You Said I Was A Gold Digger, Why Are You Crying Now That I'm Divorced?

"Do you have the money?"

Gary cut off Emma before she could finish her sentence.

“Mrs. Grant, I helped Daniel and organized this charity event because my own child died of leukemia. I wanted to do more for kids suffering like he did.”

She paused, her tone turning colder. “But don’t forget—I’m still a businesswoman. If you have the money, I’m even willing to let you have the painting at its purchase price. But do you?”

As she spoke, Gary took a deliberate step back, putting distance between them.

“I bought that painting from your mother for five million. I’m not sure why your mother had an original work by Master Henry, but if you can pay five million, I’ll return it to you.”

“The auction’s about to begin. I should go. Mrs. Grant, do as you see fit.”

With that, Gary turned and walked away.

Staring at her retreating figure, Emma could no longer hold back her tears.

She hadn’t expected her mother to sell her father’s final gift. She hadn’t expected that when it mattered most, she’d be powerless to stop it.

Her father had died in a car crash while saving her. She had watched him bleed out with no way to help.

Now, facing his last painting, she was helpless again.

Unable to bear it any longer, Emma crouched on the floor, hugging herself tightly, sobbing uncontrollably.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before her tears ran dry. In a daze, she stood and wandered to the venue’s entrance.

Even if it was for the last time, she wanted to see the painting her father had created for her.

Inside, the lights were dim. But one soft spotlight shone directly on the painting.

Beneath a star-filled sky, a happy family of four gazed up at shooting stars, making wishes together.

She had been ten when her father painted it. Back then, he was alive. Her mother hadn’t changed. Her brother was healthy. The Grant family hadn’t yet broken her spirit.

Staring at the image, Emma’s heart twisted in pain.

Samantha hadn’t lied—she truly wanted the painting. And Michael had given it to her.

Cradling the framed canvas in her arms, Samantha turned toward the doorway and spotted Emma, her face radiant with pride. The scorn in her gaze was unmistakable.

Looking into those mocking eyes, Emma felt a wave of anger surge through her. Her chest tightened, and blood spilled from the corner of her mouth.

Just before she lost consciousness, she caught one last glimpse of Michael sitting quietly in his seat.

He seemed to turn toward her—

But Samantha said something, and he turned back to her with a smile.

When she awoke, the sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air. She was in a hospital room.

Frowning, Emma sat up slowly. Her first thought was of the auction. She reached for her phone, intending to call Michael and beg for the painting.

But just as she unlocked the screen, a message arrived—from Samantha.

[Being with the one you love most is the greatest happiness. The unloved one is just a mistress.]

Attached was a photo: two hands, fingers interlocked.

Staring at the message, Emma felt nothing. No shock. No rage.

She turned off the phone and gave a bitter smile.

Since he’d allowed Samantha to claim what belonged to her—and humiliated her in public to please her—he clearly had no intention of ever returning the painting.

Without hesitation, she wiped her tears, pulled the IV needle from her hand, and staggered out of the hospital.

Back at home, all she wanted now was to gather her things and wait for the institute team to arrive.

But the moment she opened the door, she froze.

There, in the living room, Samantha was sitting on Michael’s lap—clutching the painting, her face lit with joy.

“Michael, look at how beautifully this shooting star is drawn! When I see this painting, I imagine the child we’ll have someday. I want us to be as happy as the family in the picture!”

She leaned into his chest with a shy smile.

“Speaking of which, I’ve never seen a real shooting star before. Will you take me to see one soon?”

She nuzzled against him like a kitten, her voice soft and sugary.

“Sure. I’ll have my assistant arrange it in the next couple of days.”

Michael gently stroked her head, smiling with affection.

Watching the scene unfold, Emma felt a sharp sting in her eyes.