Regina's POV

After being diagnosed with a terminal illness, I made the decision to finish one final painting—my last masterpiece—before quietly disappearing from the art world.

But on the very night my piece was released, I was accused of plagiarism.

My stepbrother presented my draft—the one I’d revised countless times—as proof that I had stolen the work from his female junior, a fellow art student.

Trolls swarmed me online. Reporters cornered me in public. And through it all, he stood by my side—not to protect me, but to force me to publicly apologize and admit to something I didn’t do.

When I was too weak to even stand straight, he locked me in a basement and demanded I keep painting, just so his beloved junior could have more of my work to use.

Eventually, I broke. My body and mind were shutting down. In a daze, I begged him for help.

But he didn’t even look at me. He just stood there, calmly counting my finished pieces.

“Why is the quality slipping? Did you forget everything I taught you?” His voice was cold. “Regina, don’t make me disappointed in you.”

Then, he stopped in front of my latest painting.

“This one rose,” he said, “is the only one that’s barely passable.”

The crimson rose on the canvas was still wet. I had painted it using my own freshly spilled blood.

My voice was barely audible as I pleaded, “Please… let me go. I can’t take this anymore.”

But he just stared at me with icy eyes.

“You’ve always faked illness to get sympathy. I’m not falling for it.”

What he didn’t know—what he refused to believe—was that this time, I wasn’t pretending. I was really dying.

——

"You know,” he said casually, “to make it big in any industry, talent alone isn’t enough. You need a story that grabs attention. Something dramatic.”

“Anyway, since you’re quitting, why not do me one last favor?" he asked, changing the topic. "Help Margot make her debut by passing your legacy on to her. Wouldn’t that be a nice gesture?”

Darell Reynolds lounged on the sofa, staring straight into my eyes with smug satisfaction.

The so-called “evidence” he used to destroy me was scattered across the floor. If he’d actually bothered to look closely, he’d have seen that every stroke—every color—was filled with pieces of him.

My hands trembled as I demanded, “You knew how much this painting meant to me. After everything, is my reputation just a stepping stone for her career?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Is it really that hard to do this one little thing for me? You already know I like her.”

His words cut deep, even though his tone was soft. And for a second, I remembered how, all those years ago, he used to look at me the same way as he whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you. I promise.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“It’s settled,” he said. “I’ve already booked your flight back home. Once the buzz around Margot dies down, I’ll pay to bury the scandal. It won’t affect your peaceful little retirement.”

“You’ve always wanted to live a quiet, carefree life, right? Just think of this as paying me back. After this, I won’t bother you again.”

After saying that, he walked past me and shut the door with a heavy thud.

I collapsed on the floor, too weak to stay upright.

Outside, Margot Hodges’s sweet voice rang through the hallway. “Darell, do you think Regina’s really that upset? Maybe I should go apologize. I don’t mind if she yells at me or hits me.”

Darell replied, his voice filled with affection. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of everything for you.”

Their voices faded as the pain in my head suddenly spiked. I curled up on the floor, clutching my skull, struggling just to breathe.

He knew what that painting meant to me.

I had spent three long months pouring my soul into it, digging through ten years of memories with him, capturing every little detail that once connected us. I named it "In the Corner of My Eye."

In the shadows of the painting, I had hidden our silhouettes—his and mine—facing away from the world.

He had painted for over a decade. He should have seen it.

My phone buzzed endlessly with news alerts.

At the top of every feed, one headline stood out in bold.

Regina's POV

[Breaking News: Rising art star Regina Macy confirmed guilty of plagiarism.]

The comments section exploded with insults and ridicule. People said I was a bully who had coasted on fame for years, only to steal a rookie artist’s work for my biggest, most talked-about piece.

My social media accounts were overrun. Only a few loyal fans still tried to defend me, clinging to hope, waiting for me to speak up and tell the truth.

But I couldn’t say a single word.

Darell said I owed him, and this was how he wanted me to pay him back. I had no choice. I owed him too much.

I returned to the States alone, bundled up in a hat and mask, but it didn’t stop the press from swarming me the moment I stepped off the plane.

They surrounded me instantly, microphones in my face, questions coming rapid-fire. I kept my head down, just trying to leave, but I was outnumbered and shoved all the way to the corner of the terminal.

“Miss Macy, by staying silent, are you admitting to the plagiarism scandal?”

“If your final piece was plagiarized, what about your previous work? Were those copied too?”

“Miss Macy, do you have anything to say to the fans who’ve supported you for years? Have you apologized to the rookie artist you allegedly stole from?”

I couldn’t answer any of them. Their sharp questions pierced through me like knives.

Everything blurred. The reporters, their flashing cameras, the aggressive shoving—it all felt like a public execution.

And in the chaos, I felt something eerily familiar.

I’d been pushed into a corner like this before—back when I was a child, forced to speak under pressure, scared and overwhelmed. That same sickening feeling crept in.

Back then, it was Darell who rushed to my side, shielding me with everything he had. He’d pull me into his chest, cover my ears, and block out the cruel voices.

He’d look me in the eye, angry but protective, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me you were being bullied? Don’t you see me as family?”

