From Ruin to Redemption

My genius boyfriend framed me for plagiarism, and the shock killed my grandmother.

Five years later, mentally unstable, I delivered takeout to his charity gala livestream.

He threw a stack of cash at me in front of everyone. Take it and get lost. Don't dirty my floor.

As I bent down to pick up the money, I plunged a knife into his stomach.

The police pinned me to the ground. I smiled and pulled out my psychiatric evaluation.

"He personally certified I'm insane. And if insane people kill, it's not a crime, is it?"

"Oh, and I have evidence that he plagiarized my painting."

Kara's POV

I was scrolling through my phone during a work break when I stumbled across a livestream.

The trending headline was explosive.

"Genius Artist Damien Hayes Donates Millions to Establish Scholarship Fund."

That cold, aristocratic face made me pause mid-scroll.

On camera, Damien wore a pristine white designer suit, refined and elegant.

Beside him, Professor Linda Lynn stood with obvious pride, speaking into the microphone.

"Five years ago, I taught a very talented student. Unfortunately, she had a rotten heart-plagiarized and tried to take shortcuts."

"Thankfully, Damien was upright enough to report her."

"Today's young people really should learn from Damien. Character matters more than talent."

The comment section overflowed with praise.

They praised Damien as a man of true character. They praised Linda for spotting genius when it mattered.

Some even dug up that old trending topic, the one about the plagiarizing woman. They asked if she'd died of shame yet.

I closed my phone, expressionless.

Actually, I was that woman who deserved to die.

Later, Damien and I lost all contact.

I was expelled from the Academy of Fine Arts, saddled with massive breach-of-contract penalties, and my grandmother, the only family I had, died from the shock.

Only recently, by taking medication, could I barely function like a normal person.

Whether Damien hates me, I don't know.

But my former pride and talent rotted in the mud long ago, along with that psychiatric diagnosis.

"Kara! Is that rush order ready yet?"

My boss's booming voice interrupted my thoughts.

"The one for 9 Harbor Road. It's a charity gala for some big-shot artist. If you're late, I'm docking half your month's pay!"

I froze for a moment, then looked down at the address on the order.

9 Harbor Road.

Exactly where Damien was livestreaming.

I said nothing. I wiped my still-bleeding finger on my apron.

Then I fished two pills from my bag and dry-swallowed them.

The bitter taste exploded in my throat.

I picked up the flower basket and pushed through the door into the rain.

What a coincidence.

I wanted to see for myself how my old acquaintance-who climbed to success by stepping on me-was doing now.

The back entrance at 9 Harbor Road was closed.

The security guard, disgusted by my rain-soaked appearance, told me to go around to the side hall.

The moment I stepped into the main hall, I ran straight into Damien and Linda, surrounded by a crowd.

Damien held a champagne flute, chatting with several collectors.

Five years apart.

He'd definitely changed.

The gloomy, struggling kid who once couldn't afford paint was gone.

Now, every inch of him screamed fame and fortune.

I pulled my cap lower, wanting only to drop off the basket and leave quickly.

But Linda had sharp eyes. Her mocking laugh stabbed through the air like a needle.

"Oh my, if it isn't Kara!"

"Everyone, look! This is the cautionary tale I just mentioned."

"She was so arrogant back then, aiming for the gold prize. Now she's delivering flowers? Proof that trash will always be trash."

The room fell silent instantly.

A dozen gazes hit me like spotlights.

I stood there soaked through, clutching a mud-stained basket, on the gilded carpet-like a clown who'd wandered in by mistake.

Damien finally turned to look at me.

His gaze was indifferent, like looking at a stray dog drenched in the rain.

Only condescending charity.

"Don't bother with people like her. Today's supposed to be a happy occasion."

Damien spoke coolly, maintaining his dignity.

He walked over to me and pulled a stack of bills from his suit pocket.

Judging by the thickness, probably a few thousand dollars.

He tossed it casually.

"Take the money and leave."

"My foundation only supports students with clean records. You don't qualify."

"This money is from me personally. Don't show up at places like this and embarrass yourself anymore."

I stared at that pile of money, my nails digging into my palms.

Five years ago, to help me cover the plagiarism penalty, my grandmother knelt in the rain begging relatives for loans. She couldn't borrow even this much.

