Chapter 7
I rented a small apartment overseas with a balcony, and every day I woke up only to paint.
These were the most carefree days I’d had in five years.
No need to endure Ryan Hayes’s moods, no need to hide my sketches, no more sleepless nights worrying about my brother’s medical bills.
My phone buzzed on the desk–it was the lawyer.
“Ms. Lane, the evidence chain for the assault case is complete. The court will issue subpoenas for Ryan and Sophia Reed next week.”
“I understand.” I answered without pausing, my brush strokes forming threads of rain on the
canvas.
Shortly after, a message came from Mr. Warren: “The Hayes stock price has stabilized. We need more fuel. If you have any other dirt on Ryan, send it anytime.”
I replied simply: “Only personal matters–don’t touch anything illegal.” Then I silenced my phone. Whenever I painted with passion, memories came rushing back–like when I was ten, and my father Edward Lane guided my hand over the paper.
But when our family fell into decline, I gave up painting and turned to design. After marrying into the Hayes family, even my design drafts were tossed away by Ryan like garbage. The dream of being an artist had long been ground into dust.
After half a month of seclusion, I received a message from Adrian Shaw: “My adoptive mother is here at the museum. She wants to meet you. She even made sweet oatmeal with honey, a Seattle specialty.”
I set aside my finished painting and went to the Edward Lane Art Museum in San Francisco.
The scent of turpentine greeted me as I opened the door.
Adrian was with a kindly woman whose hair was streaked with white. She wore a simple dress, and when she turned, I froze.
The curve of her eyes, the dimple at the corner of her smile–it was like looking in a mirror.
‘This must be Evelyn?” she hurried forward, grasping my hand gently before I could react. Her palm was warm, her voice tender. “This child… you look just like I did when I was young.”
Adrian smiled. “My mother knew you grew up in the Pacific Northwest, so she made oatmeal with honey. Seattle people love this.”
He handed me a bowl, its sweet aroma filling the air.
She pulled me to a bench and took out an old handkerchief embroidered with magnolia flowers- the same design as the pendant on my late mother’s silver necklace.
Clutching the bowl tighter, I asked softly, “Ma’am… did the child you lost have any distinctive
marks?”
Her eyes welled. She touched the back of my left ear. “A small red birthmark… and a silver locket engraved with the letter E.”
Instinctively, my fingers brushed behind my ear, where a faint red mole had always been.
Chapter 7
My mother once told me, “It’s natural, like a peach blossom.”
For a few silent seconds, the woman gazed at me, eyes brimming with tenderness. “Child, let’s do a DNA test?”
I nodded, both anxious and hopeful. If she truly was my family, then I would no longer be alone in this world.
At the hospital, she clutched my hand during the blood draw, her fingertips trembling. “If it’s really you… then these twenty years of waiting will have been worth it.”
The results would take three days.
Meanwhile, back in Los Angeles, Ryan finally remembered me.
“Mr. Hayes, Ms. Lane was discharged ago,” the nurse said.
“Discharged?” Ryan froze. Impossible. She had begged him desperately over her brother’s treatments–she wouldn’t just leave without a word.
“Where did she go?”
“I’m not sure. But that day, she carried an urn. I heard… it was her brother’s ashes. He passed away recently. Her eyes were swollen when she left.”
An urn?
Ryan’s mind buzzed as if struck by lightning.
Aaron was gone? Since when?
Before he could process, his assistant rushed over, pale–faced with a tablet in hand. “Bad news! The stock price is crashing–down five points in the last half hour. It’s likely Mr. Warren’s doing The shareholders are demanding answers!”
Ryan’s anger flared.
It had to be Evelyn. She must have joined forces with Warren. That’s why she left–to help bring Hayes down.
Evelyn… you were nothing but a caged songbird. Did you think you could survive without me?
‘Find her!” he roared. “I don’t care if you have to dig through the city–bring her back!”
‘And check her offshore accounts! If she’s been moving money with Warren, I’ll prove how far she’ll betray me for cash!”
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