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.

Regina's POV

He looked at me with furrowed brows and roared sharply, “Why won’t you just apologize? If you’d admit it, everything would fall into place. But no—you had to screw things up now of all times. Was it really that hard to help out? Are you really that selfish? So obsessed with your pride that you had to humiliate her like that?” he roared.

My heart, already broken beyond repair, still managed to ache.

Then my eyes drifted to his neck—faint red marks, unmistakably fresh, deliberately left visible.

Something about it made my stomach turn. I forced my voice to stay steady. “One painting doesn’t prove anything. If she doesn’t have the skill, she won’t be able to fake it forever.”

Darell’s expression darkened instantly.

“Margot is still young. I can help her grow at her own pace," he reasoned. “That painting was just a birthday surprise. She likes attention, so I pulled a few strings to give her a moment in the spotlight. Nothing wrong with that.”

Then he looked me over, cold calculation in his eyes. “But your little comment just now gave me an idea.”

He let out a slow, chilling breath. “My dear sister. Margot doesn’t have your natural talent… so she might need you to help her out a few more times.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave a cold, empty smile and grabbed my wrist.

“You’ve been living in my house all these years. Consider this my way of collecting rent. Fair, don’t you think?”

I struggled to break free, but his grip didn’t budge.

Pain surged through me, and with it came tears I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know how to respond—how to make sense of this version of him.

I was twelve when Mom and I first moved into this villa. I was shy, quiet, and scared. And he was the one who smiled and said, “Don’t be afraid. This is your home now.”

Those memories crashed into me like a tidal wave, blending with the cruel reality in front of me.

Maybe it was the tumor messing with my mind. Maybe that’s why everything felt so blurry and surreal.

“Be good, little sister,” he said, his tone soft but laced with threat. “All I’m asking is that you paint a few more pieces. I’ve taught you for years—it’s time to see what you’ve really learned.”

He was right. He taught me how to paint. I owed everything I knew to him.

So if he asked me to pay him back… how could I say no?

He led me into the basement storage room, where abandoned easels gathered dust.

Darell’s voice was calm as he said, “Margot and I will be staying in the country for the next two months. During that time, you won’t have to do anything else. Just paint.”

“I’ll have food and clothes brought to your room. When you’ve turned in work I’m satisfied with—when your debt is paid—I’ll give you money, and we’ll be done,” he added with a blank face.

It hurt. Like every nerve in my body was screaming.

But I kept my head high, stared straight back at him, and said, “We’ll be done? Fine. I’ll paint for you these two months—and after that, we’re even.”

It wasn’t such a bad deal.

A fair trade, almost.

He gave a cold nod. “That’s more like it. That’s the sister I know.”

Just then, his phone rang. He answered, and a sticky-sweet female voice came through the line.

“Darell, when are you coming back? I cooked a whole meal just for you. I even made your favorite—spicy crawfish. But I burned my hand in the process. You’ve been gone forever just to grab your ID. I miss you.”

Darell’s cold expression melted instantly, his voice tender. “I’m already on my way back, baby. Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt? I’ll take you to the hospital as soon as I get home.”

He didn’t spare me a glance as he walked out, and the door to the basement clicked shut—and locked.

There were no windows.

Facing a blank canvas, I picked up the brush, and the first stroke landed with a hollow sound.

That night, I tore up painting after painting, until the tears ran out and all I felt was empty.