Emma stared at the divorce papers that Michael had just signed, then quietly picked them up and headed out to find a lawyer.

Just as she stepped out of the study and was about to return to the bedroom to pack her things, her phone rang again.

“Hello? Is this Mrs. Grant? Would you like to pick up the dress you ordered, or should we deliver it to your home?”

Hearing the voice on the line, Emma suddenly remembered—last month, she had ordered a custom dress for tonight’s blood cancer charity gala.

Back then, she was still desperately searching for a matching blood donor for Daniel. Mr. Gary Snyder, the gala organizer, had gone to great lengths to help.

Even though Daniel was now gone, she still felt the need to personally thank Mr. Snyder.

Emma picked up the dress and brought it home. Soon enough, it was time to attend the gala.

Wearing the elegant gown, she arrived at the venue—never expecting she would run into Michael and Samantha at the cocktail party.

“Michael, I heard that Master Henry’s painting Stars is part of tonight’s auction. I’ve always loved his work! Can you get it for me as a birthday present?”

Samantha approached, clinging affectionately to Michael’s arm, speaking like a spoiled child.

“Of course. You’re the birthday girl tonight—you get whatever you want.”

Michael paused and glanced at Emma, who was standing not far away. Then he smiled and tapped Samantha’s nose playfully, indulging her.

But their conversation struck Emma like a thunderclap.

Henry was her father. Stars was a painting he had given her as a gift for her tenth birthday.

She was certain Stars had been at home all along—how could it now be part of an auction?

She didn’t stop to think. She strode straight over to them and grabbed Samantha’s dress.

“You… what did you just say?”

Perhaps she had walked too fast—she accidentally knocked over a nearby glass of red wine. The liquid splashed all over Samantha’s skirt.

“Ah! Mrs. Grant, what are you doing?!”

Samantha recoiled in horror, staring at her as if she’d gone mad.

“You said Stars is in tonight’s auction?”

Ignoring her reaction, Emma fixed her eyes on Samantha, desperate to see any sign that she was mistaken.

But Samantha only looked at her in disgust, hastily blotting her dress with napkins.

“Yes. Everyone invited to the auction received the item list. Don’t you have one, Mrs. Grant?”

Emma froze.

Of course. She hadn’t received any formal invitation to the gala. The only reason she had been able to enter was because she was still technically Michael’s wife.

With her eyes turning red, she turned toward Michael, searching for his expression for denial.

But his cold stare gave her all the confirmation that she needed—Stars was indeed being auctioned off tonight.

There was no time to dwell on it. She had to find Mr. Snyder, the organizer. Maybe, just maybe, he would agree not to auction the painting out of respect for their past acquaintance.

But as she turned to leave, Michael’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Stop. You ruined Samantha’s dress, and now you’re just walking away?”

Emma halted, turning slowly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she faced him.

“What do you want?”

“Kneel and apologize.”

His words were so casual, so indifferent—but they struck her like a blow to the chest.

She looked up at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“You spilled wine on her dress. She can’t enjoy the party like this anymore. I told you to kneel and apologize. What’s the problem?”

Michael wrapped a sobbing Samantha in his arms and looked down at Emma with a chilling expression.

“Michael, you’ve gone too far!”

Emma’s voice shook with fury, her eyes red and wild.

“So what if I bully you?” he sneered. “What can you do about it?”

Michael raised his eyebrows, his gaze cold, while Samantha beside him looked at Emma with undisguised glee.

The air felt frozen. Emma stared at Michael, and the love she once held for him began to fade—bit by bit.

He knew Stars was a gift from his father. He knew how much the painting meant to her. And yet, he still intended to give it to Samantha.

Blood was already trickling from her clenched palm. As she looked at the man before her, her body began to tremble uncontrollably.

He was right. Even if he bullied her, she couldn’t do anything about it.

She had always depended on him. And because of that, he had no limits.

“Mrs. Grant, why don’t you kneel? After all, your family’s done this more than once.”

At that moment, voices began to rise from the crowd that had gathered after Samantha’s scream.

“She’s right. Didn’t your mother kneel down too when she forced you into the Grant family?”

“Hahaha, yeah. I should probably keep an eye on my own maid—don’t want her forcing anyone into my son’s bed!”

“Hahaha…”

As laughter erupted around her, Emma bit her lip and stubbornly held back her tears.

Her mother sending her to Michael’s bed had long become a joke among these people.

They all said she threw away her dignity just to transform from a pheasant into a phoenix.

Even after the marriage, whenever she went out to find Michael at the bar, people mocked her—some even asked how much she charged per night.

And through it all, Michael never once defended her.

He simply stood by, watching her humiliation, as if her suffering was his only form of justice.

“What’s wrong? It’s just kneeling. Are you ashamed now? But you weren’t ashamed when you climbed into my bed.”

Michael’s voice cut through the murmurs, filled with disdain and disgust.

“Oh? What’s going on here?”

Just then, a new voice rang out from the crowd.

It was Gary—the event’s organizer.

