The murmurs grew louder as the police walked into the room. Two officers made their way toward Josey, their faces serious. The crowd parted for them, and the room grew still.
"Mrs. Josey," one officer said, holding up a paper. "You're under investigation for fraud. We have evidence that you've been selling fake paintings."
Josey's face went pale. She stepped back, her usual confidence fading. "Officer, this is a misunderstanding," she stammered. "I would never—"
Her assistant leaned close and whispered in her ear. "We can fix this, but you need to act fast."
Josey looked around, panic in her eyes. Then she spotted me and called my name in a soft, almost pleading voice. "Faye."
I turned toward her, confused. "What?"
She grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. "You need to help me, Faye. This is a big mistake, and I need you to take the blame for now."
My heart skipped. "What? Take the blame? Are you serious?"
Yes, I'm serious," she hissed, her voice low. "Listen, I'll hire the best lawyers to clear your name later. But right now, the police are after me. If you take responsibility, they'll back off, and we'll have time to fix everything."
I stepped back, shaking my head. "You want me to ruin my life for you? How could you even ask that?"
Before she could answer, her assistant spoke loudly. "Actually," she said, catching everyone's attention, "it was Faye who forged the paintings."
My heart stopped. "What?" I gasped, barely able to believe what I was hearing.
The assistant spoke confidently. "The evidence is in her car. And her studio is filled with fake paintings. Isn't that right, Faye?"
"No! This isn't true! You're lying!" I shouted, but my voice trembled.
One of the officers stepped forward. "Miss, we need to search your car and studio to verify these claims."
"No, wait!" I cried. My mind raced. I remembered the papers Josey's assistant had asked me to bring. It wasn't paperwork. It was evidence to set me up.
"You set me up," I whispered, my voice breaking.
Josey's cold eyes met mine. "Don't make a scene, Faye. Just cooperate. It's for the good of the family."
Family. The word felt like a punch in the gut. I couldn't hold it in anymore. "The family? You've never cared about me. You only care about yourself!"
I turned, desperate to find someone—anyone—who would understand what I was going through. I rushed to Desmond, hoping he would listen to me, but instead, I heard him confessing his love for Tila.
Tila stood there, acting all pitiful, and blamed me for everything. She said I was the one who forged the painting and ruined the family's name. She cried fake tears, and Desmond looked heartbroken. He told her he was going to divorce me and marry her instead.
I stood there, frozen, listening to their conversation. Tila quickly left.
I walked up to Desmond and handed him the resignation letter, asking why he kept it from me. He told me to open the envelope. As I did, I couldn't believe my eyes. Inside was a divorce letter.
At that moment, the officers stepped forward. "Miss, we need you to come with us."
I backed away, shaking my head. "No. This isn't fair."
I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and ran, my heart breaking as I fled the room.
I got into my car, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white. My mind was spinning, going over everything that had happened.
My phone rang, and I saw Josey's name. I answered it, my voice barely above a whisper. "What now?"
"Faye," Josey said calmly. "It's time for you to do the right thing."
"The right thing?" I said, my voice shaking. "You mean take the blame for your crimes?"
"Yes," she said with no hesitation. "It's the least you can do after everything I've done for you. I gave you a home, Faye. I made you part of this family."
"You never cared about me," I said, angry tears filling my eyes. "You only used me."
Her voice turned cold. "Don't be ungrateful. Without me, you'd be nothing."
I let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe being nothing would've been better than being part of this nightmare."
"We're family, Faye. Families stick together," she said softly, trying to manipulate me.
I screamed in frustration, throwing the phone into the passenger seat. My vision blurred with tears, and I slammed my foot on the accelerator, speeding down the road.
I didn't see the car in front of me until it was too late.
---
The sound of screeching tires and the crash of metal filled the air. My car spun out of control and crashed violently.
The loud crash of the accident still rang in my ears as I lay in the hospital bed. I couldn't move, and every breath felt heavy. The doctor told Josey I had broken bones and was bleeding inside. He said surgery wasn't possible and that only fate could decide if I'd survive.
But Josey didn't cry or look worried. When the doctor left, she came into my room. I saw her walk over and unplug my ventilator—the machine that helped me breathe.
I woke up just enough to see her standing there. "I've hated you since the first day I saw you at the orphanage," she said coldly. I was just a little kid back then, trying to make her happy so she'd adopt me. And she did—but only because she enjoyed watching me suffer.
Josey leaned closer, her voice cruel. "We were meant to be together like this. But in your next life, don't be so kind. It only brings trouble."
Before leaving, Josey told her assistant to plug the ventilator back in, trying to cover up what she'd done. Doctors rushed in to save me, but I could tell it was too late.
As I felt myself slipping away, I prayed with all my heart. "God, if you let me live again, I promise
I'll make them pay for what they've done to me. No matter what, I'll get my revenge."