He Stole My Art and My Mother,So I Stole His Empire

At the Capital City Art & Calligraphy Competition, the event that was supposed to define my entire career,

the piece I'd poured three years of my life into was publicly accused of plagiarism.

Doctored intimate photos of me and one of the judges filled the main screen.

My mother collapsed on the spot, clutching her chest as her heart gave out.

While the sirens of the ambulance screamed through the chaos, Maxwell Delgado's childhood sweetheart climbed onto the winner's podium.

Maxwell seized my wrist, his warning voice cold enough to freeze bone.

‘Peggy's sick. She doesn't have much time left. This first-place award has to go to her. Don't fight it.’

‘Even if you tried, you wouldn't win. Not against me.’

‘Don't worry. I'll announce our engagement soon. You'll be Mrs. Delgado for the rest of your life. That should more than make up for today.’

I sat beside my mother's cold body in the hospital morgue,

tears hitting the tops of my shoes,

Maxwell Delgado, being your wife will never make up for what I've lost.

But destroying you and her? That'll be enough.

——

Three days later, I knelt in a black dress before my mother's portrait at the memorial service.

The smoke from the incense and candles burned my throat raw and set my eyes on fire.

A wave of perfume rolled in from behind me, sickly sweet enough to turn my stomach.

Maxwell was here.

My mother's body was barely cold, and he'd brought the woman who killed her to pay respects.

Maxwell wore a tailored black suit, his arm wrapped around Peggy Pruitt, who was draped in a cashmere shawl.

Just like that day on the stage, he shielded her completely, not a gap in his armor.

‘Felicia Winfield, Peggy just finished a round of chemo. Go pour her a glass of warm water.’

I didn't move.

Maxwell stepped forward, his dress shoes striking the tile floor, each step echoing sharp and hollow through the empty hall.

‘Felicia.’

He locked his hand around my wrist, exactly like that day at the awards ceremony,

squeezing hard enough to grind my bones together.

‘I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?’

Before I could answer, Peggy was already stepping in. She tugged at the cuff of Maxwell's shirt with her pinky, her voice a soft, pitiful whimper.

‘Max, don't be mean to Felicia. She's so upset right now, how could she possibly think about me? It's fine, really.’

She pressed herself into Maxwell's arms as she spoke,

looking so fragile that even a stranger off the street would have felt sorry for her.

I watched Maxwell's arm tighten around her waist,

pulling her closer with a tenderness so fierce it was as if he wanted to fold her into his body for safekeeping.

‘Felicia.’

Peggy turned to me, holding out a box.

‘I know you're grieving. I brought some calming incense especially for today. I hope it helps your mother rest in peace.’

She extended the box toward me.

I glanced at it once, reached out, and knocked it straight to the ground.

Maxwell's eyes went cold in an instant. He was about to tear into me when he froze mid-step.

I stared at what had spilled across the floor and let out a bitter laugh.

There was no calming incense in that box.

It was the first-place certificate from the Capital City Art & Calligraphy Competition.

On the left side, stamped in gold foil, was the name ‘Peggy Pruitt’, gleaming like a blade aimed straight at my eyes.

The image of my mother crumpling to the ground at the awards gala three days ago tore through my mind, over and over and over.

Hatred churned so violently in my chest I could barely breathe.

I shot to my feet, ripped the certificate from the floor,

and hurled it into the fire burning before my mother's memorial.

‘No……my certificate……’

Peggy let out a piercing scream and lunged for the fire, but before she got close, she crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.

‘Crack!’

Maxwell's open palm connected with my face.