The final painting of my life, the very last stroke I’d ever make, was the wedding portrait of my fiancé and his childhood sweetheart. The second I finished, my fiancé crushed my hand. It crippled me for life. 01 The bodyguards slammed me onto the marble floor, their heavy boots pinning down my right hand—the one that painted. I writhed in a pain that felt like my bones were melting. “Ethan! The painting is yours! What more do you want?” My fiancé, Ethan Vance, stood above me, towering and untouchable, his arm casually draped around his little muse, Hailey Carter. “It’s a masterpiece, Clara,” he purred, inspecting the canvas. “Absolutely perfect. Your hand, however, is a little… messy now.” I stared up at him, disbelief choking the scream in my throat. I remembered countless nights when he would gently take the brush from my fingers, his breath warm as he kissed my knuckles. “Guard this hand, my artist. I’m waiting for the day you paint our wedding portrait.” Now, he kissed Hailey’s temple. “Do you want to hear her beg, Haiz?” “No! Ethan, stop!” Panic surged. I twisted on the floor, frantic as a trapped animal. I’d spent years mastering that hand. It was the only part of me that could translate the vivid chaos of my mind into something beautiful. My art was more precious to me than my own life. And now, it was about to be shattered. “Ethan! I swear I won’t interfere! I’ll disappear! Please, for God's sake, don’t do this to me!” He laughed—a cold, short sound. “Clara Reynolds, playing the martyr? You’re the one who schemed to climb the social ladder and latch onto the Vance fortune. You trying to play the noble ex-fiancée doesn’t wash.” I went mute. I watched, helpless, as Ethan pulled Hailey back, shielding her from what he knew would be a bloody spectacle. The bodyguard raised the iron pipe high above my hand and brought it down with a sickening CRUNCH! “AHHHHHHH!!!” A bolt of pure agony shot up to my brain. My world dissolved into a flash of blinding white. Tears and snot sprayed onto the floor. The bodyguard had to press harder to keep my body from arching off the ground. 02 Ethan Vance was the heir to Vance Corp, a generations-old financial giant. Hailey Carter was the receptionist at one of his companies. I found out during a major charity gala. Ethan slipped away early. When I went to look for him, I heard them through the hotel room door—a chorus of gasps and moans that stopped my heart. I wanted to kick the door down. I wanted to run away. I wanted to plug my ears until they bled. But I couldn't move. On the drive home, Ethan and Hailey sat together in the front. Ethan’s face was flushed with the goofy, manic glee of a teenage boy in love. Back at the penthouse, he slapped a psychiatric report onto the coffee table. “Hailey has severe Bipolar Disorder. She needs stability. She needs a wedding. I’m her boss; I have a responsibility to care for my people. You, Clara, are and always will be the real Mrs. Vance. A true Vance wife is poised and generous.” My whole body shook with rage. He knew a fake wedding would make me the laughingstock of the entire East Coast elite. Then, Hailey had the audacity to ‘request’ that I paint their engagement portrait. Ethan didn’t know this, but Hailey and I went to the same art school. She was rubbing my face in it. I slapped her. Hard. Right then, I decided to break the engagement. Hailey could be the real Mrs. Vance soon enough. But as I was consulting my lawyers, my world crumbled again. My parents’ small art gallery—a place I loved more than anything—was deep in high-interest debt. The loan sharks found them. They dragged my father in front of my mother, beating him until I was forced to watch. I cracked my head open begging them to stop. My parents were broken, hysterical. “If you’re still his fiancée, he’ll help us! Do you want to see your father beaten to death?” I drove to Ethan’s office and knelt outside Hailey’s door for an entire night, begging him to come home. His secretary delivered his message: “Mr. Vance is deeply troubled that you refused the portrait, which triggered a severe episode for Ms. Carter. He is currently apologizing on your behalf.” He cared for her that much. A few days later, he came home, drunk, and fell on me. He tore at my clothes, yelling Hailey's name as he used me. I didn't fight him. I let him take it all out. My love died in that moment. When the sun rose, I finally agreed to paint the wedding portrait. I was a fool to think I could salvage a clean break. As my agonizing scream faded into a gurgle, Ethan held up the canvas, presenting it like a trophy to the Queen: Hailey. “Haiz, I promise you, at our wedding, you will look exactly this beautiful.” Hailey smiled coyly, but her voice was a chilling whisper. “Ethan, I’m grateful for the wedding. But when Clara’s other hand can paint again, I’ll tell everyone the truth and give the painting back to her.” Ethan froze, then his face turned dark as midnight. “Clara Reynolds, you’re still clinging to the idea of painting?” My vision was swimming, my consciousness dimming. My head, sticky with tears and snot, shook weakly on the floor. “Don’t pretend to be helpless now. My commitment stands: you will remain the