She glanced at the tearful Emma, then at Samantha and Michael, a polite smile on her face.

“Oh my, how did this lady’s dress get ruined? Someone help her go get changed.”

With that, Gary gestured for a waiter to assist Samantha out of the room.

“Alright, everyone, please disperse. The auction’s about to begin.”

Then, Gary turned to Michael with a professional tone. “Mr. Grant, I heard you’d be attending tonight, so I reserved one of our best seats for you. I’ll have someone escort you.”

She signaled to a staff member to come forward.

Michael looked at Gary, then glanced at Emma—silent, unmoving, like a shadow at the edge of the room. Maybe, in that moment, he felt the scene had lost its thrill.

Without another word, he followed the staff to his seat.

After he left, Gary gently took Emma’s arm and led her to a quiet corner of the hallway.

“Are you alright?”

Her voice was soft, eyes filled with concern.

Emma gave a faint smile, shook her head, and took a step back.

“Mr. Snyder, I came tonight to thank you for what you did for Daniel.”

“I heard about Daniel. I’m truly sorry. My condolences.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snyder.”

She paused, gathered herself, then continued.

“Mr. Snyder, I heard that Master Henry’s painting Stars is included in tonight’s auction?”

When Gary nodded, Emma inhaled deeply and summoned the courage to speak.

“I have a bold request… That painting means a great deal to me. Would it be possible for you to let me…”

"Do you have the money?"

Gary cut off Emma before she could finish her sentence.

“Mrs. Grant, I helped Daniel and organized this charity event because my own child died of leukemia. I wanted to do more for kids suffering like he did.”

She paused, her tone turning colder. “But don’t forget—I’m still a businesswoman. If you have the money, I’m even willing to let you have the painting at its purchase price. But do you?”

As she spoke, Gary took a deliberate step back, putting distance between them.

“I bought that painting from your mother for five million. I’m not sure why your mother had an original work by Master Henry, but if you can pay five million, I’ll return it to you.”

“The auction’s about to begin. I should go. Mrs. Grant, do as you see fit.”

With that, Gary turned and walked away.

Staring at her retreating figure, Emma could no longer hold back her tears.

She hadn’t expected her mother to sell her father’s final gift. She hadn’t expected that when it mattered most, she’d be powerless to stop it.

Her father had died in a car crash while saving her. She had watched him bleed out with no way to help.

Now, facing his last painting, she was helpless again.

Unable to bear it any longer, Emma crouched on the floor, hugging herself tightly, sobbing uncontrollably.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before her tears ran dry. In a daze, she stood and wandered to the venue’s entrance.

Even if it was for the last time, she wanted to see the painting her father had created for her.

Inside, the lights were dim. But one soft spotlight shone directly on the painting.

Beneath a star-filled sky, a happy family of four gazed up at shooting stars, making wishes together.

She had been ten when her father painted it. Back then, he was alive. Her mother hadn’t changed. Her brother was healthy. The Grant family hadn’t yet broken her spirit.

Staring at the image, Emma’s heart twisted in pain.

Samantha hadn’t lied—she truly wanted the painting. And Michael had given it to her.

Cradling the framed canvas in her arms, Samantha turned toward the doorway and spotted Emma, her face radiant with pride. The scorn in her gaze was unmistakable.

Looking into those mocking eyes, Emma felt a wave of anger surge through her. Her chest tightened, and blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.

Just before she lost consciousness, she caught one last glimpse of Michael sitting quietly in his seat.

He seemed to turn toward her—

But Samantha said something, and he turned back to her with a smile.

When she awoke, the sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air. She was in a hospital room.

Frowning, Emma sat up slowly. Her first thought was of the auction. She reached for her phone, intending to call Michael and beg for the painting.

But just as she unlocked the screen, a message arrived—from Samantha.

[Being with the one you love most is the greatest happiness. The unloved one is just a mistress.]

Attached was a photo: two hands, fingers interlocked.

Staring at the message, Emma felt nothing. No shock. No rage.

She turned off the phone and gave a bitter smile.

Since he’d allowed Samantha to claim what belonged to her—and humiliated her in public to please her—he clearly had no intention of ever returning the painting.

Without hesitation, she wiped her tears, pulled the IV needle from her hand, and staggered out of the hospital.

Back at home, all she wanted now was to gather her things and wait for the institute team to arrive.

But the moment she opened the door, she froze.

There, in the living room, Samantha was sitting on Michael’s lap—clutching the painting, her face lit with joy.

“Michael, look at how beautifully this shooting star is drawn! When I see this painting, I imagine the child we’ll have someday. I want us to be as happy as the family in the picture!”

She leaned into his chest with a shy smile.

“Speaking of which, I’ve never seen a real shooting star before. Will you take me to see one soon?”

She nuzzled against him like a kitten, her voice soft and sugary.

“Sure. I’ll have my assistant arrange it in the next couple of days.”

Michael gently stroked her head, smiling with affection.

Watching the scene unfold, Emma felt a sharp sting in her eyes.