On another road, a Mercedes cruised quietly, cutting through the tension inside the car.
Broad sat in the back seat, his face cold and stern, lost in silence. He was trying to convince himself that he should feel relieved now that he had finally rid himself of Miranda, the woman he found utterly tiresome.
Yet, the image of Eric’s flamboyant gesture of picking up Miranda lingered in his mind, suffocating him. He couldn’t find a way to vent his frustration, so he irritably loosened the knot of his tie, trying to breathe more easily.
Vivienne, sitting beside him, noticed his expression and spoke up, her tone disapproving.
“Broad, you’re divorced now. That woman has nothing to do with you anymore!”
Broad kept his gaze fixed on the window, refusing to respond.
Irritated by his indifference, Vivienne deliberately shifted away, pretending to admire the view outside. Asphalt roads? What’s there to look at? she grumbled internally.
The next second, her eyes widened in shock, as if she had seen a ghost.
She stared out the window, unable to turn her head, and clutched Broad’s sleeve tightly. “Broad! Broad! You need to see this!”
Broad frowned, displeased by Vivienne’s raised voice interrupting his thoughts.
But Vivienne refused to let go, tugging insistently at his sleeve. Reluctantly, Broad glanced out her side of the car.
One glance was all it took to leave him stunned.
They were driving through the busiest street in the city, flanked by towering skyscrapers. On the massive LED screens adorning the buildings, a message was flashing in perfect synchronization:
Congratulations, Miranda! You finally got rid of that scumbag Broad!
The words danced across the screens, each flickering letter piercing Broad’s eyes. His expression twisted as if the screens themselves were mocking him, showing him Eric’s smug face in his imagination.
Broad’s face darkened as his fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms.
Eric Wilson!
He silently mouthed the name, his thoughts brimming with fury. He wanted nothing more than to confront Eric and land a punch square on his face.
You really like Miranda that much? What’s so special about a woman like her?
Broad slowly shut his eyes, his mind made up. To him, Miranda’s popularity among wealthy men wasn’t due to her charm or beauty-it had to be because she was a skilled manipulator. He swore to himself that once Lauren unearthed the truth about Miranda’s past, he’d expose her lies for the world to see.
—
The Rolls-Royce came to a smooth stop outside Miranda’s apartment building.
Eric, gripping the steering wheel, turned to Miranda with a smile. “Do you have time later?”
“Hmm,” Miranda replied with a soft smile. “What do you have in mind?”
“How about skiing?” Eric suggested.
The word “skiing” caused a flicker of surprise in Miranda’s eyes.
She wanted to take him up on the idea. Skiing had once been her greatest passion. But after a seven-year hiatus, she wasn’t sure if she could return to the slopes.
For now, her days revolved around accompanying Winnie through training. She no longer dared to show her own skills to others, afraid she might have lost her touch.
“I’m a little tired today. Maybe next time,” she said.
Eric, sensing the subtle shift in her mood, didn’t press further. Instead, he gently held her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“No rush. Whenever you’re ready, just call me.”
—
When Miranda returned home, her phone rang the moment she stepped in. Balancing her handbag on one arm, she answered the call casually.
“Hello?”
A familiar male voice replied, “Miranda, do you still remember me?”
Miranda froze for a moment. Then, in disbelief, she asked, “Justin?”
“Yes, it’s me. It’s been years, but you recognized my voice right away,” Justin said with a hearty laugh.
“Of course! You were my mother’s best student back then.”
The unexpected call brought Miranda back to her childhood.
She remembered how, when she was six or seven years old, her mother, Elizabeth, had opened an art studio to nurture talented children from around the world. Her mother had personally taught them, and many of those students had gone on to become renowned artists.
Justin was one of them. Now a wedding designer, he created breathtakingly dreamy weddings, earning his own fame in the field.
But Justin humbly corrected her: “No, I remember clearly-Elizabeth’s favorite student was actually you, Miranda.”
“Stop it, or you’ll make me cry,” Miranda joked, her tone light. “Now tell me, what made you call me after all these years?”
Justin’s voice grew serious. “Miranda, you haven’t truly given up on painting, have you?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve never thought about giving it up. I was just blinded by so-called love for a while. But now, I know exactly what I want.”
“That’s amazing to hear!” Justin said excitedly. “There’s an art exhibition being held by the association next month. I want to see your work there.”
After hanging up, Miranda took a deep breath. A long-lost yearning stirred within her.
She walked into her art studio, pulling out an old box of oil paints from a dusty cabinet. Carefully wiping off the dust, she opened it with reverence.
Inside, the paints lay neatly in place. In one corner of the box, a folded piece of paper caught her eye.
Curious, she opened it.
Her hands trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes as she recognized the handwriting-it was her mother’s.
“Miranda, my darling, I look forward to the day the world sees you. -Elizabeth”
Miranda gently folded the note and tucked it into the inner pocket of her shirt. Wiping her tears, she placed the paintbox on the floor and sat down in front of her canvas.
She thought back to her mother’s final masterpiece, Versailles Twilight, a vivid depiction of the palace’s evening scenery. Though stunning, its somber tones reflected its limitations as a theme.
Miranda made up her mind. She would paint a piece titled Daybreak.
It would honor her mother’s memory while also marking her departure from the shadows of the past seven years. It would be a symbol of hope, a declaration that her dawn had finally arrived.