Chapter 2

Melanie stepped into the elevator in a daze. By the time she snapped back to her senses, it had already stopped at the basement level. An eager intern came up to her and asked, "You're here for Ms. Yasmin Lloyd's exhibit, right? Please follow me." That was when Melanie realized she hadn't pressed a button. Before she knew it, she was mindlessly following the intern into the gallery. The intern strolled behind her, explaining with enthusiasm, "This entire exhibit was sponsored by Mr. Fuller. After this, the pieces are heading on a national tour." Right then, Melanie's gaze settled on one of the oil paintings. The painting showed a man's bare back, with clearly defined muscles and a distinct scar just above his waist. She had traced the scar in the dark more times than she could count. Naturally, she knew exactly who the man in the painting was. Turns out, Yasmin had painted many portraits of Zachary. The dates marked in the bottom right corner of each piece were as clear as they were cruel. The one painted on June 20th captured Zachary in the kitchen, his back bathed in warm light as he cooked. That was the third day of Melanie's confinement. She had gone on a hunger strike and passed out from gastric pain. Yet, he was in another home, preparing a lovely meal for Yasmin. The piece dated July 1st showed a pair of slender, well-defined hands folding a silk nightgown embroidered with irises. The wedding band on his finger gleamed with a cold light. It had been Melanie's 14th day of being locked away. She had cut herself with a razor in protest, blood soaking half the bed. In stark contrast, Zachary had been folding Yasmin's delicate clothes. In the July 15th painting, Zachary walked along a shaded path, umbrella in hand. At the edge of the canvas, Melanie could make out their interlaced fingers. She had been locked away for 28 days by then. Charles had chained her to the bed, forcing her to let go of Zachary. Burning with fever, she lay curled into a ball on the sweat-soaked sheets. Meanwhile, Zachary strolled leisurely under the soft morning light, hand in hand with Yasmin. Every painting cut deeper than the last. As it turned out, he hadn't been fighting for Madeline at all during that dark month. Instead, he had been with Yasmin the entire time. The shattered glass, the public declaration of love, and the canceled deals with Lloyd Group had been nothing more than a smokescreen. Melanie clenched her fists so tightly that her nails sank into her palms. But still she felt nothing. She couldn't bear to look any longer. Thus, she turned and walked out of the gallery. … Then, she headed back to the Lloyd residence to collect her mother's belongings. But the moment she walked in, Charles tossed her a plane ticket. "Susan and I talked it over. We want Yasmin to stay with Zachary until she passes. This flight leaves in ten days. You should take a trip and clear your mind a little." Melanie clutched the ticket tightly, her lips pressed into a tight line. She knew Charles just wanted her out of the way so Zachary and Yasmin could have the place to themselves. After all, the only way they could be alone without guilt was if she left. "Mel, please don't take it the wrong way. We just want Yasmin to spend her final days in peace," said Susan. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she spoke, but Melanie had heard this same speech too many times to care. "Got it. I'll go on that trip," Melanie replied flatly. She was done with Zachary and the Lloyds, too. Charles hadn't expected Melanie to agree so easily. Still, he assumed she was finally done resisting. His tone softened as he added, "We've arranged a farewell party for Yasmin in three days. Don't forget to come." "Okay." … Back home, Melanie took out a box and started packing everything tied to Zachary. There were the matching mugs he gave her for her birthday, ticket stubs from their first movie date, and the photo booth strip she had made him pose for. She was almost done when she heard the front door open. Zachary was home. Seeing the box packed with items from their shared memories, he felt his chest tighten. He rushed over, then asked, "Mel, what are you doing?"