Ethan Hunt pretended to be gentle for three years, raising me to be a tool for his first love's paintings. I heard him laughing in the lounge. "I don't love her at all. Being with her? Aside from the paintings, the sex is amazing." I stood outside the door holding coffee. My hands didn't shake, but my heart turned cold. That night, I burned everything he'd given me, jumped from the second floor, and ran toward the future I'd once rejected for him without looking back. Only later did I learn that the SUV that rescued me in the pouring rain wasn't a coincidence. The man named Louis had been secretly collecting all my paintings since I was a little girl doing street graffiti. He said, "I've waited three years for you. Waited for you to wake up from another man's cage." This time, I won't run away again. Cherry POV When I pushed open the slightly ajar door of the gallery VIP lounge, laughter was coming from inside. "Ethan Hunt, we really don't get you. You're a billionaire, a top-tier curator. Why are you acting like a servant in front of that poor girl Cherry? Cooking for her every day, even taking off her shoes for her. What's the point?" Hearing my own name, my hand froze mid-push. After a brief, deathly silence, Ethan's habitually gentle voice rang out, but it carried a coldness and mockery I'd never heard before. "Wild cats need to be stroked the right way to be tamed." A lighter clicked, and he seemed to light a cigarette. His voice sounded distorted through the smoke. "Vivian's hand is ruined. She can't hold a paintbrush anymore. Cherry's painting style is identical to hers, even more spirited. If I don't spoil her rotten and make her devoted to me, how will she willingly paint those thirty pieces to pave the way for Vivian's comeback exhibition?" Each word stabbed brutally into my eardrums. All the blood in my body froze solid in that moment. I felt like I'd fallen into an ice pit. I was a ghostwriting tool for Vivian?! The lounge fell silent for a moment, then erupted in even more enthusiastic exclamations. "Damn, that's so you, Ethan Hunt! That's ruthless. Using your current girlfriend's blood and bones to feed your first love's dreams. That's insane." "I heard Vivian's coming back next week? Since you've almost gotten all thirty paintings, what about Cherry? She's so headstrong. If she finds out she's been used as a blood bag for three years, won't she blow the roof off?" Ethan laughed lightly, his tone dripping with contempt. "She can't leave me. For three years, I've cut off all her social connections and raised her to be a waste of space who only knows how to depend on me. Even if she finds out, she'll just stay obediently in the cage I've built for her." Seeing someone about to come out, my face went deathly pale as I jolted awake and stumbled backward out of the hallway on stiff legs. Outside, a blizzard had started at some point. I didn't even have my coat on as I walked into the swirling snow. Icy snowflakes slammed into my face, melting into water that mixed with my tears and fell into the mud. Everything before my eyes blurred, but scenes from the past three years flashed through my mind. Ethan was the youngest art professor at New York's top art academy, and also an extremely influential curator in the industry. The first time I met him was in an alley behind an underground racing track. I'd gotten into a bloody fight with some thugs over graffiti territory, biting one guy's neck like a lone wolf. Ethan appeared holding a black umbrella, his leather shoes stepping through filthy puddles. With those slender fingers that usually handled masterpieces, he wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. He said gently, "Cherry, hands are for painting, not fighting. Come home with me." In that moment, having grown up in an orphanage scraping by and enduring countless cold stares, I heard my own heart pounding wildly. I thought I'd found salvation. For three years, Ethan had spoiled me to a pathological degree. He wouldn't let me do any housework for fear of hurting my hands. He cooked for me with endless variety every day, and when I was tired from painting, he'd even kneel on one knee to massage my aching calves. I thought this was the ultimate expression of love. Turns out, he was just maintaining a useful tool. He was afraid of my hands getting hurt because I had to paint for Vivian. He kept me confined at home because he was afraid my painting style would be exposed prematurely. Even in bed, when he always liked to hold me from behind and force me to watch my right hand holding the brush in the mirror. It was because that hand could fulfill his first love's dreams! I crouched in the snow, biting hard on the back of my hand, crying until my throat was torn raw and I tasted thick blood. I don't know how long passed before I swayed to my feet. My tears had dried up, leaving only ash-gray desolation in my eyes. I pulled out my phone from my pocket, found a number I'd blocked for three years, unblocked it, and dialed. It was the private number of Crete, France's top art master. Three years ago, Crete had recognized my talent and wanted to take me to Paris for secret intensive training to mold me into the next generation's artistic giant. But for Ethan's words "I can't live without you," I'd refused without hesitation. The call connected. I cleared my hoarse throat, my voice cold as ice. "Mr. Crete, this is Cherry. Is your offer still valid? I'm willing to go with you."
