Chapter 8
The brushstrokes on the canvas, even the tiny correction marks she’d made matched perfectly.
This wasn’t plagiarism.
This was identity theft. A complete, deliberate replacement.
Her painting’s original title was “Mother’s Back.” Now, it had been changed to “The Back of a
Working Woman.‘
Elijah let out a bitter laugh, her rage simmering beneath the surface.
Of course Hannah had to change the title. After all, how could the glamorous heiress of the Lopez Corporation possibly have a “hardworking, struggling mother” to paint?
The comment section was overflowing with praise.
[The technique! The emotion! I cried just looking at it.]
[This is real art. Hannah is truly a genius!]
[You can see her heart in the brushwork–her compassion for the working class shines through.]
Even renowned art critics were gushing over her. Some claimed it had been years since they’d seen
such a sincere portrayal of hardship.
And the narrative was spreading fast: Hannah wasn’t just beautiful, she was “an artist with a heart
full of empathy and love for the people.”
The more Elijah scrolled, the tighter her chest became. Her fury rose like a tidal wave until she
couldn’t bear it anymore.
She turned on her heel and stormed straight into the dean’s office.
The door swung open. And there Hannah stood calm, poised, and seemingly innocent.
Before Elijah could speak, Hannah casually pointed at her and sighed softly.
“Elijah, why would you copy my painting?”
Her voice carried a delicate blend of disappointment and superiority, perfect for the audience in the
room.
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“We’re both artists. We should respect each other’s work. I can’t tell you how much you’ve let me
down.”
Then, without missing a beat, Hannah smiled warmly at the dean.
“But… considering our relationship, I’ve already taken care of the copied piece to avoid making this a big scandal. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again, okay?”
Elijah’s chest heaved, her nails digging painfully into her palms.
She turned sharply to the dean, forcing her voice steady.
“You were the one who personally accepted my submission. You know whose painting that was. Hannah stole my work!”
But the dean avoided her gaze, his tone awkwardly dismissive.
“Hannah, an heiress, stealing your painting? Elijah, you shouldn’t make wild accusations without
evidence…‘
Her breath caught in her throat. That single evasive glance told her everything.
They were all in on it.
Hannah leaned close, her breath warm against Elijah’s ear, her smile sweet and poisonous.
“You really thought I didn’t know about you and Ethan?”
She whispered, each word laced with venom.
“Go on, guess who helped me swap your painting.
Her lips curved into a cruel smile.
“You can’t beat me, Elijah. Not for a man, not for glory, not for anything.”
She straightened, her voice turning icy–sweet.
“Someone like you isn’t even worthy of licking my shoes.”
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Elijah walked out of the office trembling, fury and disbelief clawing at her chest. Without
hesitation, she went straight to Ethan.
When Ethan saw her, his expression immediately hardened, his brows furrowing deeply.
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“I told them to replace your painting,” he said flatly. “If you have a problem, you take it up with me. But how could you go after Hannah like that?”
His voice grew colder, sharper with every word.
“She’s just an innocent girl–she doesn’t understand these things. Do you have any idea how badly she cried for you? She was begging me to protect you!”
Elijah froze, her chest tightening as a dull, suffocating ache spread through her ribs.
Even after three years of sharing his bed, even after a marriage in another lifetime, Ethan had never
once tried to understand her.
He believed everyone but her.
Her voice cracked, low and hoarse.
“I bullied her?”
Her fingers trembled at her sides as she looked at him, her eyes cold and distant.
“Tell me,
Ethan… hasn’t it been you two bullying me this entire time?”
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Maybe it was the pale, fragile, unbearably wounded look on her face, Ethan’s tone softened slightly.
“Elijah, don’t make this worse than it is.”
“You saw Hannah’s painting go viral and thought it should’ve been yours. But be realistic-
even if you’d submitted it yourself, it wouldn’t have had the same impact.”
His gaze locked onto hers, unyielding.
“You need to understand something: the same painting in Hannah’s hands… and in yours… are
worth completely different things.”
Elijah’s lips twisted into a bitter, humorless smile.
“You really think this is about fame?”
“That was my painting, Ethan. My creation. My work. I poured everything into it.”
Ethan sighed, frustrated.
“If you care that much about the piece, then you should be grateful to me. I placed your painting
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where the whole world could see it, where its value would be appreciated, instead of letting it gather dust in obscurity.”
He spoke as though doing her a favor.
“You wanted to enter that exhibition for the prize money, didn’t you? Fine. I’ll give you double the first–place reward. Hell, I’ll make it ten times. But understand this–Hannah needs that
recognition more than you ever will.”
Elijah stared at him, unblinking, her voice quiet but steady.
“I don’t paint for money.”
“If someone wants glory, they should earn it themselves. Taking it from someone else does that feel good, Ethan? Does that feel… clean?”
Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience wearing thin.
“Elijah, don’t be so dramatic. You said you weren’t with me for money, but the day after we first slept together, you came asking me for a million dollars.”
His gaze sharpened, cold and cutting.
“You keep saying it’s not about the money–but the louder you deny it, the more it shows exactly what you’re after.”
