The next day, I went to see Erving with the divorce papers in hand. He was busy helping Anya plan her art exhibition.

He personally handled even the smallest details—proof enough of how much she meant to him.

I placed the document on his desk. Without even glancing at it, he picked up his pen and signed his name.

As I took the papers back, my chest tightened painfully. I clenched my fists and said coldly, “Erving, my mom is gone. All because of you—”

“I know.” He cut me off without looking up. “Anya suddenly felt dizzy that day. It was an emergency. I didn’t have a choice.”

He said it so casually, as if the person who died wasn’t his mother-in-law but some stranger who had nothing to do with him.

Then he added, “You can fill in any amount you want for compensation. If it’s not enough, let me know.”

I froze, staring at him in disbelief.

So that’s what he thought—I came here for money?

In his mind, my mother’s life could be erased and replaced by a few numbers on a check?

Before I could speak, the office door opened softly.

Anya walked in.

The moment he saw her, Erving stood up and hurried over to steady her, his tone instantly gentle. “Why didn’t you wait for me in the studio? Don’t come over here by yourself again.”

Then he turned back to me, introducing her as naturally as if we were all family. “I’ve decided to have Anya move into the villa. She’s not in good health. It’ll be easier for me to take care of her if she’s close by.”

In an instant, my blood turned to ice.

I remembered years ago when he bought that villa, holding my hand as we walked through every room. He’d smiled and said, ‘This is the home I built for us. Everything’s arranged the way you like it. Only you, me, and your mom will live here.’

And now, he was bringing in the woman indirectly responsible for my mother’s death!

“What if I say no?” I asked.

His expression darkened immediately. He instinctively pulled Anya behind him. “Mandy, why are you being so petty? Anya saved my life. If she hadn’t pushed me out of the way back then, I would’ve been the one in the hospital. She’s sick now. What’s wrong with letting her stay here?”

Right on cue, Anya’s eyes reddened. She even pretended to leave. “Erving, am I causing trouble? Maybe I should just go back to the studio. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Don’t go.” He stopped her and shot me a sharp glare filled with disappointment. “How far are you going to push her? I don’t need your permission for this, Mandy.”

Then, he turned to his assistant. “James, go prepare a room.”

With that, he led Anya away. As they brushed past me, I caught the fleeting smirk at the corner of her lips.

When I returned to the villa, there was already a suitcase sitting in the entryway—hers.

I pretended not to notice and went straight to my mom’s old room.

I wanted to look through her belongings. But the moment I stepped in, I realized the amethyst necklace from her bedside table was missing.

That necklace had been a gift from my dad, a symbol of their love. Mom had worn it until the day she died. It meant everything to her.

I looked for the personal assistant. He hesitated before reporting, “This afternoon, only Ma’am Anya went into that room. She said she wanted to look at Ma’am Georgia’s things… for artistic inspiration.”

Before he could finish, I was already heading for the living room.

There she was, sitting gracefully on the couch, her fingers stroking the amethyst necklace now resting against her neck. She smiled brightly. “Erving, this necklace is beautiful. It suits me perfectly.”

“Give it back to me!” I shouted, rushing over and reaching for it.

But Erving moved fast, shoving me away before I could lay a finger on that woman.

The impact made me stumble and crash into the coffee table, pain shooting through my elbow.

He held Anya protectively in his arms, glaring at me. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Anya flinched, her eyes filling with tears. “Mandy, I’m sorry… I just thought the necklace had an artistic feel. I didn’t mean to take it. I’ll give it back right now…”

She started to remove it, but Erving stopped her hand.

“No need.” He frowned at me, irritation flashing in his eyes, tinged with contempt. “It’s just a necklace. The diamond ones I’ve bought you cost far more than this. Mandy, do you really have to act so greedy and fight with Anya over it?”

Then, he remembered the divorce papers earlier that morning, his tone grew even colder. “I already signed your settlement. If the money’s not enough, just say so. Now, stop embarrassing yourself here.”

I stood there frozen, tears spilling down uncontrollably.

In the past, he would’ve dropped everything to comfort me. But now, he didn’t even glance my way.

He just took Anya’s hand and led her upstairs.

His final words were brutal. “Don’t be afraid. With me here, she won’t dare do anything.”

The vast living room felt unbearably empty.

From upstairs came that familiar gentle coaxing voice of his, only this time, the one he was comforting wasn’t me.

I reached into my pocket and caressed the divorce papers, then slowly closed my eyes.