Cherry POV "Cherry! You've finally come to your senses! My God, I knew you wouldn't let your talent be buried! In half a month I'll send a private jet to pick you up. Use these two weeks to settle everything in America!" Hearing the French on the other end of the line, excited to the point of breaking, I calmly responded "okay" and hung up. When I returned to the luxury villa Ethan called our "love nest," it was already late at night. As soon as I pushed open the door, warm air hit my face. Ethan, wearing gray loungewear, was coming out of the kitchen carrying a steaming cup of mulled wine. Seeing me covered in snow and looking disheveled, his eyes immediately creased with concern. "Where were you? How did you get like this, not even using an umbrella?" He walked over quickly, habitually trying to pull me into his embrace. I instinctively turned my head away, avoiding his touch. Ethan's hand froze mid-air. A flash of displeasure crossed his eyes, but it was quickly covered by gentleness. He sighed and forcibly grabbed my cold hand, rubbing it between his palms. "Cherry, sulking at me again? The gallery was too busy today. I didn't have time to pick you up. That's my fault. Drink the mulled wine first, don't catch a cold. You still need to deliver the last three paintings next week." Listen to that. Such a perfect excuse. Caring about me was fake. Caring about those last three paintings was real. I lowered my eyes, looking at his refined, scholarly face, and suddenly felt my stomach churning with nausea. "Ethan." I suddenly spoke, my voice terribly hoarse. "Mm?" He looked down, blowing on the mulled wine, responding carelessly. "If one day I couldn't paint anymore, would you still treat me like you do now?" Ethan's motion of blowing on the wine abruptly stopped. He looked up, studying me deeply, then laughed and reached out to ruffle my damp hair. "What nonsense. Even if you became completely useless, I'd still take care of you for life. Cherry, drink up." If this were before, hearing those words would have made my eyes redden with emotion. But now, I only felt my hair stand on end. His promise to take care of me for life meant keeping me chained in a basement like a pet, draining every last drop of blood from me. I didn't take the wine. I walked past him and headed upstairs. "I'm tired. I want to sleep." I didn't look back, but I could imagine the gentleness instantly draining from his face, his expression turning sinister and cold. Over the next few days, I behaved unusually quietly. I no longer clung to Ethan acting cute like before, nor did I pull him out to look at stars in the middle of the night. I locked myself in the studio every day, painting frantically. Ethan seemed very satisfied with my obedience. He probably thought his "domestication" had finally reached its most perfect stage. At noon that day, Ethan came into the studio carrying cut fruit. "Cherry, take a break." He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting in the crook of my neck, but his eyes greedily fixed on the nearly completed "Sunflowers" on the canvas. The brushwork, color, and light were virtually identical to Vivian's work from her peak years, even more stunning. "This painting is beautiful." He praised it sincerely. My hand holding the brush tightened slightly, my knuckles turning white. I turned my head, looking at his face so close to mine, and suddenly smiled. "Is it? Whose name are you planning to sign on this painting?" The smile on Ethan's face instantly froze. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure, even adding a touch of indulgent reproach. "What are you overthinking now? Your painting will naturally have your name on it. Next month's exhibition, I'll let the entire New York art world know how excellent my girlfriend is." Watching his masterful performance, the last trace of hope in my heart completely died. I calmly pushed him away and picked up the palette nearby. "I'm thirsty. I want the coffee you make." "Okay, I'll go brew it for you." Ethan kissed my forehead and headed downstairs. After confirming he'd left, I immediately locked the studio door and opened the laptop Ethan had left on the desk. I used to run the streets. My hacking skills weren't top-tier, but cracking Ethan's password was more than easy enough. Three minutes later, a document hidden deep in the files appeared on the screen. "Vivian's Comeback Solo Exhibition Planning Document." The catalog of thirty exhibited works was exactly all the heart and soul I'd poured out over the past six months! And the exhibition date was in ten days.
