Broken Heiress: My Paintings Judge the Wicked

My studio's website receives an appraisal order worth 450 thousand dollars all of a sudden.

The original poster of the order claims that this is a pre-wedding gift her fiance has gotten her.

The comment section goes wild instantly.

"If the appraisal fee alone is already 450 thousand dollars, does this mean the painting is worth 100 million dollars? Your husband really is generous to you!"

"I'm so envious of you! You really are lucky to be able to marry such a rich man!"

The poster quickly replies, "Luck has nothing to do with this. I fought for this fate with everything I had. I'll be frank with you; back then, my fiance still had a girlfriend. But everything I want in life will eventually be mine.

"So, I slandered his girlfriend and pretended to be aggrieved just so my fiance's heart would go out to me. As time went on, his love for his girlfriend faded away.

"In the end, all I have to do is lift a finger, and the girlfriend got her limbs crushed. After that, she got discarded like garbage."

The Internet users post their replies of disbelief. There's no way someone will hurt their ex-girlfriend to this degree, after all. They all think that the original poster is being excessively dramatic.

Someone even berates her for throwing a wrench into a relationship. Not only does she not feel ashamed, but she also finds it an extremely proud thing to have done.

Even my assistant, Chiara Belmonte, tells me that this client seems like a nutjob and suggests that I decline this order.

I don't say anything. Instead, I just tap "confirm".

After all, what the poster said is the truth. The ex-girlfriend that she has described in her post is me.

Confronted by the skepticism of netizens, the poster evidently got triggered and uploaded a photo of a ginormous diamond ring. "So what if I'm a homewrecker? A little bit of whining gets me things you peasants couldn't afford even if you broke your back for a lifetime!"

When a netizen asked if she wasn't afraid of drawing a police investigation by being so high-profile, she remained utterly unfazed. "How could you commoners possibly understand the world of the wealthy? In our world, nothing is impossible. If you want to uphold justice, go ahead and be my guest."

Chiara Belmonte, my assistant, could no longer sit still when she read that. "She's way too cocky. At the end of the day, isn't she just a homewrecker? Let's pass on this gig, Sera. 450 thousand dollars is a lot of money, but I get the feeling this client is going to be a total nightmare to deal with."

I, Sera D'Angelo, smiled and shook my head. "We appraise paintings, not people."

Just then, the phone rang, and a familiar female voice came through the other end of the line. "Wow, you certainly don't waste any time taking on jobs. But consider yourself warned; if anything goes wrong with the appraisal, I won't let you off the hook! After all, this painting of mine is a work by a famous artist, and it's worth millions of dollars."

Chiara flushed with anger. I took the phone from her hand and responded softly, "Of course. That's perfectly fine. We'll personally come and collect the painting."

"Well, obviously you're coming in person. Did you think I was going to deliver it to your doorstep?" she sneered before hanging up on me.

A moment later, a photo of the artwork came through. Chiara handed me the phone so I could take a look.

"It really is a painting by that famous artist! It has been missing for ages. So, it was in her fiance's possession all along… No wonder she's so arrogant," Chiara exclaimed.

I, on the other hand, remained silent because I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was a counterfeit. It was the handiwork of my father, Arturo D'Angelo, and it was the very last piece he'd ever produced before he died.

Dad had graduated from one of the world's most prestigious art academies, yet he had never received the recognition he deserved. Ultimately, he'd given up on himself and began replicating masterpieces for the Leone famiglia to sell. He'd built quite a reputation for himself on the black market until he was murdered in cold blood by a private buyer who was seeking revenge.

The year he died, Federico Leone took me into the Leone residenza. He was only the heir to the Don at the time; he didn't have any authority, yet he was the only person I had left to lean on.

As it turned out, the very painting that cost Dad's life had been commissioned by Federico himself. Racked with guilt over what happened to me, he could never bring himself to say no to me; as long as it was something I wanted, he would give it to me. He was a notoriously cold and distant man, yet he would come to my room every single night just to talk to me.

The struggle for power within the famiglia was brutal. Every glass of red wine he drank, every journey he took, was fraught with deadly peril. Yet, he would never refuse any drink I handed to him.

We had absolute faith in one another, offering up the most sacred parts of ourselves. For the longest time, we both thought our bond was built on a debt of gratitude, until one evening, when we both got drunk and realized the way we looked at each other was anything but innocent.

That was the night we crossed the line for the first time. From then on, we no longer suppressed our feelings. We would steal kisses in storage rooms, offices, and stairwells.

He once told me that, in this lifetime, he would only ever have two choices. "Either I give up my position as heir to protect you and elope with you… Or I fight my way to the top and make you my one and only Donna, giving you all the honor and privilege the world has to offer."

I knew the depth of Federico's ambition, so I chose the latter, even if it meant I would face countless perils. However, I never expected that the most fatal blow would come not from a bullet or a kidnapping, but from a woman named Aria Bianco.

It was my birthday banquet, and Aria made her grand entrance in a striking crimson dress, radiating an effortless, magnetic confidence with every step she took. Her breathtaking beauty instantly drew the eyes of almost everyone in the room, save for Federico, who merely spared her a cold look.

Yet, holding a glass of champagne, she weaved past every man who tried to chat her up and walked straight up to Federico. "Signor Leone." Aria was all smiles, as if I weren't even there. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

Federico gave her a cold shoulder and turned his head to look at me, asking softly if I was cold and if I wanted to go upstairs to get a shawl.

Her expression stiffened for a brief moment. Yet, what flashed in her eyes wasn't jealousy; it was a vicious, predatory gleam, like a hunter who had just spotted its prey.

Even though Federico ignored her, she didn't lose her composure for a second. Aria simply smiled, turned on her heel, and glided away to mingle with the other guests.

At that moment, a sense of unease rose in me. I had a feeling she wasn't like the other women who had tried to get close to him before.