‘Thank god,’ I thought, ‘Just nine more days, and I’ll finally be free.’

After that day, I grew colder toward Erving.

Even though we lived under the same roof, I barely acknowledged him anymore, no matter how many times he tried to start a conversation.

Then one morning, he suddenly came to me and said the arrangements for my mother’s funeral were finalized.

The early wind was sharp and cold, pressing the fabric of my plain dress tightly against my legs.

I stared at the black car parked in front of me, my voice came out rough and faint when I asked, “The cemetery and the ceremony… Is everything really settled?”

Erving walked over and adjusted my scarf for me, his tone unnaturally gentle. “Don’t worry. Everything’s set. Today, we’re just meeting a few elders to go over the details and to thank your mother’s old friends. She deserves a dignified farewell.”

I clenched my fists and slid into the car without another word.

Outside the window, the scenery began to grow unfamiliar—quiet streets gave way to the glittering lights of the city center. We were moving farther and farther away from the direction of the cemetery.

A bad feeling surged through me. I was about to ask when the car came to a stop.

In front of me stood the massive glass façade of the New York County Museum of Art, its walls covered with a towering poster.

On it, Anya smiled radiantly in a flowing white dress. Behind her was the silhouette of that nude painting—the one that had destroyed my reputation. Printed below in bold letters were the words [Anya Heffernan Solo Exhibition].

“Erving!” My voice cracked as I turned to him in disbelief. “This isn’t the place for a funeral arrangement! You lied to me?!”

He unbuckled his seatbelt slowly, his earlier gentleness gone, leaving only a cold, matter-of-fact tone. “Anya’s exhibit is critical to her career. It could affect future business partnerships. You showing up would draw more attention.”

It felt like I’d just heard the cruelest joke in the world. Tears stung my eyes before I could stop them.

“Draw attention? You mean parading my humiliation for her benefit?” My voice shook. “You know damn well who she painted! My mother isn’t even buried yet, and you tricked me into attending the art exhibit of the woman who killed her?”

“Just shut up!” His brows furrowed, voice hardening as he grabbed my wrist. “I know what I’m doing with the funeral. Don’t make a scene here.”

His grip was painfully tight. I struggled, but he dragged me inside half by force.

The moment we stepped into the exhibition hall, the noise and flashing lights stung my eyes.

Anya approached at once, dressed in the same color palette as Erving, her skirt swaying gracefully. Her gaze carried a barely concealed triumph.

Erving immediately let go of me and strode toward her. He placed a hand on her arm and said with concern, “Why are you dressed so lightly? Aren’t you cold?”

“Not at all,” she replied sweetly. “You picked this dress for me. I’d wear it even if it snowed.”

As she spoke, her eyes flicked toward my pale face, and a smirk tugged at her lips.

I stood frozen, pain spreading quietly through my chest.

Years ago, when I wore an off-shoulder dress to my first film festival, Erving had glared from the audience. Afterward, he wrapped me in his coat and carried me to the car, scolding, “You’re never wearing something that revealing again.”

Back then, his eyes were full of me. Now, they saw no one but Anya.

Before I could even process that cruel contrast, reporters swarmed around me, microphones nearly brushing my face.

“Mandy, your mother hasn’t been buried yet, but you came to Anya’s art exhibit. Are you confirming you were the model for her painting?”

“Mandy, seeing how much Mr. Pollock favors Anya, does this mean your position as his wife is at risk?”

“Did you volunteer to pose nude for her? Are you really as… open as the rumors say?”

Their shameless questions cut into me like salt poured over a wound.

I opened my mouth to say I’d been tricked here. But before I could, Erving grabbed my wrist.

He pulled me closer, addressing the press with calm detachment. “It’s just family support. Please don’t overinterpret it. Mandy has just suffered a loss; her emotions are unstable. Let’s keep the focus on the exhibition.”

Then he released me and turned away, greeting businessmen with that polite smile of his. His arm slid naturally around Anya’s shoulders as he introduced, “This is Anya Heffernan, one of the most gifted young painters I’ve ever met.”

The crowd around them erupted with compliments. Anya leaned shyly into Erving, looking every bit like his wife.

I was left standing there, looking the most awkward person in the room.

Some people pointed at me and gossiped, their mocking laughter sharp in my ears.

Finally, I couldn’t bear it anymore. I strode forward, grabbed Erving’s sleeve, and hissed, “Erving, that’s enough! You tricked me here to make a fool of me—is this fun for you? I’m leaving!”