Cherry POV The black text on white background on the screen burned my eyes. Thirty paintings. Each one I'd stayed up countless nights to complete, painstakingly crafted stroke by stroke under Ethan's "gentle encouragement." Now, they all bore Vivian's name. I laughed coldly, destructive madness churning in my eyes. I didn't make a scene. I silently cleared my browsing history and put the computer back in its place. Footsteps sounded outside the door. Ethan came in carrying coffee. "Cherry, coffee's ready." I turned around, took the coffee and sipped it, then suddenly my hand shook and the scalding coffee spilled directly onto the nearly finished "Sunflowers"! The dark brown liquid instantly spread, ruining the entire painting's color structure. "What are you doing?!" Ethan's voice shot up sharply. His gentle mask instantly shattered, his eyes erupting with barely concealed fury and heartbreak. He shoved me aside and lunged at the canvas, trying to wipe away the stains with his sleeve, but the more he wiped, the worse it got. The force of his push made me stumble backward. My waist slammed hard against the easel, pain making me gasp. But I laughed. "My hand slipped." I looked at Ethan's frantic back, my tone light as air. "It's just a painting. Why are you so worked up? Worst case, I'll just repaint it." Ethan's whole body went rigid. He seemed to realize he'd lost his composure. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the violence in his eyes. When he turned around, he'd become that gentle, considerate perfect boyfriend again. "I'm sorry, Cherry. Did I hurt you?" He came over, rubbing my waist with apparent concern. "I just thought it was such a shame. You spent so long on this painting. I feel bad about all your hard work going to waste." "Feel bad about my hard work, or about your cash cow being destroyed?" I looked at him with a half-smile. Ethan's eyes darkened. He suddenly grabbed my chin, applying so much force he nearly crushed my bones. "Cherry, what's gotten into you today? All these passive-aggressive remarks." He leaned in close, his tone carrying a dangerous warning. "I've been swamped lately preparing for your exhibition. Can you be a little more sensible and stop making trouble?" "I'm making trouble?" I met his gaze fearlessly. "Ethan, do you dare look me in the eye and tell me this exhibition is really for me?" The two of us stood in a standoff, the air thick with gunpowder. Just then, Ethan's phone suddenly rang. A special ringtone. Ethan's expression changed. He immediately released me and walked onto the balcony with his phone. Though separated by the glass door, I could still clearly see the careful, treasuring expression on his face. An expression of genuine emotion he'd never shown me. "Vivian, you've arrived? Good, wait for me at the VIP passage. I'll be right there." Hanging up, Ethan rushed back in, putting on his coat as he spoke. "There's an emergency at the gallery. I need to handle it. Stay home and paint obediently. That 'Sunflowers' must be redone within three days, understand?" Without giving me a chance to respond, he slammed the door and left. I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and watched the black SUV shoot out of the villa like an arrow released from its bow. I pulled out my phone and called a rideshare. "Driver, to the airport."
Cherry POV Half an hour later, outside the airport VIP passage. Wearing a hat and mask, I stood behind a pillar. Not far away, Ethan was holding a black umbrella, carefully sheltering a woman in a white trench coat with a delicate demeanor. The woman seemed cold. Ethan immediately took off his own coat and draped it over her shoulders, then naturally tucked her cold hands into his embrace. "Vivian, welcome home." His eyes were so tender they could drip water. Vivian leaned into his embrace, acting coquettish. "Ethan, how are the preparations for my exhibition going? My hand shakes even holding utensils now. If the exhibition fails, I'll never be able to show my face in the art world again." "Don't worry." Ethan lowered his head to kiss her hair, his tone firm and cruel. "All thirty paintings are ready. Every single one is top quality. They'll definitely restore you to your peak." "That ghostwriter Cherry... she won't cause trouble, will she?" "Her?" Ethan's lips curved with contempt. "Just an orphan who's never seen the world. Give her a few scraps and she'd gladly give me her life. After the exhibition ends, I'll find some random excuse to get rid of her." Behind the pillar, I held up my phone, recording every moment of this scene completely. My heart had gone numb from the pain. So in his eyes, I wasn't even human. Just a piece of trash to be thrown away after use. I put away my phone and turned to walk into the rain. Ethan, you want to use my blood to nourish your first love? Dream on. Over the next three days, I seemed like a different person. I no longer resisted painting. Instead, I locked myself in the studio like a madwoman, working day and night. Ethan was very satisfied with my condition. He thought his trip to the airport hadn't been exposed, that I was still the fool he had firmly in the palm of his hand. To placate me, he even canceled several