Chapter 19
“Mr. Myers, the Owenses are hosting a welcome party for their long-lost sister. Here’s the invitation they sent.”
“I know there’s been tension between the Myers and Owens families, but the Owenses are offering a peace gesture now.”
Timothy Clark carefully suggested, “Mr. Myers, with our company under intense media scrutiny, it might be wise to improve relations with the Owens family.”
Maximo Myers held the pendant in his hand, lost in thought, ignoring Timothy’s advice.
Timothy sighed. “The company was the old man’s pride and joy.”
At the mention of “the old man,” a flicker of recognition lit up Maximo’s otherwise vacant eyes. His gaze drifted to the invitation.
“Viviana Owens…”
“Royal Academy of Arts…”
Memories started to swirl in Maximo’s clouded mind, recalling a time when he met a girl from the Royal Academy during their studies abroad. Encouraged by friends, he had become close to her, but not long after, she had taken her own life due to depression. Her name was Viviana.
Could it be her?
An image of Winnie Hughes’s manic and twisted face suddenly flashed before Maximo’s eyes.
Could it be that…
He’d never understood why the Owens family had always been so hostile toward him. Now, an unsettling theory began to form in his mind, one that made his skin crawl.
Viviana Owens had been driven to her death by Winnie Hughes!
Maximo’s expression turned grim.
This was an event he simply couldn’t miss.
At the Owens estate, the banquet hall buzzed with life, guests packed in tightly, admiring Viviana Owens’s artwork. The clinking of glasses and sounds of admiration filled the room.
“Mr. Myers, Ms. Owens’s art seems to…” Timothy Clark began, quickly stopping himself before saying “Mrs.” to avoid upsetting his boss at the party.
Timothy awkwardly finished, “…seems somewhat familiar.”
Maximo’s eyes were glued to the paintings. The layers of oil paint, with the knife marks visibly etched, seemed to cut into the canvas like wounds. Running a finger across the surface, one would feel the rough, heavy texture, yet her art wasn’t about wallowing in pain or glorifying suffering.
Maximo saw a vibrant life emerging from the darkness.
The paintings were battles fought on the canvas, as much with the self as with the medium. Ultimately, they embraced a scarred self with vigor, each symbolic wound bursting with dazzling light.
As Maximo looked closer, his heart raced. Not because of Viviana Owens, nor did he have time to contemplate whether her tragic end was indirectly caused by him.
Instead, within each piece of art, he recognized a familiar presence.
It was her.
Arlette Myers!
Once Maximo pulled himself from the emotional impact of the paintings, he noticed the signature.
His heart skipped a beat, then pounded wildly.
His vision blurred as blood rushed to his head, but he could still recognize the handwriting, nearly identical to hers.
Overcome with emotion, Maximo pushed through the crowd like a madman, racing through the hall. Ignoring shouts and curses, he inspected one painting after another.
Every signature was accompanied by a discreet smiley face.
It was her little quirk.
Maximo trembled with excitement, tears streaming down his face as he laughed.
She was alive!
“Where is Viviana Owens? I need to see her!”
Timothy Clark, breathless, caught up to him and, still panting, broke into a cold sweat. “Mr. Myers, please, don’t call Ms. Owens by her first name.”
“This is London, we’re in Owens’ territory.”
“Mr. Owens cherishes his long-lost sister, and your relationship with him is already strained. If—”
“She’s gone!”
Maximo grabbed Timothy’s shoulders, his excitement echoing in his voice.
He finally remembered!
Viviana Owens hadn’t died instantly after jumping. She had lingered in ICU for ten days before passing away.
Viviana Owens was already dead.