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.

After a long, tense silence, Erving finally let out a sigh.

He opened the bag and pulled a wrapped sandwich, placing it carefully in front of me.

In a gentle tone, he said, “Eat something first. I made this especially for you. You haven’t had a thing all day.”

When I didn’t move, he added, “Don’t take it out on your body. I’ve set your mom’s funeral for the day after tomorrow. The cemetery spot she liked, the sunny one she once mentioned; I’ve gone over every detail. Everything I promised, I’ll make sure it happens.”

At the mention of my mom, the tension in my back finally eased slightly.

I closed my eyes, swallowing the rage in my chest, and took the bowl.

The funeral day was gray and overcast.

Dressed in black, I stood at my mom’s grave, clutching a white chrysanthemum. Tears welled in my eyes, and grief weighed heavily on my face.

The wind lifted my skirt and ruffled the hair at Erving’s forehead.

He stayed by my side the entire time, greeting guests while still keeping an eye on me. Everyone said I had married a good man.

I forced a smile; it didn’t reach my eyes.

Then, the sound of hurried footsteps shattered the quiet.

I turned and saw a swarm of reporters charging in, cameras flashing like lightning in the solemn cemetery.

“Mr. Pollock! Are the photos of you kissing Anya Heffernan in the hotel hallway real?”

“Mandy! Did your husband turn to Anya because of your nude portrait scandal?”

“Sir, you’re at your mother-in-law’s funeral while rumors swirl about you and another woman. Aren’t you worried about what people will say?”

Their sharp questions hit all at once. My eyes widened as I turned to Erving.

His face went stone pale, and he raised his hand, demanding, “Guards! Get them out! Who let them in?” he barked.

In the chaos, Anya ran in, her eyes red. She grabbed my wrist.

“Mandy, please don’t blame Erving. I was drugged. He was just trying to make sure I wasn’t harmed…”

“It’s none of your business!” Erving stepped forward, putting her behind him. His voice shook with urgency. “Mandy, she was a victim, too. Don’t put this on her…”

A victim?

I stared at him shielding her, at the guilt in his eyes. A bitter laugh escaped me.

Even though I had expected this, the pain still stole my breath.

“When I was in the hospital, barely able to move without screaming in pain… when my mother hadn’t even been buried… you were in a hotel room with her? Erving, is that what you mean by returning the favor to that woman?”

His shoulders stiffened, his eyes flicking away from mine. “I didn’t have a choice. Anya… She was drugged. I couldn’t let anyone else touch her—”

“So you touched her yourself?” I stepped closer, right in front of him, my voice shaking but every word sharp and clear. “Erving, look at my mom’s grave and tell me—did you or did you not touch Anya?”

The reporters kept snapping photos, the bodyguards were shouting to hold them back, but I only had eyes for him.

I waited for him to deny it; even a lie would have been enough.

I just wanted, in front of my mother, to give her a little dignity.

But Erving’s lips parted. His throat moved as he swallowed hard, then he muttered, “Mandy, I’m sorry. I… I have to take responsibility for her.”

I froze. The words hit like a hammer, shattering my heart.

I remembered the scar he got saving me years ago.

I remembered him promising, “From now on, no matter what happens, I’ll come running to you without any hesitation.”

I remembered him holding my hand at my mom’s sickbed, promising to care for me for life.

All those memories, the ones that once made my heart race, now felt like the cruelest joke.

I shoved him away, pointing at my mom’s grave. I couldn’t stop the tears in my eyes, but I managed to firmly say, “Erving. You’ve tainted my mom’s funeral and destroyed everything we ever had! From today on, it’s over between us!”

With that, I turned and walked away.