My fingers tightened around the brush until my knuckles turned pale. I dipped it in paint out of habit, then realized I had nowhere else to paint. If Anthony had just taken two more steps forward, he would've seen that I was painting the moment we first met.

After a quiet beat, I tore open the black paint in the corner and dumped it over the canvas. One bucket, two buckets, three buckets…

I kept going until every outline disappeared. Then, I pressed the divorce papers onto the paint. In small white letters, I added a note. "I won't remarry you, Anthony."

…

That night, Anthony didn't come home. He only sent me a quick message. "I'll stay at Tanya's place for the next seven days. Don't wait up. I'll see you at City Hall at 9:00 am on the seventh day."

Before I could reply, I saw that Tanya had rushed to share a photo on her social media of their fingers laced together. "He's divorced and my seven-day exclusive."

In the photo, Anthony was not wearing his wedding ring. Aside from a faint band that didn't quite match the rest of his skin, there was no visible proof that we'd even been in love.

It was only then that I realized I was divorced. I raised my hand to take off my ring, too, but the band that slipped on perfectly seven years ago was now jammed tight at the knuckle. No matter what I did, it wouldn't budge.

Maybe I should just give up, I thought. It was just a ring. It didn't mean anything.

However, a second later, Tanya sent me a photo. The wedding ring that had disappeared from Anthony's hand was now snug on the paw of her toy poodle. Almost as if she were worried I'd miss the details, she shot 13 photos from different angles, each captioned with a smiling emoji.

She wrapped up her taunt with a message. "Giselle, Anthony says that he's going all in since he's putting on an act. So, for these seven days, you'll have to be married to my dog."

She included a heart emoji at the end.

My face hardened. I immediately called the jeweler who made our rings. Whatever it took, the ring had to come off tomorrow.

The following day, the staff from the jewelry store came to help remove the ring. Emma Bronson, my usually bubbly assistant, was oddly hesitant.

"What is it?" I asked.

She pressed her lips together and said carefully, "Mrs. Walker, I received a hotel charge under Mr. Walker's name at Livern Hotel. He booked a luxury couple's suite and a whole truckload of roses. The note says they're for Tanya Lindt."

I didn't say anything, not because I was hurt, but because I suddenly remembered something. Anthony had once done the same thing for me and given me roses. 9,999 in total, to be exact. There'd been so many of them that I couldn't hold them with both arms.

He'd said, "If one rose is one promise of love, I'm giving you 9,999 promises. You'll never have to envy anyone."

It turned out a man could use the same trick twice.

The villa door suddenly swung open. Anthony came in, and his neck was marked with hickeys. When he saw the people in the living room, he tossed out a casual question. "Why are there so many people here?"

I didn't even look up. "They're from the jewelry store. They're removing my ring."

He froze. "We're getting remarried in six days. Why bother taking it off?"

"What about you? Didn't you already take yours off?" I asked in return.

He fumbled at that, looking a little guilty. Then, he quickly grew angry. "You're so dramatic."

With that, he stormed upstairs and shouted for the housekeeper to pack his things.

Emma whispered that Anthony kept wandering back and forth upstairs, occasionally stopping and glancing in my direction.

I smiled, not thinking much of it.

Ten minutes later, the staff gave me a verdict. "Miss, the ring is too tight. We really can't get it off. If you really want it off, we'd have to cut it with a tool. But since you're a painter, I'd suggest that you don't take that risk."

I froze. Then, I said, "Go ahead and cut it."

"You can't!" Unexpectedly, Anthony snapped. He came running down from upstairs so fast that he nearly stumbled and fell. "I won't let you cut the ring, Giselle!"

His outburst startled everyone, especially Emma. Since she started working with me, this was the first time she'd seen Anthony lose his composure.

"Mr. Walker?" she mumbled.

He caught himself and cleared his throat. "I'm just worried you'll hurt your hand. If you do, you won't be able to paint, and then you'll cry to me about it. That's annoying."

Then, something seemed to occur to him. He arched a brow at me. "Where's the painting you did for me yesterday? I have time to look at it now."

"I burned it," I said evenly, lowering my gaze.

He was stunned. "What did you say? How could you burn it?"

He stormed toward me, ready to argue, when his phone suddenly lit up. He'd received a few voice messages from his guys' group chat.

"Anthony, I heard you got divorced. You had big news like that, and you didn't tell us? Are we still friends or what?"

"Yeah, man. Why didn't you let us celebrate the big occasion with you?"

"We've all seen your new girlfriend. She's definitely young and sweet, unlike Giselle. Didn't you say she was like a dead fish in bed? You should be satisfied now, right?"

Their jeering cut through the room.

Anthony panicked and fumbled to silence his phone. He stammered, "Giselle, it's not what you think. They don't know the divorce is fake. They're just talking nonsense."

I gave a low hum, then calmly pushed him and his luggage out the door. For the first time, I saw him completely at a loss.

