Chapter 2

Amaya Reed and I depended on each other at the orphanage. I was introverted and often bullied, but Amaya would fight with all her might to protect me. Everyone at the orphanage—adults and children alike—was afraid of her. We were treated as problem children. No one adopted us, and when we came of age, we were forced to leave. We scavenged through trash and ate other people's leftovers, yet we never lost hope—because we still had each other. Of course, most of the time, it was Amaya who protected me. She was like a sunflower, constantly giving me strength. When I was 17, a sketch I had done while working at a gallery unexpectedly caught the eye of a Romelian artist. To ensure I could keep painting, Amaya boldly entered the entertainment industry and managed to gain some recognition with her beauty. "Ariana, go for it. I'll always have your back." Whenever I couldn't finish a piece, she would fly all the way to Romelia just to comfort me. She threw herself into acting, and I never had to worry about money again. Even when my work didn't sell, she would carefully preserve every piece. "Ariana, you will always be my artist…" The person Jayden and Louise saw as insignificant was my everything. She was the only hope I had in the first 20 years of my life. When I came to my senses, I was already in the studio. Seeing the new additions Jayden had brought in, I couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh. I reached out and touched the edge of the easel, my nails digging into the wood. It was the most expensive easel in the world—and the very first one Amaya had ever given me. My breathing grew heavier, my body trembling uncontrollably. It was the third year I had been in Romelia. Endless rain and mounting pressure had left me unable to paint a single piece. Because I had no work to show—and simply for being a Solarian—my easel and tools had been smashed to pieces by my peers. By then, Amaya had just begun to gain some fame, and I didn't want to worry her. But she sensed something was wrong just from the tone of my voice, so she flew to Romelia, rented me a new apartment, and stood up for me. She stayed with me for a month, until I found the courage to pick up the brush again. Before leaving, she left me that easel, saying, "Ariana, you deserve the very best in the world." At the airport, watching her small, fragile frame, I couldn't help but tear up. From that moment on, Amaya took on more and more roles, her fame steadily rising. She loved immersing herself fully in every character, and I drew inspiration from the roles she played. Soon, Amaya became a superstar back home, her fame unstoppable. I, too, became a rising artist in Romelia, with a small but devoted following. For a moment, I even thought we would be happy like this forever. The first snow in Verisse that year brought some good news. Amaya called me, her voice bubbling with excitement. "Ariana, Louise said there's an opportunity for me. If I take it, I'll get to act in a movie. This isn't just a TV drama—it's a real movie!" Hearing her thrilled voice, I couldn't help but smile. But before that movie could come to life, the news of Amaya's death arrived. I flew home in a frenzy, only to be met with a small box of ashes. Her memorial photo captured her smiling face, and I collapsed in tears at the altar. When I looked up, all I could see was that smile. The sunflower had withered. Who was responsible for this? In the luxury boutique, Louise leaned coquettishly into Jayden's arms. A sales assistant knelt on the floor, helping her try on shoes. "Jay, Amaya was just trying to copy me. Why make such a scene? I was scared out of my wits," Louise said, her smile bright despite her words. Jayden wrapped an arm around her waist. "Did that scare you? Don't worry. With me here, no one would dare bring this up." He then had the sales assistant wrap up every pair of shoes in the store, tilting his chin slightly. "Consider this compensation for scaring you." The news was tightly suppressed, and it wasn't until half a month later that a flood of news reports finally emerged. The articles labeled the incident as "suicide due to depression". No one questioned the cause of Amaya's death. Some even openly said she brought bad luck. I stared at those hateful comments, feeling as if I might follow her out of this world. Then, hidden behind the back of her memorial photo, I found a USB drive. Blood rushed to my head as I finally understood the truth behind Amaya's death.