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.

From then on, Aria began appearing frequently at events related to the Leone famiglia. Sometimes it was a charity auction; other times, it was an exclusive dinner at the harbor warehouses.

Logically speaking, with her famiglia's status, she had absolutely no business being in those places. Yet, she always found a way. Sometimes she would show up as a plus-one for the scion of another famiglia, and other times she would be delivering confidential documents on someone's behalf.

Like a needle, she threaded herself into the tightest seams of the Leone famiglia. Strangely, she didn't make a single move on Federico. On the contrary, she gifted me rare art anthologies, chatted with me about the Valrosa gallery and stolen famous paintings, and would smile as she praised my work, telling me my paintings had a unique spark and that I would surely make a name for myself one day.

Aria had worn her heart on her sleeve to the point that I had once believed she truly loved art and truly wanted to be my friend. That belief lasted until the day she asked me to meet her down at a pier to do some landscape drawing.

In order to teach her how to paint, I'd packed a massive haul of supplies. However, when I arrived, the place was crawling with mobsters.

Federico was in the middle of a deal that had clearly gone sideways. Chaos erupted as crossfire broke out, and he roared at me to get the hell out of there.

Just then, I noticed the glint of a sniper scope aiming right between his brows. Throwing all caution to the wind, I lunged forward to shield him, only to be violently shoved aside by someone.

By the time I managed to look up, Aria had taken the bullet for him, collapsing into Federico's arms. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at me. "Sera... I thought you were my friend. How could you lure me out here to have me killed?"

Before she could even finish her sentence, she slipped into unconsciousness, and Federico instantly flew into a rage. That day, a fierce battle erupted at the pier; not a single soul from the opposing side made it out alive, but Aria survived.

As we stood outside the emergency room at the hospital, Frederico looked at me coldly. In all the years I had known him, it was the first time he had ever looked at me like that.

"The reason the deal went south today is that someone leaked the location ahead of time and tipped off our rivals." His voice was so cold that it made my entire body freeze up. "Aria just said that you were the one who lured her out there."

My head snapped up, the color completely draining from my face. "I didn't—"

"Sera," he cut me off, a turbulent rage simmering deep in his eyes. "Aside from Aria, did you share this information with anyone else?"

He had already decided I was guilty. My eyes misted over in an instant.

Right then, Aria regained consciousness. The moment she spotted me, she choked out, "Sera, I always knew you suspected that I approached you just to seduce Signor Leone, but I…"

She sniffled, looking even more aggrieved. "I genuinely just admire your artistic talent…"

With every word she uttered, Federico's expression darkened a shade further. The very next second, he actually softened up, which was rare for him. "You should focus on recovering; don't dwell on this anymore. You saved my life today. As a token of my gratitude, I will fully absorb your father's business portfolio."

He paused before casting me another cold look. "As for what Sera did to you, I won't let her off easily."

In an instant, I felt incredibly wronged. "I didn't... It wasn't me, I swear..." Yet, he had turned on his heel and walked straight out of the room.

It felt as though I had been struck by lightning. When I turned back around, I met Aria's face, which was full of mockery.

At that exact moment, the battle lines were drawn. This woman had officially declared war.

This incident drove a wedge between Federico and me. He kept investigating the cause of the failed deal that day, and although he found no concrete evidence linking me to the leak, he quietly changed the passcode to his study, and he never brought up anything related to the famiglia with me again. There were even times when he no longer took me along as his exclusive plus-one to banquets.

To make matters worse, a rumor had leaked through the grapevine, leading the entire famiglia to believe I was the turncoat. When the Capo walked past me, he'd deliberately bump my shoulder and sneer, "A loyal father actually fathered a traitorous daughter. How ridiculous."

I felt incredibly wronged, but when I turned around, I spotted Federico standing not far off, quietly observing the scene. He merely gazed at me for a couple of seconds before turning around and silently vanishing down the hallway.

Back then, I was far too proud to stomach that kind of humiliation. Consequently, I went straight to his quarters that very night and knocked on his door. But there was no one inside.

