(28
When I got her back, I would punish her so harshly that she wouldn’t be able to get out of bed for days.
But before I could finalize my proposal plans, news arrived that she was leaving the country.
I was furious at first.
But then–realization struck.
If she left, Zane wouldn’t be able to keep such a tight grip on her, His influence had limits and once she was beyond them, she would be mine for the taking again.
The plan was executed flawlessly.
But the outcome was a complete failure.
Livia despised me now. No matter what I said, no matter how I pleaded, she remained unmoved. And the moment I saw the faint red marks on her neck–marks left by another man–I snapped. She cried, begged me to let her go, but her resistance only fueled my rage. I wanted to erase every trace of him from her skin, to make her remember who she truly belonged to.
But Zane came too quickly.
I was forced to the ground, my body pinned under his bodyguard’s weight, his fury unrelenting. And then, through my haze of anger and desperation, I heard her voice.
She called me Brother.
At that moment, I knew.
Nothing would ever go back to the way it was. The Livia I had once owned–the innocent girl who had been mine
-was gone.
It was over.
I was deported home and sentenced to a year in prison for kidnapping. By the time I was released, Montclair Group had erased my name from their board member list. Even before I went to prison, the company had already been struggling under Zane’s relentless suppression. Now, it was barely clinging to life, an empty shell susta few minor projects
Home hadn’t changed much, except for the dwindling number of servants tending to the estate.
My mother had divorced my father while I was in prison. After that, she left for Tibet
It felt as if I had returned to my childhood. Alone in a big, empty house.
Back then, I was miserable because I had to endure the stress and suffocating pain of heir training. Now, I was miserable from guilt and torment
But no matter how miserable I was, Liv had always been there–my little shadow, following me around, always smiling, always cheering
I secretly went to Langston Hill, hoping to see her.
But she was nowhere to be found.
After contacting some colleagues, I learned that she had been traveling from city to city, from remote villages to bustling metropolises, dedicating herself to the restoration of historic buildings and old residences.
I was surprised.
The Montclair Family had never been short on artistic training and the Kensingtons certainly weren’t lacking in wealth.
I had assumed she had gone abroad to further her studies in fine arts.
But instead, she had chosen a grueling, hands–on profession that demanded tireless dedication.
And then I thought–had I ever truly known her?
I had believed Liv was timid, resigned to being at my mercy.
Yet, when she had called the police, when she had turned her back on me with such unwavering determination, it
had been the most decisive moment of her life.
Maybe this had always been her true nature.
Years and years of noble training had suppressed her real self
It was the Montclairs‘ fault. It was my fault. I tracked her down to a small town.
When I finally laid eyes on her, she was perched on a tall ladder, meticulously restoring the eaves of an ancient pavilion.
The sunset painted her figure in breathtaking hues, the golden light wrapping around her like a celestial embrace. The breeze played with her hair, lifting it gently as her expression softened with quiet determination.
She looked like a goddess, bathed in divine radiance-
A woman with purpose.
A woman I had lost forever.
Tears streamed down my face before I even realized it
I had lost this woman. And it had been my own arrogance, my own blind possessiveness, that had driven her
away.
I had once promised to paint the most beautiful portrait of her.
So, I captured that moment–the golden sunset, the quiet strength in her eyes–and left the painting at her
doorstep.
But she only glanced at it briefly before tossing it into the trash.
She still refused to forgive me.
I told myself it was because I hadn’t painted her well enough.
So I kept painting.
I followed her journey, watching her silently as she worked.
I watched as she rose in her field, earning recognition and accolades.
I watched as she was courted, as she accepted a proposal, as she had a wedding unmarred by interference, a marriage built on love.
I watched as she had a child, cherished and adored by everyone around her.
She never accepted a single one of my paintings
Years passed.
Sloane, wasting her life abroad, got entangled in a criminal case and was extradited back home. She came to me
for help.
Years passed.
Sloane, wasting her life abroad, got entangled in a criminal case and was extradited back home. She came to me for help.
I turned her away.
Back then, she had sent those messages and videos to Liv, pushing her to the breaking point. She was the final knife that severed everything between us. I wished nothing but ruin upon her.
But she wasn’t done causing destruction.
She hired men to kill me.
I survived.
Barely.
I was left half–paralyzed, bound to a wheelchair for the rest of my life
I could no longer travel, could no longer chase after my little girl who had once followed me so faithfully
All I could do was sit in front of my easel, painting over and over again–capturing memories of a love I had destroyed with my own hands.
And for the rest of my life, my world remained dull–void of color, void of warmth.
(The End)