important engagements and came home on time every day to cook for me, playing the role of perfect boyfriend. "Cherry, eat first. There's no rush with the painting." Ethan set a plate of cut steak on the table and hugged me from behind, intimately nuzzling my cheek. I didn't turn around. The brush in my hand flew rapidly across the canvas, adding the final brilliant touches of color. "It's finished." I set down the brush and turned around, looking at Ethan with calm eyes. Ethan's gaze moved past me to the canvas. It was a brand new "Sunflowers," even more vivid and stunning than the one that had been destroyed, as if one could feel the sunflowers' life force burning under the scorching sun. "It's perfect..." Ethan murmured, his eyes gleaming with fervent light. He must be thinking to himself. With this painting, Vivian's exhibition would definitely cause a sensation! He excitedly embraced me and kissed me hard. "Cherry, you're a genius! Don't worry, after the exhibition ends, I'll definitely make it up to you. What do you want? Designer bags? A sports car? Or... should we get married?" Get married? I laughed bitterly to myself. A marriage bought with my thirty paintings. The thought disgusted me. "I don't want anything." I pushed him away and walked to the sink, methodically washing my hands. "I'm tired. I want to rest for a few days. I'll leave the exhibition matters to you." "Of course. You rest well. I'll handle everything else." Ethan couldn't wait to call a moving company and have all thirty packaged paintings from the studio transported away. Looking at the empty studio, my lips curved into an icy arc. Five days until Crete's private jet arrived. Three days until Vivian's exhibition. The show was just beginning.
Cherry POV The next day, Ethan used the gallery as an excuse and didn't come home all day. I knew he was with Vivian. I methodically packed my luggage. Actually, there wasn't much to pack. Everything in this villa was bought by Ethan. I didn't want to take a single item. I only took my passport and the utility knife I'd always carried with me. At ten p.m., Ethan came home reeking of alcohol and faint perfume. "Cherry, still awake?" Ethan loosened his tie and walked to the sofa, habitually trying to rest his head on my lap. I subtly avoided him and stood up. "I'll run you a bath." Ethan froze, watching my cold retreating figure, probably feeling an inexplicable irritation rising in his chest. These past few days, I'd been too obedient. So well-behaved it was abnormal. No acting cute, no clinging to him, even the look in my eyes when I looked at him carried the stillness of dead water. He strode over and grabbed my wrist, pinning me against the bathroom doorframe. "Cherry, what exactly are you sulking about?" He looked down at me, his eyes sinister. "I've already taken the paintings. The exhibition is about to start. Are you planning to pull some stunt?" He was gripping me so hard my bones ached, but I didn't struggle. I looked up, meeting his eyes directly, and suddenly smiled. "Ethan, do you have paranoia? What stunt could I possibly pull? I'm just tired." "Tired?" Ethan sneered and roughly tore open my collar. "If you're tired, let's do something relaxing." He lowered his head and kissed me brutally, with the intent to punish, roughly biting my lips. I didn't resist, letting him manipulate me like a puppet. This dead-fish response completely enraged Ethan. He shoved me away violently, his eyes full of disgust. "Buzzkill." With that, he turned and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door with a bang. I leaned against the wall, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, my eyes cold as if frozen in ice. Ethan, this is the last time you'll ever touch me. Vivian's exhibition was set at New York's largest private art museum. The night before the opening ceremony, Ethan came home unusually early. He was carrying an exquisite gift box containing a custom haute couture gown worth a fortune. "Cherry, wear this to the exhibition tomorrow." He placed the gown on the bed, his tone carrying an unquestionable command. I didn't even glance at the dress, asking flatly, "In what capacity? Your girlfriend, or... Vivian's ghostwriter?" Ethan's face darkened, his eyes instantly turning sharp. "What nonsense are you spouting?" He stepped forward, staring hard into my eyes, trying to find any flaw. "Who told you about the ghostwriting?" "Does anyone need to tell me?" I met his gaze fearlessly, my lips curving in a mocking smile. "Ethan, did you really think I was an idiot? I saw the planning document on your computer ages ago." The air seemed to freeze in that moment. A flash of panic crossed Ethan's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by icy killing intent. He suddenly grabbed my throat and slammed me against the wall. "You snooped through my computer?!" His voice was distorted with rage. "Cherry, you've got some nerve!" The sensation of suffocation instantly overwhelmed me. My face flushed red, but I didn't struggle. I just stared at him hard, my eyes full of contempt and mockery. "What? Exposed and now you're lashing out in humiliation?" I squeezed the words painfully from my throat. "Ethan, you disgust me."