nominal Mrs. Vance. The wealthy socialite.” He focused on meticulously smoothing a loose strand of hair from Hailey’s face. “But for Hailey to be the sole creator of this masterpiece, you must never pick up a brush again.” “The Vance wife has plenty of help. You don’t need hands anyway.” He turned and waved his goodbyes, dismissing me like a stray dog. “Lose the other hand too.” I gasped. My consciousness snapped back. The first wave of pain had been unbearable. I couldn't survive another. I thrashed wildly, spewing frantic apologies to him, to Hailey—but they only had eyes for each other. They didn't hear my blood-gurgling pleas. The iron pipe went up again. Rusty, smeared with my own blood. CRUNCH! “!!!” CRUNCH! “AAAGH!” CRUNCH! “AAAHHHH!!!” Ethan’s voice drifted over: “Keep going. Make sure every hit is solid. Ensure she can never recover. Don’t stop until I say so.” CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!... The world was a kaleidoscope of color. My throat tore with inhuman sounds. I prayed for oblivion. It felt like a lifetime until Hailey finally winced. Then, Ethan graciously granted my reprieve. I was a dead weight on the floor, my hands twisted into grotesque, broken claws, like mismatched roots of some strange vine. They stood over me, picture-perfect, their love radiating brightly, a glorious symphony witnessed by the wedding portrait. I tried to move my lips, to speak, but no sound came. Ethan instructed the guards: “Bandage her. And watch her. She is not to see a doctor until the wounds are healed. We can’t risk her being able to paint again.” A guard uncorked a bottle and poured a liquid over my mangled flesh. I screamed, a final, ragged sound, and coughed up blood. Ethan gently covered Hailey’s ears. The pain was so absolute that I passed out. 03 I woke up in the hospital a week later. My hands were heavily bandaged. “Still hurting?” Ethan looked completely normal, as if nothing had happened. He carefully scooped up a spoonful of lukewarm soup and held it to my lips. “What’s the point of sitting in a dusty studio all day? When you’ve healed, I’ll get you a great executive position, or you can travel abroad to clear your head. Let’s not be mad at each other anymore, okay?” It was rare for him to be this comforting. He was probably worried I’d make a scene and ruin his wedding with Hailey. SMASH! I knocked the bowl away. Ethan’s hands froze mid-air. I swung my legs off the bed, ignoring the throbbing pain, and started to change my clothes. Ethan’s face darkened, but his eyes widened with alarm when he saw blood seeping through my bandages. “This is no time to be dramatic. Your hands can’t be moved!” “It’s none of your business. I don’t need your pity.” “You are my wife! How is it not my business?” “Not for long.” I didn't look at him. “You and Hailey can have your life.” Ethan’s eyes were wide. I tore off the bandages he’d wrapped. The pain was breathtaking. But I wanted all connection with him gone. Ethan’s face was stone-cold as he hit the emergency bell. A swarm of nurses rushed in and pinned me back onto the bed. “Ethan Vance, you’ll burn in hell!” I screamed, blood spurting from my hands, cursing him with every ounce of air in my lungs. Ethan looked away. “Clara, I know this is hard to accept. Stay here and heal. You will always be my wife in name.” “I’ve assigned my secretary, Chen, to look after you. You can ask him for anything.” Ethan instructed Chen, “Take her phone.” I struggled, I roared, I hurled every curse word I knew. But it was useless. I was confined to the room, forced to “accept” his generous treatment. It wasn't long before I understood why he was so desperate for me to heal: The wedding portrait went viral. While people marveled at the piece, others voiced suspicion: “Doesn't that style look exactly like Clara Reynolds’s?” “Don't you know? Hailey Carter started by copying Clara. She’s known in the art world as ‘Mini-Clara.’” “Seriously, what miracle pill did she take? This portrait is an exact copy, almost like the original artist painted it!” “Hold up, isn’t this actually Clara’s work? And isn't that the CEO of Vance Corp? Wasn't he engaged to Clara…?” “This feels really creepy…” I guessed Hailey was due for another “episode.” Sure enough, Ethan reappeared in my room. “Hailey is devastated by the online accusations. I’m hosting a dinner tonight to ease her mind. I’m giving you a chance to apologize to her.” Chen, the secretary, respectfully held out a bridesmaid dress. Seeing me turn away, Ethan cleared his throat. “Cooperate tonight, and I’ll let you leave the hospital and go home to see your parents.” My heart clenched. I hadn't seen them in ages—not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't. After Ethan had "mistakenly" thought I was Hailey that night, he settled my parents' debt, but used the excuse of "protecting us from the loan sharks" to forbid me from seeing them freely. Ethan knew my weakness. He always did. Half an hour later, I was in the bridesmaid dress, standing at the dinner party. The table was filled with art critics and gallery owners. Hailey and Ethan sat together at one end. There was no seat for me. “Clara, I need you to publicly explain why you