I couldn't comprehend what this man was thinking.

He didn't like me, so I left. He hated that my existence affected his relationship with Vivian, so I disappeared without a trace. Was this not what he wanted?

"Horace—"

"You're not allowed to go overseas with that man!" He shouted, veins bulging on his forehead and his eyes bloodshot.

And so, I finally understood what he was mad about.

It was because of Carl Xavier.

Carl and I were classmates ever since we were in primary school, and we'd planned to go to Paris for our postgraduate studies.

In the past, Horace had always been extremely bothered by the fact that I'd known Carl longer than I'd known him.

After he found out that I wanted to go to Paris, he tried to stop me multiple times, to the point where he once smashed a gift from Carl to bits in front of everyone during my birthday party.

Carl, not wanting to make things difficult for me, just smiled and said that he'd give me another gift later. He had even solemnly warned me to stay away from emotionally unstable people, or I would get hurt.

But I was a lovestruck fool at the time, so I didn't heed a single word of his advice.

In the end, I paid for it with my life.

Almost near the end of my past life, Carl had tried to visit me once when I was sick, but he was blocked at the entrance by none other than Horace.

"Keep your dirty feelings toward her to yourself. She'll always be mine."

Carl's eyes turned red. "But you don't love her! Why do you want to torture her?"

"Just because."

"You're insane!"

Carl tried to charge into the room to save me, but was attacked by Horace's bodyguards. I couldn't do anything but listen to the agonizing cries from outside the room, powerless to even plead for mercy on his behalf, much less step in and stop them.

And now, my contemplative silence ended up being perceived as a wordless affirmation of Horace's suspicions.

He was so angry that his entire body trembled, and he stared at me intensely, his hands slithering to my waist and squeezing it tight.

"Did that man touch you here too? Has he made you more comfortable than I have? Is he better in bed than me?"

As he spoke, he started touching me where he knew I was sensitive.

In the past, his actions would have made me crumple to my knees, but now I just coldly pushed him away.

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Horace."

He grabbed my hand, unwilling to let go. "If you go now, I'll make sure you regret it!"

Suddenly, I said, "Seriously—do you have any idea how much this makes it seem like you like me?"

Horace froze for a second before he flinched and quickly let go of my hand.

"Who'd ever like you?!"

"Then stay away from me."

I thought that conversation was the end of it, that we'd never have any contact anymore, but the day before I planned to leave, I suddenly got a call from the academy.

Someone had accused me of plagiarism, and sent the same email to the Academy of Fine Arts in Paris.

I rushed to the dean's office.

Many people were there—onlookers who were being nosy, Horace, and Vivian.

The dean's expression was stern. "Did you paint that piece yourself?"

I took a look at the piece he was referring to, and it was the piece that I had painted of the night Horace brought me back to his home, on that fateful rainy day.

A piece that held my warmest memories.

I nodded. "When I was a kid—"

"She's lying!" Vivian screeched, cutting me off. "This is a painting of when Horace and I first met!

"I drew this piece before, and Vivian saw it and thought it looked beautiful, so she asked me about the story behind it. I didn't expect that she'd plagiarize it completely!

"How could someone like that be qualified to go to Paris?"

Ah, she'd finally shown her true objective.

Carl and I were the only ones who had gotten accepted to the Academy of Fine Arts, after all.

Now that her hopes were dashed, Vivian wanted to steal my spot for herself!

However, all I did was ask, "You drew this yourself… With acrylic paints?"

"Of course!" Vivian huffed and puffed, her chin so arrogantly high. "That painting is at my house right now, so I've got evidence, too! What do you have to say for yourself?"

I smiled, looking down and tapping on my phone, before I took out a medical record and handed it to the dean.

"Sir, this is a record of Vivian going into anaphylactic shock because of an allergic reaction to acrylic polymers just a while ago! She couldn't have used acrylic paints!"

And so, everyone's gazes immediately shifted toward Vivian.