Framed for Leaking Secrets, I Ruined Them Instead

When she saw the paintings torn into pieces on the floor, Beatrice completely lost control.

“Robert, what are you doing?! You tore the paintings from the exhibition! What about the tens of millions of dollars’ worth of tickets we already sold?!”

She continued shouting, “And what does ripping THESE paintings mean?!”

She looked at my hand that was covered in bloody bandages. Soon, a cruel light flashed in her eyes. She grabbed the fresh wound right after my surgery.

“Robert, answer me.”

Even with all the anesthesia, the sudden pain was unbearable. Cold sweat instantly covered my forehead.

I pushed Beatrice away and looked at the shredded paintings on the floor. I smiled.

“It doesn’t mean anything. I just want to destroy you... just like you destroyed me a few hours ago.”

Rage burst in Beatrice’s eyes. After a few seconds of silence, she suddenly laughed out loud.

“Destroy me? Robert, you’re so naïve. The copyright of those paintings you ripped? They were transferred to the company long ago. They’re not your paintings anymore! Forget tearing them, if you had dirtied even one corner, you’d have to compensate!”

“I did a rough calculation. You tore forty-five paintings. At the current market price for each one…”

Beatrice’s words exploded in my head like a bomb. I couldn’t hear anything after that.

With trembling hands, I took out my phone and checked the copyright records. When I saw that the copyright had been transferred half a year ago, my heart fell into a bottomless pit.

So she planned this long ago… Half a year ago... that was exactly when Sylvester Duskwood joined the company. Maybe… they had planned this together from the beginning.

Sylvester laughed mockingly in front of me. “Did you hear that, Robert? In total, 12.7 million dollars. When will you pay it back?”

I hadn’t eaten for a whole day and night. I had lost a lot of blood. My emotions were shattered. My vision went dark and I collapsed onto the torn pieces of my own artwork.

Beatrice looked down at me from above, her voice cold. “Scared, Robert?”

“Don’t be. Even though you betrayed me, even though you asked for a divorce, I’ll give you a chance, for the sake of our eight years together.”

She exchanged a look with Sylvester. A few minutes later, my father’s most beloved painting was brought in and placed right in front of me.

“Give me your father’s painting and we’ll erase your debt.”

I shot up from the floor, stumbling forward as I lunged toward the painting.

“Beatrice, keep dreaming! You think you deserve to touch my father’s work?!”

But before I could reach it, Sylvester kicked me hard in the stomach. The back of my head slammed against the corner of the coffee table.

Everything went black for a moment. Warm, sticky blood ran down my neck into my shirt.

Before I could react, Beatrice gently placed her foot on my bandaged hand.

“Robert, I’ll ask you one more time. Are you giving me your father’s painting or not?”