Chapter 14
Realizing this, anger surged through my chest like a raging storm. People often say that after death, some transform into vengeful spirits seeking retribution, but that seems like nothing more than a fairy tale. An invisible force field seemed to surround me, preventing me from acting, even with my enemy standing before me.
All I could do was watch as she effortlessly claimed the fruits of my labor, absorbing all the praise that was never intended for her. Those artworks weren't made for applause; they were my therapy, my solace.
For the past two years, thanks to Nicole, my mood had been severely depressed. I even saw a therapist who diagnosed me with severe depression. Medication only dulled the edges, not the core problem. He suggested I either distance myself from the sources of my misery or find a way to heal.
I knew Nicole and Chase were at the heart of it, but my fixation only dragged me deeper into the abyss. Before leaving the Kennedy family, I often hid in my basement studio, painting. Each brushstroke was a wound; each completed piece, a balm.
And now, Nicole had stolen even those inanimate objects from me.
When someone discovered the hidden signature in my paintings, it was as if they had discovered a new world. Back in middle school, I entered a design competition under the alias "S" and became an overnight sensation. My parents had such high expectations; I didn't want them to know I was pursuing art, so I didn't even attend the award ceremony.
The social media account I secretly created buzzed with followers eager for more. Each year, I released one piece—a secret even Chase didn't know. Two years ago, I accidentally posted from the wrong account, and my new work went viral. Fame never interested me, so I let the speculation continue. The debate about my identity was heated, with some claiming I was S and others accusing me of leeching off the fame. Without my clarification, the issue subsided within a month. Two years later, Nicole had unearthed my hidden works. My habit of subtly including my signature meant seasoned fans easily recognized my style, mistakenly crediting Nicole.
The blunder from two years ago returned to haunt me. Some blasted me, while others showered Nicole with praise. Nicole, now hailed as a prodigious young talent, basked in a reputation for beauty and kindness.
The story spread like wildfire online, with accusations that I pretended to be S, while Nicole received credit for the charitable work done under that name.
Chase, witnessing it all, had a conflicted expression. Even if he didn't know I was S, he recognized my style. "Nicole, did you really paint these?" he asked.
Nicole's eyes filled with tears. "Chase, if not me, then who? Didn't you always say my work was great?"
"I just feel the style is different from your usual work."
"People grow, Chase. No one sticks to a single style. I have many styles. You'll see over time."
As she spoke, her fingers moved from Chase's chest, growing bolder. Chase, wanting to avoid a scene, gently brushed her hand away. "The auction's starting. Let's go."
I found myself following them to the auction venue, packed with art lovers. The online buzz about S's work made the place a hive of activity.
As Chase navigated the crowd, someone brushed past him. "Sorry," a voice rasped, rough as if strained by smoke. His figure was hunched, his face partially obscured.
The moment the man lifted his head, his bloodshot, sinister eyes met mine.
Boom!
It felt like a sledgehammer to my heart.
It was him! The murderer who had taken my life was right there!