In the end, she worked herself to death picking up scrap metal at construction sites.

Now, to him, this money was just spare change to dismiss a beggar.

I didn't move.

Linda kept talking beside him.

"What are you standing there for? Hurry up and thank Mr. Hayes! Only Damien is kind-hearted enough-anyone else would've had security throw you out long ago."

"Then again, you had the nerve to steal Damien's painting back then. Taking this bit of money is nothing."

I took a deep breath, forcing down the bloody taste rising in my throat.

If this had been six months ago, before the medication, I would've already smashed the flower basket in his face.

But not now.

Going crazy was useless. I needed to make them taste what it felt like to fall from the clouds into the mud.

I bent down and bowed, my voice as calm as stagnant water.

"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Hayes."

Damien seemed satisfied with my submission and turned away without another glance.

I picked up the basket mixed with cash and turned to leave.

The instant I turned, I touched the voice recorder in my pocket.

Kara's POV

The moment I left the banquet hall, my boss's call came through.

"The client complained there are mud spots on the flowers! Kara, do you even know how to do your job?"

"Get back there and fix it right now, or I'm docking your attendance bonus!"

I had no choice but to turn back.

This time I didn't dare use the main entrance. I hid in a corner of the prep kitchen.

From there, I had a direct view of the banquet hall's elaborate dessert table.

Damien must have been tired from networking. He walked to the dessert table, rubbing his temples.

He had severe hypoglycemia. Back when he painted for long hours, his hands would shake.

He casually picked up a piece of matcha cake, took a bite, and immediately frowned, spitting it into a napkin.

"What is this? Too sweet."

The nearby server trembled in fear.

"Mr. Hayes, this was specially prepared for you by a three-star Michelin chef..."

Linda walked over, smiling as she handed him a cup of pour-over coffee.

"Who spoiled your palate this badly? So picky."

Damien took a sip of the coffee, frowned even harder, and set the cup aside.

"Too sour. Not that taste."

I hid in the shadows, staring hard at the cake he'd rejected.

Five years ago, on another rainy day just like this.

It was the night before his entry into the National Youth Art Exhibition.

To help him stay in top shape, I spent money from my part-time jobs on the best matcha powder and low-sugar substitutes. I stayed up all night baking him this cake.

Afraid it might upset his stomach, I also hand-brewed a pot of his favorite Mandheling coffee.

I rushed to the studio with the insulated container, thrilled to offer it to him.

"Damien, eat something before you keep painting."

I didn't expect Linda to be there too.

She glanced at my lunch box and covered her nose in disgust.

"Kara, you waste all your time doing housemaid work. No wonder your painting skills haven't improved at all."

"This street vendor stuff isn't sanitary. What if Damien gets food poisoning and can't compete tomorrow? Will you take responsibility?"

I hurriedly explained.

"I made it myself. It's very clean..."

"Enough."

Damien cut me off, impatience thick in his voice.

He didn't even glance at the cake. Right in front of me, he threw the whole container-lid and all-into the trash bin in the corner.

Thud.

That was the couple's insulated container we'd saved up for a whole month to buy.

"She's right."

"Kara, can you stop bothering me with this cheap self-satisfaction?"

"What I need right now is inspiration, not your junk food."

That night, I picked up the cracked container and walked alone in the rain for a long time.

Turns out the devotion I poured my heart into was nothing but cheap garbage in his eyes.

My thoughts snapped back to reality.

Linda's voice rang out again, tinged with probing.

"Damien, that Kara woman just now... she didn't cause you any trouble, did she?"

"I told you back then we should've sent her to prison. Would've saved us from dealing with her buzzing around like a fly."

Damien wiped his hands, his tone as cold as if discussing a stranger.

"Just a washed-up nobody. She can't stir up any waves."

"Focus on getting the copyright for the new Starlight Series project signed as soon as possible."

My hand gripping the cleaning rag trembled violently.

The Starlight Series-that was his breakout work.

It was also the name of my graduation project that I was accused of plagiarizing five years ago.

Kara's POV

Bold composition, colors both oppressive and full of hope.

That painting won him the gold prize that year and launched him as a genius.