The door shut. The silence hung heavy, especially over Emma. Her eyes were even redder than mine. "Mrs. Walker… no, Giselle…"

I gave her a reassuring smile, only then noticing the slight chill on my face from my tears. I turned to the staff from the jewelry store and said, "Help me cut the ring off."

…

For the next few days, Anthony was too embarrassed to come home. Strangely enough, he didn't stop sending me gifts.

The emerald bracelet I'd once liked on social media, the couture dress I'd casually mentioned, and even a private mountain villa in Jorvain I'd always wanted but thought was too much trouble to buy…

Each gift came with a careful little note.

"Five days until we remarry."

"Four days until we remarry."

"Three days until we remarry."

The gift on the second-to-last day was a sapphire brooch I'd seen on Tanya's feed. It was called "Beloved".

My first reaction was that Anthony had sent it to the wrong person. And I was right.

At my last art exhibition before going abroad, Tanya burst onto the stage in front of the media. "Giselle, please give 'Beloved' back to me! Anthony gave it to me as a token of our love. He said he'll only ever love me. I can give you anything else, but not this. I'm begging you—don't take away the gift my boyfriend gave me!"

She cried prettily, but her sharp nails dug deep into my forearm.

Pain shot through me. I instinctively tried to pull back, and she dropped to the floor with the movement. She clutched her chest, gasping that it hurt.

Before I could even process what was happening, Anthony barreled into the venue. His temper flared at the sight of Tanya's swollen, tearful eyes.

"Tanya, are you okay? Giselle Townsend, couldn't you have taken your anger out on me? Why did you pick on an innocent young woman? No wonder my mom called you vulgar back then. She was absolutely right!"

Anthony shoved me hard. My lower back slammed into the podium, and the sharp pain made me double over. Still not satisfied, he snatched the microphone and tried to smash it against the painting on display.

It was the only piece my mother left me before she died.

Gasps rippled across the room. I didn't have time to think—I just lunged to protect the canvas. However, I'd barely taken two steps before the press swarmed me. Their eyes were glittering with hunger for a big scoop. Their bodies closed in until I could barely move.

"Ms. Townsend, can you explain what just happened? Did you really take someone else's stuff?"

"Ms. Townsend, you brand yourself as an independent female artist. Why are you picking on a young woman?"

"Ms. Townsend, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"Ms. Townsend…"

Question after question slammed into me until I could hardly breathe. I steadied myself and tried to stand, but the reporters, giddy with the frenzy, shoved me back down like they were ready to devour me whole.

Desperate, I shouted to Anthony and told him the painting was the final painting my mother had left for me. He faltered, and his raised hand lowered on instinct.

However, in the next second, Tanya staggered to her feet, feigning weakness as she leaned against the easel. The oil painting toppled, and she trampled it in her panic. Her heels ground into the canvas.

She cried as she did it. "Anthony, I didn't mean to. I didn't know the stand was unstable. Giselle will lose her mind over this. Is she going to kill me? I'm terrified."

Anthony pulled her into his arms, soothing her over and over. "It's fine. It's just a dead person's belongings, anyway. It might be cursed."

I remained trapped in the crowd as I stared at the filthy, ruined painting on the floor. I felt like a broken glass doll.

…

That night, several articles about a rising female artist being a homewrecker shot to the top of the trending searches. The nasty comments piled up.

"No wonder she could have an exhibition in Jorvain. She slept her way to it."

"Don't jump to conclusions. Maybe she sucked her way there."

"How much does a 'high-end' female artist charge for a night? I'd love a taste."

"There's no need to pay. You can just buy a couple of her paintings. Be a patron of the arts, right?"

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again. How many women in the art industry are actually clean? The conclusion is that we should just boycott female artists from now on."

I sat in my studio, almost punishing myself as I scrolled through every foul line until my heart iced over.

Noise came from downstairs. Anthony rushed up, looking frantic as he pulled me into his arms. "Giselle, I'm sorry. I didn't know things would blow up like this. I already had the trending searches taken down, and my legal team has issued warnings to the trolls. As for Tanya, I found out the whole story. I'll make her apologize to you."

I looked up at him, wanting to meet his eyes. "My mom's painting has been ruined. Is an apology all I'm getting?"

He stiffened, and his gaze skittered. "And… I'll ground her for three days. I'll make sure she can't go out or go shopping."

My lips curled up in a mocking smile as I backed out of his embrace. "That's it?"

Anthony frowned. Irritation seeped into his tone. "Giselle, she's just an immature young woman. What's the harm in cutting her some slack? Besides, I've never agreed with you being a painter. Do you know how disgusting it is to see pigment smeared on your hands and to smell those fumes on you?

"And your mom wasn't a famous artist. Even if her work was good, what does it matter? I'll just have someone make a better copy of the painting. Don't blow this out of proportion."