stole Hailey’s art.” Ethan’s voice was unnervingly calm. I stared at him. “I stole whose art?” Ethan glared at me. “You’ve always been jealous of Hailey and intentionally mimicked her style. It’s okay. Just apologize publicly. Admit that all your past work was actually hers. Hailey is very generous; she will forgive you.” Ethan turned to Hailey. “Haiz, you agree, right?” Hailey’s eyes welled up. “Actually, Ethan, you don’t need to do this for me. I’m used to being slighted. Clara is your fiancée. Whatever she does to me, I deserve it. I don’t have the right…” Ethan cut her off, his voice laced with resentment. “You have me now. What are you afraid of?” So, this was it. Ethan was going to strip away my entire career and hand it to Hailey so she could be perfect. Of course. Who would tolerate an imperfect partner? The critics began murmuring: “Her copied work is better than the original? How is that possible?” “It makes more sense that Hailey copied Clara.” Amidst the growing whispers, Hailey maintained a polite smile, but her hand was trembling under the table. Ethan’s face began to turn black. He dragged me out into the hallway before I could speak. “Clara, forget admitting to copying.” Seeing my confusion, Ethan spoke slowly. “You’re going to say that all your work was stolen.” “?!” I forgot how to be angry. Ethan touched his nose. “You should realize by now: this dinner is to validate Hailey’s claim as a legitimate artist.” “I’ve worked hard keeping your parents’ loan sharks at bay. I took a lot of heat. Don’t you think you should do something for me?” The blood drained from my face. “You’re threatening me?” “Let’s not use that ugly word.” Ethan was sickeningly elegant. “You miss your parents’ gallery, don't you? If you handle this right, I promise to rebuild the gallery for your parents.” He was confident. “This is your one chance. Don't waste it.” My mind exploded. It wasn't just filial piety. My obsession with that gallery was because it was where Ethan and I first met. When he first saw me, I was lost in my work, the studio quiet, the brush gliding across time. He told me he fell for my concentration instantly. When the gallery went bankrupt, my parents knelt amidst the ruins, pleading with me to go to Ethan. That night, I went to Ethan’s bed. The next day, I became the CEO’s fiancée. I went willingly. Ethan never knew that night, as my eyes focused on the canvas, my heart was already a mess. When he paused outside the gallery in his tailored suit, he paused my heart, too. These secrets, these hopes. He was taking them all and using them as fuel for Hailey’s fire. Ethan Vance. You are something else. 04 “I owe you all an apology.” “I lied to you. I’m so sorry.” I stumbled through the apology. “I was jealous of Hailey’s talent. In school, I bullied her until she agreed to do all my assignments, even my thesis… I took countless masterpieces from Hailey and claimed them as my own. I used my status as Ethan’s fiancée to force her to ghost-paint for me. None of the seven pieces at the last annual exhibition were my own work…” “It was all me…” The room was silent. The critics who had just defended me stared in shock. The Head of the Association, his face beet red, slammed his glass down. “You are a disgrace to the art world!” Whispers of disdain rose, quickly becoming an angry consensus: I should be permanently blacklisted, my work never recognized again. I stood there like a statue. Hailey’s eyes flashed with triumph, but her voice was full of concern. “Clara! Why did you say that publicly? I told you I don’t care about the fame! How will you live now? I feel so awful!!” Ethan quickly pulled her into a hug, soothing her. “Hailey, don't be so kind. Theft is theft. She has to face the consequences. She’s not worth your worry. I'll take you to the Maldives to celebrate you finally reclaiming your honor, okay?” Hailey buried her face in his chest. “Ethan, I don’t know how to repay you…” Afterward, Ethan smoothly rallied everyone to raise a toast to Hailey, letting her bask in the spotlight. A greasy, fat-bellied man seized the moment to offer me drink after drink. My hand injuries made drinking tantamount to suicide. Ethan snatched the glass from Hailey’s hand. “Hailey shouldn’t drink. I’ll drink for her tonight!” My eyes tightened for a second. The fat man roughly grabbed my hair and forced my head back. “You plagiarizing b****. You think I’m invisible when I offer you a drink?” The burning alcohol stung my throat and nostrils. Glass after glass. My wounds tore open. Tears streamed down my face. Instinctively, I looked to Ethan for help. But through the crowd, I saw Hailey cup Ethan’s face and kiss him passionately on the lips. The plea died in my throat. I snatched a whole bottle from the fat man’s hand. “You want me dead?” I ripped the bandages off, exposing my raw, bloody hands, and tilted the bottle back, letting the wine cascade down my throat. The noisy private room instantly fell silent. The fat man saw my mangled hands. His face finally paled. He grabbed the bottle. “Ms. Reynolds, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I grabbed another bottle and chugged. They wanted me dead? Fine. Who was I asking for help? Did I need to? My stomach was on fire, but I felt a strange sense of comfort. Everything blurred. Ethan was watching me from a distance. I expected him to look happy, but his face was surprisingly somber. I didn't care to investigate. 