But no one knew that the hands in the painting were modeled after mine.

That ray of light-I once thought it was him.

Five years ago in the studio, I excitedly showed Damien the initial draft.

"Damien, I want to use this for my thesis project! Linda always says I'm too academic, but I'm confident about this piece."

Damien stared at the painting for a long time, his expression unreadable.

"The composition's okay. The colors are too tacky though."

He casually tossed the painting aside and continued mixing his paints.

"Entering a competition with this level of work would just be embarrassing. Don't waste your effort."

I listened obediently.

If he said it wasn't good, then I'd revise it.

I buried that initial draft at the bottom of my portfolio and started conceptualizing something new.

To avoid disturbing his creative process, I even moved to the old campus study room.

A month later, Damien's competition entry was announced.

The whole school was in an uproar.

The composition and lighting were identical to the draft he'd rejected.

I rushed to the studio like a madwoman to confront him.

Damien was in the middle of a media interview. When I interrupted, he showed no panic-only calm composure.

"Kara, stop making a scene."

"We're a couple. What's wrong with you letting me use your inspiration?"

"Besides, with your brushwork, you could never paint this kind of depth. In my hands, this is art. In yours, it would just be waste paper."

I trembled with rage, reaching out to grab the painting.

Linda blocked Damien, slapping me across the face.

"Kara! You're incompetent, and now you want to destroy Damien too?"

"Damien conceived this composition six months ago. I have the sketches to prove it. Meanwhile, you've been copying Damien's style all along, trying to ride on his fame. And now you're trying to turn the tables?"

I covered my face, staring at Damien in disbelief.

I thought he would explain. Feel guilty.

But he only straightened the collar I'd rumpled, his eyes cold.

"Kara, learn to be content."

"Don't force me to go all the way."

I don't know how I left the studio that day.

I only know that from that day forward, I became the school's public enemy.

Everyone said I was jealous of my boyfriend's talent-a plagiarizing freak desperate for fame.

A commotion outside the prep kitchen interrupted my memories.

"Mr. Hayes, are you really auctioning off the original of this painting?"

The host's excited voice carried over.

"Of course."

Damien stood under the spotlight, his voice as gentle as reciting poetry.

"This painting holds extraordinary meaning for me. It documents my most difficult period and represents my deepest contemplation of human nature."

"Auctioning it today is to help more children who, like I once was, are struggling in darkness."

Applause erupted below.

"Now that's a true artist!"

I stood in the shadows, watching that radiant man on stage.

Nausea churned violently in my stomach.

Human nature? Contemplation?

As if he deserved to speak those words.

Slowly, I pulled out my phone and opened a long-unused cloud album.

Inside was a photograph.

Dated five years ago.

In the photo, on a worn sheet of drawing paper, both our names were signed.

Except mine had been viciously crossed out with black marker by him.

Damien Hayes.

Did you really think you were the only one who kept a draft?

Kara's POV

The graduation design exhibition five years ago was a trap Linda set for me.

I thought if I just produced a more perfect new work, I could prove I wasn't a waste who only knew how to imitate Damien.

I locked myself away for an entire month without leaving.

I wanted to paint something.

Something with colors that belonged to me-vibrant and burning, completely different from Damien's gloomy style.

The day before submission, I locked the painting in the studio cabinet and only told Damien the code.

Because that day was his birthday. I wanted to surprise him.

I wanted to tell him: even without your guidance, I can create good work.

But when I arrived at the studio the next day, the cabinet door stood wide open.

My painting had been slashed to pieces, the canvas drenched in black paint.

And beside that pile of wreckage lay a neat stack of printed comparison images.

They were Professor Bennett's unpublished sketches.

Nearly identical to my painting.

"Kara, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Linda burst in with school administrators and sponsors, throwing the comparison images in my face.

"I knew something was off when you suddenly improved! Turns out you plagiarized Professor Bennett's discarded sketches!"

"Do you even know who Bennett is? He's our academy's visiting professor! You're bringing shame to the entire institution!"

I knelt on the floor, trying to piece together the fragments, shaking my head through tears.

"I didn't... I painted this myself... I don't even know who Bennett is..."

"Still lying?"

Linda sneered, turning to look at Damien standing at the back of the crowd.

