He Forced Me to Paint Until My Last Breath

Regina's POV

[Breaking News: Rising art star Regina Macy confirmed guilty of plagiarism.]

The comments section exploded with insults and ridicule. People said I was a bully who had coasted on fame for years, only to steal a rookie artist’s work for my biggest, most talked-about piece.

My social media accounts were overrun. Only a few loyal fans still tried to defend me, clinging to hope, waiting for me to speak up and tell the truth.

But I couldn’t say a single word.

Darell said I owed him, and this was how he wanted me to pay him back. I had no choice. I owed him too much.

I returned to the States alone, bundled up in a hat and mask, but it didn’t stop the press from swarming me the moment I stepped off the plane.

They surrounded me instantly, microphones in my face, questions coming rapid-fire. I kept my head down, just trying to leave, but I was outnumbered and shoved all the way to the corner of the terminal.

“Miss Macy, by staying silent, are you admitting to the plagiarism scandal?”

“If your final piece was plagiarized, what about your previous work? Were those copied too?”

“Miss Macy, do you have anything to say to the fans who’ve supported you for years? Have you apologized to the rookie artist you allegedly stole from?”

I couldn’t answer any of them. Their sharp questions pierced through me like knives.

Everything blurred. The reporters, their flashing cameras, the aggressive shoving—it all felt like a public execution.

And in the chaos, I felt something eerily familiar.

I’d been pushed into a corner like this before—back when I was a child, forced to speak under pressure, scared and overwhelmed. That same sickening feeling crept in.

Back then, it was Darell who rushed to my side, shielding me with everything he had. He’d pull me into his chest, cover my ears, and block out the cruel voices.

He’d look me in the eye, angry but protective, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me you were being bullied? Don’t you see me as family?”

But the man I saw now was the one who had pushed me straight into this nightmare.

“I’m sorry,” I said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “No comment.”

With all the strength I had, I tried to push through the crowd. No one could see the tears behind my sunglasses.

But I hadn’t even made it a few steps before another flash of cameras and excited shouts told me someone else had arrived.

Darell and Margot.

They’d been on the same flight as me—first class for them, economy for me. Our paths barely crossed, but it felt like we were in two completely different worlds.

Through the edge of my sunglasses, I saw him.

Darell was staring straight at me.

I turned, ready to run—but his voice cut through the crowd like a blade.

“Regina, what are you running from? Get over here and apologize for what you did.”

I froze. For a second, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

His voice was calm. Too calm.

“Margot is kind and forgiving, but I’m not going to stand by while she’s treated unfairly. You stole her work and caused all this drama. Isn’t an apology the least you can do?”

My heart clenched slowly. His eyes were cold and mocking.

Under the glare of a hundred camera lenses, my head throbbed painfully.

All I wanted was to run. To get far, far away from the flashing lights, from this scene, from him.

“Regina,” he said again, “just because you’re my stepsister doesn’t mean I’ll protect you. If you did something wrong, take responsibility.”

“What, do you think you can just deny it and pretend nothing happened?” he snapped.

I bit down hard, holding back the pain, and shoved my way out as fast as I could.

I wouldn’t apologize. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why should I say sorry?

The mix of anger and hurt churned in my chest, but slowly… it started to fade into something else.

Resignation.

Maybe this was how it ended. Maybe that was okay.

Outside the window, the city blurred by. Another sharp wave of pain hit my skull.

My phone buzzed. A message from my doctor popped up.

[Miss Macy, the tumor has already spread. Please think carefully about your next steps.]

I didn’t hesitate. I typed out my reply.

[Still, no treatment.]

After all, there wasn’t much left for me to hold on to anymore.