But the man I saw now was the one who had pushed me straight into this nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” I said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “No comment.”

With all the strength I had, I tried to push through the crowd. No one could see the tears behind my sunglasses.

But I hadn’t even made it a few steps before another flash of cameras and excited shouts told me someone else had arrived.

Darell and Margot.

They’d been on the same flight as me—first class for them, economy for me. Our paths barely crossed, but it felt like we were in two completely different worlds.

Through the edge of my sunglasses, I saw him.

Darell was staring straight at me.

I turned, ready to run—but his voice cut through the crowd like a blade.

“Regina, what are you running from? Get over here and apologize for what you did.”

I froze. For a second, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

“Margot is kind and forgiving, but I’m not going to stand by while she’s treated unfairly. You stole her work and caused all this drama. Isn’t an apology the least you can do?”

My heart clenched slowly. His eyes were cold and mocking.

Under the glare of a hundred camera lenses, my head throbbed painfully.

All I wanted was to run. To get far, far away from the flashing lights, from this scene, from him.

“Regina,” he said again, “just because you’re my stepsister doesn’t mean I’ll protect you. If you did something wrong, take responsibility.”

“What, do you think you can just deny it and pretend nothing happened?” he snapped.

I bit down hard, holding back the pain, and shoved my way out as fast as I could.

I wouldn’t apologize. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why should I say sorry?

The mix of anger and hurt churned in my chest, but slowly… it started to fade into something else.

Resignation.

Maybe this was how it ended. Maybe that was okay.

Outside the window, the city blurred by. Another sharp wave of pain hit my skull.

My phone buzzed. A message from my doctor popped up.

[Miss Macy, the tumor has already spread. Please think carefully about your next steps.]

I didn’t hesitate. I typed out my reply.

[Still, no treatment.]

After all, there wasn’t much left for me to hold on to anymore.

Regina's POV

The villa was quiet—eerily so. On the nightstand beside the bed, there was still a photo of me and Darell.

He had his arm around my shoulder, and I was smiling like the happiest girl in the world.

I lifted the mattress with practiced hands and pulled out a letter that had been carefully taped to the underside. A love letter.

A letter Darell once wrote to me.

I could still picture how nervous he looked back then—his eyes full of excitement and hope.

He had said, “I don’t want to be your stepbrother anymore. I want to protect you for the rest of my life.”

I hadn’t replied right away. I stayed silent for so long that he finally looked at me with that pitiful expression and said, “Regina, if you don’t answer soon, I’m gonna lose all my dignity.”

He looked at me with such sincerity. That face I’d tucked away deep in my heart, the one I dreamed about constantly. At that moment, I almost said yes.

Yes. A hundred times, yes. How could I not like him?

When I was fifteen, my mom married his dad—and just like that, he walked into my life, telling me he’d watch out for me from then on.

I couldn’t forget the cocky look on his face, the way the wind played with his hair, or how just having him by my side gave me the kind of confidence I’d never felt before.

When I was twenty, my mom passed away. The grief hit me so hard that I lost touch with reality for a while. But Darell… he stayed calm, handled everything, and never left my side. Over and over again, he whispered, “I’ll always be here for you. You can rely on me. As long as I’m around, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

He was with me for ten years. The happiest, most peaceful ten years of my life.

So, of course, I wanted to say yes.

But that was the day after I got the diagnosis.

Brain cancer. Terminal. Almost no chance of recovery.

So instead of saying yes, I took the letter from him, and in front of all our friends, I slowly tore it to shreds and threw the pieces in his face.

I forced myself to hold back the tears, to keep my voice from cracking as I said, “Darell, you make me sick! Acting all sweet and noble—what, you think you can feed me just to bleed me dry later? You’re disgusting! My mom would never forgive you, not even in the afterlife.”

“If I’d known you were into incest, I would’ve stayed the hell away from you from the start,” I snapped.

The love letter fell to the ground in pieces. But I wasn’t done—I stomped on it twice, like it was our relationship itself.

Something I had to destroy, abandon, and crush with my own hands.

I still remember the look in his eyes—dark, devastated.

After that, we became strangers under the same roof. Rarely spoke. Rarely saw each other.

I only heard bits and pieces about how he was now openly pursuing a junior from our department. He got her the best mentors, took her on trips around the country and abroad for inspiration, and helped her network at art exhibitions and workshops.

The day his acceptance letter from that prestigious university arrived, I was just getting ready to head to the hospital for chemotherapy.

I stared at the envelope for a long time. I didn’t even notice the tears dripping onto the gold-embossed lettering.

I thought, maybe… if none of this had happened, the person walking into a brilliant future beside him could’ve been me.

Instead, I quietly put the letter back where I found it.

Someone like me doesn’t get to dream about the future anymore.

I spent the whole night awake. The doctor’s message urging me not to give up was still sitting there, unread, on my phone.

The house was empty, but it still felt like traces of Darell lingered everywhere.

Just then, the front door creaked open—sharp and sudden in the silence. And when that face I had dreamed about day and night suddenly appeared in front of me, I thought for a second I must’ve been hallucinating.

“Darell?”

My voice trembled as I called out to him.

But the moment I saw the anger in his eyes, all the warmth inside me went cold.