"Damien, you're her boyfriend and the only person who knew about this studio. What's really going on with this painting?"

Every gaze focused on Damien.

He was my last lifeline.

If he would just say one sentence-say he'd watched me revise the sketches through countless all-nighters, say I'd had no chance to access outside materials during that time...

Damien avoided my eyes.

He lowered his gaze, his voice soft but devastating.

"I'm sorry, Linda."

"A few days ago... I did see her browsing Professor Bennett's encrypted website."

"I warned her not to take shortcuts, but she wouldn't listen."

"She said as long as she won the gold prize, copying a little wouldn't be noticed."

Boom.

The last thread in my mind snapped.

I lunged at him like a lunatic, grabbing his collar with a death grip.

"Damien, what are you saying! You're the only one who knew the code! You destroyed my painting, didn't you?"

"Why are you lying! Why are you framing me!"

Damien let me tear at him, his face full of pain and disappointment.

"Kara, even now you won't admit your mistake?"

"When you do something wrong, you need to own it. Don't make me lose all respect for you."

Security rushed up and pinned me to the ground.

Linda immediately announced my expulsion and had me blacklisted across the industry.

The sponsors demanded three hundred thousand dollars in damages, claiming my actions had ruined their reputation.

The rain was heavy that day.

I was thrown out of the school gates like garbage.

Damien held a black umbrella, sheltering Linda as they got into a luxury car. He never looked back once.

In the back prep kitchen, I bit down hard on my hand, trying not to cry out loud.

Some scars, no matter how much time passes, still bleed fresh when torn open.

"Why hasn't that flower delivery person left yet?"

Linda's voice suddenly sounded behind me.

I froze. Before I could hide, she'd cornered me.

She looked at my reddened eyes, a playful smile crossing her face.

"Well, well. Hiding here crying?"

"Seeing Damien's success now, are you regretting not holding onto him tight enough back then?"

"What a shame. Some things, once they're dirty, can never be washed clean."

Kara's POV

The expensive perfume Linda wore made me nauseous.

She pressed closer step by step, her heels clicking crisply on the tile.

"Kara, do you know why Damien wouldn't let you through the main entrance?"

"Because he thinks you're bad luck."

"If he hadn't needed to cut you loose back then, he wouldn't have had to be so ruthless."

My head snapped up.

"Admitting it?" My voice came out hoarse.

"The plagiarism accusation back then-you two set me up."

Linda laughed, shoulders shaking with mirth.

She leaned close to my ear, using a volume only we could hear.

"So what if we did?"

"Someone like Damien-a genius-was destined to stand at the pinnacle. And you? All you did was drag him down with your handmade cakes and cheap paints."

"What he needed was fame, resources, a professor like me who could give him a real boost."

"Sacrificing one piece of trash to create a genius? What a profitable trade."

She stepped back, her gaze sweeping contemptuously over my flower-mud-stained apron.

"I heard your grandmother died pretty miserably?"

"Went to a construction site in a storm to collect scrap metal. Trying to pay off your debt. In the end, she had a heart attack. Her face was so soaked by the rain it practically rotted..."

The thread in my mind labeled "reason" snapped completely.

That was my breaking point.

No one could touch it.

"Shut up!"

I screamed, no longer caring about consequences, grabbing a nearby tray to hurl at her.

Linda was prepared. She dodged.

The tray crashed against the wall. The wine glasses on it shattered across the floor.

The massive sound alerted security outside.

"Murder! A crazy woman's attacking someone!"

Linda immediately switched to a victim's expression, screaming as she ran outside.

Several security guards rushed in and pinned me to the ground without question.

Glass shards pierced my knees. The pain was excruciating.

Damien came running at the sound.

He saw the mess everywhere and Linda trembling behind him. His brow furrowed into deep lines.

"Kara, what are you going crazy about now?"

I lay on the ground, struggling to lift my head to look at him.

"Damien, Linda just admitted it."

"The plagiarism accusation was you two framing me! You destroyed me for your career! You killed my grandmother!"

Something flickered in Damien's eyes.

But he quickly recovered that lofty, cold indifference.

"What are you babbling about?"