05 Too bad. I didn't die. I was back in the hospital. Ethan came to see me, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been blacklisted. Hailey can finally step into her own spotlight. You did well.” He paused, then softened his voice. “Do you still want to paint?” He stared at the corner of the room. “You gave me what I wanted. I’ll give you back what’s yours. I’ve brought in a top surgeon from Switzerland. You’ll have the operation in a few days. I’m letting you paint again.” I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Vance, but don't bother.” He noticed my distance and frowned. “Even if you don’t paint, you won’t be able to do anything for yourself with those hands.” “What are you fighting for?” I stared at him. “That's my business. You're a busy man, Mr. Vance. Don't worry about me.” Ethan stood up, his voice cracking with a rare loss of control. “Are you breaking up with me?” I was unnaturally calm. “Didn’t you two just kiss publicly?” Ethan choked. With my clumsy fingers, I opened my phone. Hailey’s latest tweet: “Ethan mistook me for his fiancée at the party. We are innocent. Please stop harassing Clara.” “She took care of me in school; she never bullied me. I don’t know why she’s still holding a grudge, but I’ve truly forgiven her. I’m just so hurt…” The comments were a unified attack on me: “Gaslighting a victim! The plagiarizer is whining?” “The unloved one is the mistress. What is Clara doing? Does she think ruining other people’s lives makes her superior?” “Our sweet Hailey is too kind… Burn that Reynolds b****!” “BURN HER +1” Amidst the support, a comment from a profile with a pig avatar caught my eye: “Hailey, show them your real talent! Paint a masterpiece and silence that plagiarizer forever!” I pointed at the comment. “I hear the Head of the Association wants to collaborate with her. You want me to ghost-paint for her again, don’t you?” Ethan’s face went through shades of red and white. I looked out the window, smiling without a trace of warmth. “I won’t accept your surgery. I won’t paint another stroke. Clara Reynolds is dead. You killed her yourself.” Ethan was silent for a long time, then spoke awkwardly. “It’s not just for the painting. Don’t be ridiculous, Clara. You’re exhausting me…” I cut him off. “Then let go. Stop bothering me, the thief who stole art and people.” “Clara Reynolds, I am your fiancé!” Ethan’s eyes widened. “Hailey is sick. Why are you jealous of a sick person?” I didn't answer. I was too tired. I had nothing left to say. Ethan was silent for a long time, then offered a dismissive laugh. “When Hailey is well, I’ll give you the real wedding. I told you, you are the only Mrs. Vance.” “Don’t be so dramatic. It makes you look pathetic.” 06 Ethan left with a slammed door. He’s a vindictive man. Since he didn’t get what he wanted, I figured he’d hate me. The retaliation came swiftly. My mother called, her voice thick with tears—a new group of loan sharks had shown up. My father was beaten. I rushed home with my injured hands. The walls were covered with vile graffiti aimed at my parents. My father was sprawled on the floor amidst the wreckage. My mother screamed: “Are you only happy when we’re dead?” I tried calling Ethan, but he had blocked me. I borrowed a random number. “Ethan, don’t harm my family. Why are you doing this to them?” Ethan's voice was devoid of emotion. “They owe money. That's business. From now on, even if you sell yourself into slavery to pay the debt, it has nothing to do with me.” “Harming your parents? Who do you think you are? You're nothing to me.” He hung up before I could speak. The next day, Vance Corp officially announced Hailey Carter as Ethan’s fiancée. Ethan publicly cut all ties with me. Without his protection, the loan sharks celebrated by having a “party” at my parents’ house. I was a helpless little lamb, posturing weakly. My parents had sacrificed everything for me. I would break myself, but I couldn't let them be hurt anymore. I invited the loan sharks to my cheap rental apartment. I braced myself, then lay down on my tiny bed. I opened my legs… No one was coming to save me. I had to save the Reynolds family myself. I started chasing money ruthlessly, shamelessly calling every friend, colleague, and even acquaintance, using soft words and desperate pleas until my lips cracked. Mostly mockery. Rarely a loan. The loan sharks came to “collect” a few more times. The last time, after they were done, they ground a cigarette butt into my sensitive skin. A startled bird flew off the windowsill outside. They grabbed my tear-streaked head and whispered in my ear: “We’re bored of you. Next time you don’t have cash, we’ll give you a real sickness!” “Come on, guys, one more cigarette. Let’s see how many times this b**** can scream…” When they left, I was a dying fish, sprawled in my own blood, gasping for breath. The pain, the terror. It completely broke me. I gave up.
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