Cherry POV "Shut up!" Ethan tightened his fingers, and watching me struggle in pain probably gave him some perverse satisfaction. "Since you already know, I don't need to keep acting for you anymore." He leaned close to my ear, his voice like a venomous snake. "That's right. All those paintings are for Vivian. You're nothing but a dog to me. Being able to make way for Vivian is your honor!" He suddenly released his grip. I fell to the floor like a broken doll, coughing violently. "Tomorrow, you're not going anywhere. Stay home like a good girl." Ethan looked down at me, his eyes cold to the extreme. "After the exhibition ends, I'll give you some money. Get out of New York. If you dare say a single word outside, I guarantee you'll disappear from this world." With that, he turned and walked out of the bedroom, locking the door from the outside. Hearing the lock click into place, I lay on the floor and suddenly began to laugh quietly. The laughter grew louder and louder, finally turning into heart-wrenching, maniacal laughter. Ethan, you think one door can contain me? You really underestimate me. Late at night, the villa was completely silent. I pulled out a black backpack from under the bed, filled with tools I'd prepared long ago. I walked to the window and looked down at the drop below. Second floor. For someone like me who used to do parkour on the streets, this was nothing. I tore the bedsheet into strips, tied them into a rope, secured one end to the bed leg, and let the other end drop out the window. Just as I was about to climb out the window, footsteps suddenly sounded outside the door. Then the lock turned. Ethan pushed the door open, holding a glass of water. Seeing me standing on the windowsill, his pupils contracted sharply. The glass in his hand crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. "Cherry! What are you doing?!" he shouted and rushed forward. I looked at him coldly and jumped without hesitation. "No!" Ethan lunged to the window, only catching a corner of my clothing. I slid down the bedsheet halfway when it suddenly snapped. I fell heavily onto the lawn. Intense pain shot through my ankle. I grunted, cold sweat instantly beading on my forehead. "Cherry!" Ethan's furious roar came from the second floor. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up from the ground despite the excruciating pain and limped toward the villa's main gate. I couldn't let them catch me! Absolutely not! Rain poured down, instantly drenching me. The pain in my ankle made every step feel like walking on knife points, but I didn't dare stop. Behind me, I heard the villa's main door being violently pushed open. Ethan, holding an umbrella and accompanied by several bodyguards, rushed into the rain. "Catch her! Don't let her get away!" Ethan's voice sounded especially vicious in the thunderstorm. I clenched my teeth and desperately ran toward the mountain road. I knew that if I could just reach the road and flag down a car, I'd be saved. But my ankle had swollen like a bun, and I was getting slower and slower. Just as the bodyguards were about to catch up, a black SUV suddenly burst around the corner, its blinding high beams forcing everyone to shield their eyes. The SUV screeched to a stop in front of me, and the door flew open. "Get in!" A deep, powerful male voice rang out. I didn't have time to think. I scrambled into the car. The SUV roared like a wild beast and shot forward like an arrow, leaving Ethan and the bodyguards far behind. The car's heater was on. I collapsed in the back seat, soaking wet, gasping for air. "Thank you..." I said weakly. The man in the driver's seat handed me a clean towel, his voice cold and hard. "Dry yourself off." I took the towel and, by the light of the streetlamps outside, got a clear look at the man's profile. His features were chiseled, sharp as if carved by a blade. His eyes were keen as an eagle's. He radiated the aura of someone battle-hardened. "Who are you? Why did you save me?" I asked warily. The man didn't turn around, only saying flatly, "I was asked to do a job. Crete sent me to pick you up." Hearing Crete's name, my taut nerves finally relaxed. I leaned back against the seat, closed my eyes, and let exhaustion and pain wash over me. Ethan, we'll settle our accounts slowly.
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