"Linda kindly let you in to escape the rain. Not only are you ungrateful, you tried to assault her?"

"Looks like you haven't improved at all in five years. Still the same liar with no emotional control."

He waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a fly.

"Call the police."

"Someone with violent tendencies like this doesn't belong in society."

In that moment, watching his cold profile, I suddenly stopped hating.

Because you don't need to hate the dead.

Five years ago, that stormy night.

Before my grandmother took her last breath, I called Damien one hundred times.

Every single call was rejected.

Later I learned that he'd been at Linda's villa that night, throwing a party to celebrate obtaining a full scholarship to study in France.

My grandmother lay in the cold morgue for three days.

He was drunk on champagne and wine for three days.

I stopped struggling.

I let the security guards press my face into the carpet stained with wine.

Through my disheveled hair, I stared fixedly at Damien's spotless leather shoes.

Kara's POV

The police hadn't arrived yet. The livestream continued.

Because of the earlier crash, guests and media from the front hall all crowded over.

Countless cameras focused on this chaotic scene in the prep kitchen.

"What's going on? Why is that delivery person attacking someone?"

"Seems like she has mental issues. Professor Lynn was just being nice talking to her, then she suddenly went crazy."

"Terrifying. How did someone like that get in here?"

Linda still hid behind Damien, clutching her chest, tears flowing on command.

"Dear media friends, I'm so sorry for frightening everyone."

"This girl... was actually a former student of mine. She's harbored resentment over Damien's success."

"I wanted to give her a chance to reform, but I never expected she would..."

She trailed off strategically, performing the role of betrayed mentor flawlessly.

I lay pinned to the ground, listening to the accusations around me.

They cursed me for being ungrateful.

Cursed me for being psychologically twisted.

Some even recognized me, saying I was the plagiarist from years ago-deserved to stay at the bottom forever.

Damien stood under the spotlight, straightening his jacket, offering the camera a helpless yet magnanimous bitter smile.

"Everyone has the right to choose their own path."

"Kara chose degradation. That pains me too."

"But I hope everyone won't judge her too harshly. After all... some people's psychological resilience is rather fragile."

Those words sealed my fate as psychologically fragile and willingly degraded.

The security guards probably thought I was too dirty, ruining the shot. They wanted to drag me out.

"Wait."

I suddenly spoke.

My voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet scene it rang especially clear.

I struggled to lift my head, looking toward the dessert table in the distance.

There sat the painting Damien had just planned to auction.

The struggling hands on the canvas looked especially desperate under the spotlights.

"Damien."

I stared at that painting, my lips curling into a strange smile.

"You just said this painting represents your deepest contemplation of human nature?"

"Then do you dare tell everyone what exactly is mixed into the red paint in this painting?"

Damien's expression changed slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Five years ago, to buy you that discontinued tube of Venetian red, I went to black market medical trials."

"The drug made blood vessels brittle. The slightest touch would cause bleeding."

"When I brought you the paint that day, blood from my hand dripped into the tube."

"You thought it was disgusting. Called me bad luck. Wanted to throw it away."

"Then you discovered that the blood-mixed red had a special muted luster. To achieve a suffocating effect, you forced me to keep adding blood to it."

The entire venue fell deathly silent.

Everyone stared in horror at that painting.

At that shocking red.

Damien's expression stiffened momentarily, but he quickly composed himself.

"Kara, is this lunatic rambling supposed to mean something?"

"Making up disgusting stories for attention only makes you look more pathetic."

"Making it up?"

My smile widened.

"The lower right corner of that painting-the part you covered with thick paint."

"If you dare scrape away that layer of paint."

"Underneath, doesn't it say 'Never Betray'?"

That was our only vow back then.

Damien's pupils contracted sharply.

He instinctively shifted, blocking the lower right corner of the painting.

That subtle movement was captured by countless cameras.

Linda saw things spiraling and screamed at security.

"Cover her mouth! She's talking nonsense! She's trying to ruin today's charity auction!"

"How can you believe a mental patient's words? Take her away now!"

Security tightened their grip. My face was twisted against the floor. I couldn't speak.

But I saw it.

Saw the flash of panic in Damien's eyes.

I smiled. Damien, you don't know, do you? I have other ways to destroy you.