My Boyfriend Amputated My Right Hand to Help Fake Winner

I had once thought of telling Bruce the truth. But just one painting—accidentally left out on the table—was enough to terrify him. He lashed out again, this time making sure I could never lift my right arm again.

I packed up everything I could take with me. Everything that belonged to Bruce, I tossed straight into the trash. Not that it mattered—he probably thought of all of it as garbage anyway. I canceled the lease, ditched my SIM card and disappeared from the city.

***

Six months later, the National Ink Painting Competition was held in New York. All the champions from provincial competitions across the country had gathered for it. Rumor had it that several reclusive masters would be attending—some even planning to take on disciples.

Kate was determined to win. As always, Bruce was by her side. He never missed any of her competitions.

So, when Bruce spotted someone who looked suspiciously like Sandra in the venue, he froze for a moment.

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him—until Kate stormed forward first.

Her voice was sharp and shrill. “What are you doing here?” she barked. Her eyes flicked down toward my right arm with mockery. “You can’t even paint anymore. What, did you come here to serve tea?”

Bruce walked up beside her, lips pressed in a thin line. But in the end, he said nothing. Since I came on behalf of my mentor, I had arrived early for preparations. I hadn’t expected to run into these two disasters. Pretending I didn’t hear anything, I turned around and started to walk away.

But Bruce suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Sandra, where have you been these past six months?”

I pulled my arm back. “Sir, do we know each other?”

His brows tightened slightly, as if trying hard to contain something. “Sandra, come on. It’s been half a year. Isn’t that enough drama? Stop it, okay?”

He lowered his voice. “Now that I know who you are—whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just… stop going after Kate.”

I took a deep breath, then shot him a glare so cold it could cut glass. “Let me be clear: I was never making a scene. I just didn’t want you anymore.”

With that, I turned and walked away, not caring about the flash of ice that instantly coated his face.

***

The competition was being broadcast live and streams were flooded with art bloggers and their fans.

So when Bruce and Kate saw me sitting among the judges, their eyes widened in shock.

Kate even shrieked, “Why is she a judge?! She's just a disabled amateur! And a repeat art thief!”