Chapter 2

It was late at night when the driver took me home. Lucas didn't return, and I didn't bother to ask.

The next day, his assistant delivered a gift: two top-tier blue diamonds.

He specifically emphasized that one was compensation for forcing me to drink from the shoe, and the other was an apology for the throwing knife incident.

Expressionless, I labeled the diamond boxes '96' and '97', then casually stuffed them into the safe.

The butler beside me smiled with envy:

"Sir really spoils you, Madam. It's hard for others to get even one diamond of this caliber."

I smiled and said nothing.

He didn't know that these were merely Lucas's compensation for every time he hurt me.

Looking at the safe full of diamond boxes, I knew I would be leaving soon.

But before I left, I only wanted to take one sketchbook with me. It contained things I had to destroy.

Lucas had a very exploratory nature in his private life. In the heat of passion, he would occasionally get an impulse and have me draw our intimate moments.

In the past, those sketches were just something strictly between husband and wife.

But now, I didn't want them to exist. After all, if the drawings were leaked, I would be ruined.

However, after searching every corner of the studio, I couldn't find the sketchbook.

Just as I was about to search again, my agent called, roaring in anger:

"Elena, are you crazy? Look at the trending topics on Twitter! Your intimate sketches are flying everywhere! How dare you draw these behind Lucas's back? Do you want to die? Don't drag our entire gallery down with you!"

Instantly, my brain exploded, hearing only the agent's voice:

"You'd better explain these drawings online right now! And figure out how to quell Lucas's anger, or we won't let you off even if we become ghosts!"

The call ended, and I quickly opened my phone.

The number one trending topic was my intimate sketches.

Accompanied by a bold, explosive headline: [Famous Artist Elena Confirmed to Sleep Her Way to the Top]

In the drawings, the man's face was blurred, but I was clearly visible in the center, my expression euphoric.

Millions of netizens were cursing me online, calling me a slut who slept with patrons for resources, a shameless woman.

My legs went weak, and I collapsed to the floor.

But in the final moment before I lost all strength, I suddenly fell into Lucas's solid embrace.

"Don't look at those. It's okay, I'll handle it. Trust me!"

Before his comforting words even faded, he turned around, his face dark as he roared at the room full of people.

"Who did this! Tell me! Who the hell did this!"

Seeing his unprecedented rage, my eyes suddenly stung, and tears welled up.

But at the same time, Chloe's nonchalant voice drifted from the side:

"Lucas, do you mean those drawings? I posted them!"

The arm around my waist tightened abruptly. Lucas and I looked at Chloe simultaneously.

"Don't look at me like that! I just saw them by accident and thought Sister's body was so good, the lines were so beautiful—it would be a pity if only you saw them, Lucas. So I took the initiative to share them!"

"After all, art should be appreciated by everyone, shouldn't it?"

Instantly, blood rushed to my head. I got up to slap Chloe, but Lucas firmly caught my hand.

"Elena! Enough!"

Filled with rage and grief, I shouted, "But she—"

Before I could finish, Lucas glanced at the smug-looking Chloe, then frowned and turned to me:

"I'll help you take down the trending topics. Let this end here. Don't go after Chloe, okay? You know, after all, she is also..."

"No! Lucas, why should I let it go? She ruined my reputation! Why should I let it go?"

"I'm going to sue her for invasion of privacy! She must pay the price!"

I stared at Lucas with red eyes, refusing to yield an inch.

"Elena! You—"

Lucas took a deep breath, about to persuade me again.

Chloe, however, tugged at Lucas's sleeve, feigning sobs with red-rimmed eyes:

"Lucas! Don't say anymore. I know I was wrong. Let Sister sue me. I shouldn't have been jealous—jealous that she married you. It's all my fault. If only I had persisted back then!"

As she spoke, Chloe's eyes reddened, and tears began to fall.

"Sister, I really know I was wrong. I'll kneel and apologize to you. Please don't make things difficult for Lucas."

"If it will calm your anger, I'll go to the police station and turn myself in right now to help clear your name! At worst, let my reputation be ruined, but I beg you not to hurt your relationship over this."

Seeing Chloe pretending to kneel, Lucas's eyes turned cold again. He spoke to me in a low voice:

"Elena! Chloe already knows she was wrong. Just let this go."

"Besides, your reputation is already damaged. Why not take this opportunity to retire and be a wealthy housewife at home? Isn't that good?"

I was shocked by his blindness; I couldn't believe he would indulge her to this extent.

I was about to speak again when, in the next second, a heavy slap landed on my face, burning with pain.

His knuckles were red, his breathing rapid, and his eyes were filled with an unprecedented violence.

He threw a non-disclosure agreement in front of me:

"Be a good girl and sign this. When the storm blows over, I'll organize a solo exhibition for you."

"But if you dare to call the police, don't ever think about stepping out of this house again!"

"I won't sign!"

I gritted my teeth, staring him down.

But no matter how I struggled and refused, Lucas forcibly held my hand and pressed my fingerprint onto the agreement.

When I collapsed on the floor, exhausted,

an unprecedented helplessness and pain swept through my body, as if thousands of needles were piercing my heart.

They left, but their casual conversation drilled into my ears like poisonous insects:

"Lucas, is Sister okay..."

"She's fine. As long as she still wants to hold an exhibition, she'll listen to me. At worst..."

"Count it as a sketch for her. She still has dozens left in her hand; she'll be obedient."

No, there were none left. Only one last time remained.

Lucas, I will never be your puppet again.

After sitting on the floor for a long time, I finally returned to my room and took out my diary.

Although everyone said the art world wasn't much cleaner than the entertainment industry, I truly loved this career.

Standing before the canvas, wielding color—that freedom was where I found my self-worth.

But now, it had all been thoroughly destroyed. Perhaps even God was telling me it was time to go, to stop lingering.

Tears streaming down my face, I recorded what happened today in the notebook and wrote the number 98 at the end.

Every time he hurt me, I would write it in the diary to remind myself not to be soft-hearted.

Suddenly, Lucas's voice came from behind me:

"What does 98 mean?"