The Psychotic Girl’s Revenge

When the painting was turned upside down, it no longer conveyed the despair of raging flames. Instead, it depicted clear water, resembling the sky. Viewing it this way brought a sense of enlightenment, akin to rebirth.

Paige, elegantly seated, gently clapped her hands. “Miss Tiffany, you truly understand me. You’ve figured out one of the solutions so quickly.”

“One of the solutions?” Tiffany looked at her with some confusion. “Is there a second solution?”

Paige smiled mysteriously, stood up, and flipped the painting back to its original position. She pointed to the tiny red marks within the flames.

Tiffany immediately leaned in for a closer look. Having studied painting herself, she could tell that these red marks were not made with ordinary oil paint; they seemed specially mixed, resembling blood, fire, or perhaps the menacing petals of a spider lily…

It couldn’t be that simple.

As Tiffany continued to study the red marks, her eyes widened, and she gasped. “They’re footprints! Someone is escaping the fire, so their feet are covered in blood-like a phoenix being reborn from the ashes!”

Of course! The artist is Chris’s disciple, known for not depicting people within the painting, but rather suggesting their presence through the imagery.

This painting was no different.

Paige stood there, looking at Tiffany with even more admiration, her praise flowing freely. “I have to thank Mr. Bryan tonight. Otherwise, I would have had to gift this painting to Miss Tiffany. No one understands it better than you.”

Tiffany, still engrossed in the painting’s second layer of meaning, was thrilled by what she saw. Hearing Paige’s words made her even happier.

Indeed, who else could be worthy of owning this painting?

With this realization, Tiffany’s fondness for Paige soared. The two sat together, enjoying tea for a while longer.

“The artist experienced a fire in her early years, personally enduring the disaster. I can’t imagine the pain that inspired such a powerful piece,” Tiffany remarked.

“It’s just a painting. No matter how powerful it is, it needs someone who understands it to truly have value,” Paige replied, continuing to flatter Tiffany.

Tiffany modestly deflected the praise, then casually asked, “By the way, I’ve heard that artists often have a small personal mark in their work to prevent counterfeiting. Is that true?”

“Miss Tiffany is indeed well-versed,” Paige smiled. “To be honest, my mentor Chris and I enjoy incorporating many subtle techniques into our work, making it difficult for others to replicate.”

“So confident?” Tiffany asked. “Now that your painting has sold for six billion, many people will go to great lengths to imitate it.”

“Well, since Miss Tiffany is such a close confidante, I’ll share a little secret with you.”

Paige glanced at Angie.

Angie quickly took out a small counterfeit detection light from a drawer and handed it to Paige. Paige turned it on and shone the blue light on a corner of the painting, revealing two handwritten letters: TG.

The script was elegant.

In Tiffany’s surprised gaze, Paige whispered, “If someone tries to imitate my painting, I have ways to expose them.”

“That’s amazing! Does the painting ‘Maiden in the Snow’ have a similar mark?” Tiffany asked in astonishment.

“Yes.”

A lie.Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

Paige never cared if someone tried to imitate her work. This anti-counterfeit mark was something she added specifically for this occasion.

As Tiffany and Paige chatted more, they grew closer. Tiffany couldn’t resist taking a selfie with Paige, accompanied by a slightly pretentious caption:

*”Staying up late talking with the artist, deeply moved by the multiple layers of meaning behind ‘Rebirth.’ Tears welled up in my eyes. The artist kept saying I was a rare confidante. Indeed, true understanding is hard to find, and I will cherish this painting. Of course, thanks to him too!”*

The ambiguous “him” didn’t mention anyone by name but clearly hinted at someone special, stirring envy among her followers.

Satisfied with the flood of comments, Tiffany finally got up to leave.

Outside, Bryan was still waiting. In her good mood, Tiffany was unusually affectionate, linking arms with him. “Remember to respond to me online.”

“Got it,” Bryan replied, helpless against her love for public displays of affection.

Two assistants stepped forward to retrieve the painting, and Angie respectfully escorted them out, closing the door. When she turned around, she saw Paige removing her mask and unzipping the hidden clasp of her gown.

“I’ll leave the rest to you,” Paige said, glancing at Angie.

She wanted to go home.

Chatting with Tiffany had given her a headache.

“Don’t worry, miss. Switching out the real painting is what I do best.”

Angie, usually rigid and serious, showed a rare glint of excitement in her eyes as she turned to leave.

…

Paige hurried back to the new Rose Estate, but it was already quite late. As she entered the room, she noticed a coffee table covered with snack bags.

Many were opened but left unfinished.

Enrico, dressed in a gray V-neck loungewear, sat at the foot of the bed, holding a yogurt bottle with a straw that was almost chewed through.

He stared blankly at the TV. When he saw Paige return, his expression changed slightly, but he ignored her.

“Why so upset tonight?” Paige asked with a smile as she approached him.

“Nothing.” Enrico set the yogurt aside, lay down on the bed, and pulled the covers over himself in one swift motion. His muffled voice came from beneath the blanket, sounding sullen. “I’m going to sleep. Keep it down and don’t disturb me.”

“…”

Paige stood there, amused by his reluctance to communicate. She turned and walked into the bathroom.

When she emerged, her hair was half-dried, falling to her collarbone. She wore a simple white pajama set. She bypassed her own bed, climbed up the steps to Enrico’s, and stood beside it.

Enrico had pulled the blanket over his head, curling up beneath it.

“Are you trying to suffocate yourself?” Paige asked, chuckling softly.

“…” Enrico remained motionless.

“Enrico, should I stay with you tonight?” Paige asked casually.

Suddenly, the blanket was yanked down, and Enrico glared at her as if he’d seen a ghost, his hair slightly disheveled.

Paige stood there, holding the bottle of yogurt he hadn’t finished. She stirred the straw and took a sip.

Sour.

“…” Enrico’s glare intensified.

She had just taken a bath, and the scent of soap filled the air, wafting toward his nose.

She wore white.

White really suited her.

Enrico stared at her, his thoughts beginning to drift.

Paige sat down on his bed, leaned against the headboard, and looked at him. “Move over a bit; otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

She spoke as if they had already slept together a hundred times.

“…” Enrico didn’t budge.

Paige remained seated, stirring the yogurt with the straw. She said quietly, “Didn’t your sister sleep with you when you were little? I’ll be your sister for tonight, but just for tonight.”

She didn’t want to be a substitute for his sister.

But tonight, she could make an exception.

Upon hearing this, Enrico’s expression changed. He suddenly sat up and stared at her. “You know?”

She knew what he’d done tonight.