The butler, Dante Silvestri, walked over and let out a soft sigh. "Signor Leone has gone to the hospital."

My chest tightened. Terrified that something had happened to him, I didn't even bother putting my coat on properly before rushing out into the night toward the hospital. However, the second I pushed open the door to the hospital room, I froze dead in my tracks.

Federico was sitting at Aria's bedside, blowing on a spoonful of soup to feed her. Noticing me burst in, his brows instantly knit together. "Did you follow me here?"

At that exact moment, my emotional dam broke. I felt as though my heart had been thrown to the ground and violently trampled on.

I cried out that Aria had lured me there that day, that she had only ever used me to get to him. Yet, as he listened to my frantic explanations, Federico cut me off coldly. "Your action only makes me realize that Aria was right about you."

I was caught off guard. "What—"

"You've always been bothered by her presence around me, and you've always harbored hostility toward her."

I parted my lips, and my voice trembled as I forced out, "Federico, I've been by your side for a decade… and you'd rather believe her instead of me?"

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, but his resolve didn't waver. "She took a bullet for me, and she's lying here in a hospital bed, yet she's still defending you. Meanwhile, the first thing you do when you burst in is accuse her of having an ulterior motive. How do you expect me to believe you?"

As soon as his words fell, everything I wanted to say died in my throat. All of a sudden, I didn't want to explain myself anymore. So, I turned on my heel to leave.

Just then, a chilling, razor-sharp warning cut through the air behind me. "Sera, stop following me, and don't take my past indulgence of you for granted."

I stopped in my tracks, let out a self-deprecating chuckle, and forced back my tears. I didn't let a single one fall until I finally crossed the hospital threshold, and then, the dam broke.

A torrential downpour hit the city that night. It poured relentlessly during my entire journey home, and I let the storm soak me to the bone as many things finally became clear to me.

When I returned home, without even pausing to change out of my drenched clothes, I booted up my laptop and pulled up the university application page. In the past, because I wanted to stay by Federico's side, I chose to stay out of the spotlight and sacrificed countless opportunities. But now, I only wanted to get as far away from him as humanly possible.

As I compiled my past works into a portfolio, I realized that the vast majority of my paintings featured the exact same man—Federico brooding beneath the shade of a tree, Federico lighting a cigarette at the entrance of a church...

An artist's brush, when guided by love, gives a painting its soul, and these pieces earned me my admission ticket to university. I had been accepted into the world's most prestigious art academy, the same one where Dad had graduated from.

I no longer cared about Federico. Instead, I focused on preparing for the upcoming semester and getting ready to leave.

…

Then, out of the blue one day, Federico pushed open my bedroom door. He placed a stack of documents on my desk and casually remarked, "Haven't you always wanted to study painting?"

I froze for a moment before lowering my head to flip through them.

Listed inside was a row of names. The restorers of Valrosa, the mentors of private Merisian studios, and several legendary artists who only ever existed as whispers in the art world. Every single one of them represented a level of connection that, in the past, I wouldn't have dared to dream of.

"Pick one," Frederico ordered calmly as he stood beside me. "Whoever you want, I'll pull the strings to make it happen."

My hands balled into fists, and I remained silent for a long while.

Once upon a time, I would definitely have been so ecstatic that I wouldn't have been able to sleep all night. However, at that moment, I only found it deeply ironic. He seemed to think that by using just a tiny bit of his power, he could effortlessly wipe the slate clean, erasing every ounce of his cruelty, doubt, and hurt.

But the scars were there, and I couldn't forget them. Besides, I was leaving soon.

That art academy wasn't short of talented teachers. Hence, I pushed the documents back across the table to him and said curtly, "No, thank you. I'm not interested."

Federico frowned. Chalking my refusal up to petty resentment, he merely had someone put the documents away. Then, he left without even asking why I had refused.

I smiled wryly, dismissing the whole incident as nothing more than a minor interlude.

Soon after, I received my acceptance letter. Yet, the moment I took it out of the mailbox, it was suddenly snatched from my hand. "Oh? Royal Artificium. As expected of our resident artist."