In an instant, his smile froze. When he turned to me, his eyes were already cold.

He shook off my hand violently. I stumbled backward, slamming into a display rack. I gasped as pain shot through me.

“Have you lost your mind?” he snapped. “Nothing can go wrong at Anya’s exhibit!”

Anya hurried over, pretending to help me up. But as she leaned close, she whispered, “Bitch, just face it. The only person in his heart now… is me.”

Then, with a quiver in her voice, she turned to Erving, her eyes misty. “Erving, maybe I shouldn’t have held this exhibit. Should I end it now? I don’t want to upset her...”

“This has nothing to do with you,” he said at once, shielding her behind him.

I stared at the sight of him protecting her, and at that moment, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free.

My lips trembled into a bitter smile. “Erving… What do you even see me as? If that love we had was ever real, then I’m begging you, let me go. Let me keep at least a shred of my dignity.”

The moment the words left my lips, Erving’s expression changed.

He strode toward me and grabbed my wrist. His grip wasn’t as tight as before, but his voice carried a trace of panic.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean. My love for you was never fake…”

My heart fluttered.

It was the first time since the nude painting incident that he’d shown even the slightest hint of vulnerability.

But the next second, his eyes flicked past me to Anya standing behind me. Just like that, his brows knitted once more.

“Anya’s holding her first exhibit today. Your words just now made her tear up. Can’t you give her a break?”

Then, the warmth I’d felt vanished instantly.

I forced a smile, but before I could speak, a ripple of gasps ran through the exhibition hall.

People were stepping back in panic. Someone shouted, “The scaffolding’s collapsing!”

I looked up. The temporary display scaffolding was tilting, ready to topple. Several unsecured oil paintings teetered at the top. The sharp wooden beams were crashing straight toward Anya and me!

Time slowed. I saw Anya scream and stumble backward in fear, and Erving pivot almost instinctively.

Even though I was right in front of him, he spun toward Anya instead, wrapping his arms around her. He used his back as a shield from the falling scaffolding.

A heavy thud followed.

The beam scraped his shoulder and slammed onto me.

The next second, pain erupted through my body. My vision instantly went black. And just before darkness swallowed me, the last thing I saw was Erving, bending over and soothing Anya.

He didn’t even look at me.

I had a dream.

I was back years ago when a deranged fan had kidnapped me and dragged me to a warehouse in the suburbs.

Erving had come alone to save me. In that split second when the man was distracted, he lunged for the knife.

In the chaos, the blade cut his leg. Blood soaked through his trousers, but he held me tight, his voice trembling yet unwavering.

“Don’t be scared. I’m here.”

Ever since, he carried that scar on his leg.

Every time I touched it, he’d smile and say, “From now on, matter what happens, I’ll always come running to you without any hesitation.”

“For you, even if it costs my life, it’s worth it,” he added.

The warmth of that memory lingered on my fingertips as I woke to the cold hospital ceiling above me.

A second later, pain spread through my body like shattered bones.

Those promises from the dream felt like they belonged to another lifetime.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand. The moment the screen lit open, notifications flooded in.

[#ErvingPollockRisksLifeToProtectAnyaHeffernan]

[#MandyEisenmanTheNudePortraitMuseInjuredAndIgnored]

I opened the trending page, only to find cruel comments.

[No one saved her even after she got hit. Poor woman, that’s just tragic.]

[Wasn’t that nude painting just for attention? Now, is she faking getting injured for publicity?]

[Erving clearly doesn’t care about her. He only remembered she exists after saving Anya? Damn.]

I dug my nails into my palms and closed my eyes.

Just when I opened them, the hospital door creaked open.

Erving stepped in carrying a small bag containing food. Seeing I was awake, he paused.

His voice came out apologetic. “You’re awake. The doctor says your back is bruised. You’ll need to rest for a while.”

He set the bag on the bedside table, adding, “Yesterday was chaotic. Anya was trembling all over. I had to get her somewhere safe first, so I wasn’t able to check on you right away.”

I looked at him and let out a quiet laugh—light but with a chill that couldn’t be shaken.

“Check on me? Come on, Erving, you’re just worried that if I die, Anya will lose her muse, right?”

He froze. When he realized what I meant, his expression darkened immediately.

He reached for my face, as if to caress it, saying, “Mandy, don’t say that—”

But I jerked my head away, dodging his hand.

His arm froze midair, and the air in the hospital room went completely still.