Chapter 2

Grace Parker POV

Serena moved into the Hart family’s old house because Adrian personally arranged it, and the excuse he used was that she would stay for a few days to make the exhibition easier to manage.

I watched coldly as Serena set her canvas bag by the door.

Pinned to the bag was an old moon brooch, a sample left behind by my mother, Evelyn Hayes, which had originally been locked inside my drawer.

“Who gave you that brooch?”

As if she had only just noticed it, Serena lowered her head awkwardly.

“Mr. Hart said this brooch suited my exhibition and lent it to me for the day. If Miss Parker is unhappy, I’ll return it right now…”

“It’s just a brooch!”

Adrian interrupted impatiently.

“That thing would only gather dust in a drawer. It’s better to wear it out and let more people see it.”

“Give it back to me.”

I held out my hand without backing down.

Serena bit her lip and took off the brooch, but her movements were strangely slow.

Suddenly, the pin tip scraped across her fingertip, and a drop of blood appeared.

“Why are you so careless?”

Adrian immediately held her hand with concern, then turned and glared at me.

“Are you satisfied now?”

My hand froze in midair, and I did not even have the energy to explain.

That night, Adrian asked the housekeeper to move the old exhibition catalogs from my studio for Serena to use as references.

“Take copies. The originals are not to be touched.”

My attitude was firm.

Adrian sneered.

“You’re guarding against her like she’s a thief. Why do you have to do this?”

“Because there are some things she really shouldn’t touch.”

That sentence completely enraged Adrian.

He stared at me and threw out the deadliest bargaining chip.

“The gallery renovation funds your father recently applied for are still waiting for approval from the Hart Foundation. If you keep making trouble, I can’t guarantee the approval will go smoothly.”

I looked steadily at him.

So he knew exactly where to hit to make it hurt the most.

He had simply finally decided to use it against me.

That night, the ninety-fourth love letter became scraps.

Along with the sound of the shredder, Adrian’s anxious voice came from upstairs as he called a doctor for Serena.

Early the next morning, Serena brought breakfast and knocked on my door.

“Miss Parker, I’ve put the brooch back with you for now. I won’t touch your things casually again, so could you lend me some materials? You have so many resources, so you don’t understand how hard it is for people like us to grab one chance…”

“Oh? So that means you can take things without asking?”

I did not take the tray.

“If you want to see materials, go to the gallery and submit an application.”

Serena’s face turned pale.

When she heard Adrian’s footsteps coming from the stairs, her hand suddenly shook, and the hot milk in her hand spilled directly onto the back of her own hand, making tears fall instantly from the pain.

“What happened?”

Adrian rushed over quickly.

With red eyes, Serena shook her head again and again.

“It has nothing to do with Miss Parker. I’m just clumsy…”

I looked at the bright red skin on the back of her hand and finally learned what it meant for the person who cried first to seize the high ground.

Adrian protected Serena behind him and looked at me coldly.

That one look chilled me more than any questioning could have.

I had not planned to attend the sharing session at the Emerging Arts Center.

But Serena had used Evelyn Hayes’s unpublished manuscript as the main visual, and invitations had been sent all over the city.

If I did not show up, everyone would assume the Hart family had already authorized the use of Evelyn’s work.

I arrived in a black suit and sat in the first row.

Serena stood onstage and talked about how she had come from an ordinary family and made it all the way to the arts center.

She spoke movingly and choked up several times.

But on the big screen, a partial image of Evelyn Hayes’s manuscript was displayed, with the watermark faded so lightly that only Serena’s exhibition logo remained clear.

I raised my hand.

The host froze for a moment and could only hand me the microphone.