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.

Emma rushed forward, snatched the painting from Samantha’s hands without a word, and cradled it tightly in her arms.

“Mrs. Grant, why are you taking my painting?”

Samantha jumped from Michael’s lap, her eyes wide and anxious.

“Emma, give it back!”

Michael’s low voice rang out.

But Emma only held the painting tighter.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her body trembling as she took step after step backward, shaking her head slowly.

The painting was hers from the beginning—she was only reclaiming what belonged to her.

“Emma, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Michael’s face was cold, his tone laced with anger.

“You knew it was mine, yet you gave it to her,” Emma said through clenched teeth.

“Yours?” Michael scoffed.

“I bought it at the auction as a gift for Samantha. When exactly did it become yours?”

He stood up from the couch as he spoke, eyes dark with rising frustration.

“Give it back to her.”

At his signal, two people stepped forward to restrain Emma while Samantha lunged to take the painting.

But the moment she pulled—it tore. A sharp ripping sound echoed in the room.

The painting split cleanly in two.

Samantha gasped, her eyes turning red with tears.

“Michael, look! The painting you spent fifty million on… She destroyed it!”

Choking back sobs, she tossed the damaged artwork to the ground and flung herself into his arms.

Michael stared at the torn pieces in shock.

He hadn’t imagined it would end like this.

His gaze flicked to Emma, still slumped on the floor, and his brows furrowed with complex emotion.

Emma stared blankly at the shredded painting.

It represented her happiest memory—and now it lay ruined at her feet.

With trembling hands, she picked it up, eyes hollow, then shot a bitter glare at the couple in front of her before turning to head back to her room, shielding the painting with her body.

Just then, Samantha’s curious voice rang out.

“Hmm? What’s this?”

She had picked up a necklace that had fallen during the scuffle.

Emma, who had intended to ignore her, froze.

A chill crept up her spine. She turned around instinctively—and when she saw the necklace in Samantha’s hand, her heart nearly stopped.

It was hers. She must have dropped it earlier in chaos.

Inside the pendant box... were her father’s ashes.

She bolted forward to snatch it back, but Samantha was quicker this time.

“That’s mine!”

Emma shouted, her eyes bloodshot, fury burning behind them.

“This necklace is kind of unique,” Samantha said, turning it over playfully. She brought it to Michael.

“Michael, I like this. Can I have it?”

“Sure.”

Michael glanced at it briefly and agreed without hesitation.

“Michael… what’s wrong with you?”

Emma stared at him, teeth clenched, her voice shaking.

“What gives you the right?”

Michael chuckled coldly.

“You ruined Samantha’s painting. This necklace is your compensation.”

With that, he ignored her entirely and turned to leave with Samantha—only for Emma to lunge at them.

“That’s my necklace! Give it back!”

Like a madwoman, she threw Samantha to the ground, trying desperately to pry the necklace from her hand.

“Emma, what are you doing?!”

Michael yanked her up violently and without warning, slapped her hard across the face.

The sound was loud, shocking everyone in the room into silence.

It was the first time he had ever hit her.

“That’s what you get for bullying Samantha.”

His voice was as cold as ice. He pulled Samantha close again and handed the necklace to her.

“Keep it if you like it. Don’t let her touch it again.”

“Thank you, Michael!”

Samantha stood on tiptoe, kissed him on the lips, then opened the necklace box with a delighted smile.

“What’s inside?”

She stared at the white powder within, her face puzzled.

Emma’s voice cracked: “Don’t touch it… get your filthy hands off my dad!”

She lunged again, reaching for the necklace—but Samantha, startled, threw it away in a panic.

“What did you just say? What’s in here…”

“Don’t—!”