little hope she still had. It had never been about the tiara.

It was her mother’s last gift to her... and once again, without asking a single question, Raymond had chosen to believe Emily.

She had cried for two days straight. No one came.

Soon after, her grandparents had taken her away to Ritol.

Over the years, she had searched for Angel Tear everywhere. She had asked Wade for help, used every connection she had. She had even asked Layton once. He had ignored her.

And now, he was using it.

To stop her divorce.

A bitter laugh escaped her throat. ”So this is your trump card.”

She looked up at him slowly, disappointment clouding her eyes. ”Even though I had stopped loving you,” she said quietly, ”I still respected you a little. I was wrong.”

Her voice trembled—not from weakness, but from the effort of holding herself together. ”You knew what Angel Tear meant to me. You were there. You heard my mother. And today, you’re using it to protect Missy.”

Her tone turned cold. ”President Knight, you really are cold-hearted. You and Missy truly deserve each other.”

Mike shifted uncomfortably. Even he, who had seen Layton at his most ruthless, felt a pang of discomfort.

Layton frowned. ”It’s not like that.”

Mindy cut him off. ”Then what do you want?”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Layton spoke. ”I don’t want a divorce.”

For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then she laughed—a sharp, humorless sound that made heads turn.

”So you want me back,” she said. ”To continue being your obedient puppy? Stay inside that penthouse? Cook. Wait for you. Watch you pamper Missy. Pretend nothing is happening. You want me back on your leash.”

Layton’s brows tightened.

Leash. Puppy. Slave.

The words hit harder than he expected. Was that truly how she had seen their marriage? He had never intended it that way. But hearing it now, he couldn’t deny that it sounded exactly like that.

Mindy folded her arms, her expression unreadable. ”Fine,” she said at last. ”I’ll make you a deal.”

Layton’s eyes flickered. ”A deal?”

”I won’t file for divorce,” she said. ”For now.”

He waited.

”But I won’t live in your penthouse. I won’t report where I go. I won’t answer your calls whenever you please. I’ll live my own life. I won’t interfere in yours. And you won’t interfere in mine.”

Her voice was calm, but every word carried the weight of finality. ”If one day I decide to file for divorce again, you won’t stop me.”

Silence.

Layton thought for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said, ”Fine.”

Mike’s head snapped up. He actually agreed?

Layton turned to him. ”Send her Angel Tear’s information.”

Mike blinked. ”Yes, President.”

Mindy didn’t thank him. She simply slipped her sunglasses back on. ”Good.”

Without another glance, she turned and walked away.

The morning sunlight caught her hair, turning it into a halo of gold as she disappeared into the crowd. Her heels clicked against the pavement, steady and unhurried. She didn’t look back once.

Layton watched her until she was gone.

Only then did he speak, his voice low. ”Mike.”

”Yes, President?”

”Investigate Missy. The messages. The photographs. I want everything.”

Mike almost smiled. Finally, he thought. President Knight decided to use his brain.

”Understood.”

As Mike walked away to make arrangements, Layton remained standing outside the Civil Affairs Bureau. The city moved around him—cars passing, people talking, the world continuing as if nothing had changed.

But everything had.

He stood there for a long time, his gaze fixed on the direction Mindy had gone.

He wondered how many things had happened right in front of him that he had never bothered to see.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of jasmine—the same scent that had lingered when she walked past him.

He closed his eyes. He realized that he had been blind for far too long.