Chapter 10
1131 Words
That night, the Xavier family mansion on the Upper East Side looked like a palace filled with candlelight.
But to Sheina, it was far from beautiful. To her, that house was nothing more than a luxurious prison that held so many painful memories.
As the car carrying her passed through the tall iron gates, her chest tightened. Her breath caught for a moment, but she quickly calmed herself. She adjusted her black silk dress that fit perfectly on her body, a dress that highlighted her curves elegantly without being excessive.
Leo did not come with her. The boy was asleep at the hotel, exhausted, under the strict protection of Julian’s trusted men. Tonight, Sheina came alone. She was ready to face the man who had once destroyed her life.
The large oak doors slowly opened. The servants inside immediately bowed respectfully as Sheina stepped in.
At the top of the grand spiral staircase, Damian was already waiting. He looked incredibly handsome in his black tuxedo, yet there was something cold and intimidating about him.
His sharp gaze moved from head to toe, observing Sheina carefully. For a brief moment, Sheina caught something in his eyes—a desire he tried to hide.
“You’re right on time, Sheina,” Damian said as he walked down the stairs. His voice echoed clearly in the silent room.
“I don’t like wasting time,” Sheina replied shortly.
Damian said nothing. He simply extended his arm, as if inviting her to walk with him. The gesture looked polite, but it carried a sense of control.
Sheina hesitated for a moment before finally placing her hand on his arm. Through his suit, she could feel how firm and strong his body was. The touch sent a faint warmth through her body—something she did not like.
They walked toward the dining room.
Lady Beatrice was already seated upright at the head of the table. Meanwhile, Ellena sat on the other side in a striking red dress, her smile clearly forced.
“Mother, this is our guest of honor. Ms. Sheina Blake,” Damian said.
Lady Beatrice did not stand. She simply lifted her chin and looked at Sheina coldly through her gold-rimmed glasses.
“So, this is the painter who made my son lose his mind?” she said in a low but sharp tone.
Sheina didn’t wait for the servant. She pulled out her own chair and sat down, showing that she refused to be treated like a weak guest.
“The world is small, Lady Beatrice,” she said calmly. “It’s possible for people to resemble someone else.”
Sheina tried to stay calm, even though seeing Lady Beatrice’s face immediately brought her back to that night—the night she was cast out.
One question always lingered in her mind. Who had cut the brake cable of the car, causing Clara’s accident and death? Was it Lady Beatrice?
Ellena cleared her throat, trying to join the conversation.
“I’ve seen your paintings,” she said. “They’re very dark. I wonder, what kind of suffering made you paint something like that? Or is it just a strategy to make your work more appealing?”
Sheina looked at Ellena sharply, making the woman fall silent for a moment.
“Suffering is not something to be sold,” Sheina replied coldly. “It is a trace left behind by people who think they can destroy someone’s life without consequences.”
The atmosphere instantly became tense.
Damian, who usually controlled the conversation, remained silent, watching Sheina closely. He poured wine into her glass, and as he did, his fingers deliberately brushed against hers, lingering longer than necessary.
“Try this,” he whispered near her ear.
“It’s wine from the same year you started painting.”
Sheina drank it without hesitation, as if to prove that she was no longer the weak woman she used to be.
Lady Beatrice cleared her throat again. Whatever she was thinking, her expression had slightly changed.
Dinner continued in silence, filled with tension. Lady Beatrice kept asking about Sheina’s past in London and her late husband. However, Sheina answered everything calmly, sticking to the story she had carefully prepared with Julian.
After dinner, Lady Beatrice and Ellena went to the tea room. But Damian stopped Sheina.
“Come with me. There’s something I want to show you,” he said, gripping her elbow and leading her away.
They entered the library. Damian closed the door and released her, but he remained standing very close to her. The room was lit only by the glow of the fireplace.
“Stop pretending, Camila,” Damian hissed, his voice filled with emotion.
Sheina’s heart pounded, but her expression remained calm.
“My name is Sheina,” she replied. “Perhaps you should see a psychiatrist if you keep thinking I’m Camila.”
Damian raised his hand and touched her hair, then her face.
“Your hair is different. The way you speak is different,” he said softly. “But your eyes… they can’t lie. I can still see the wound. The wound I created.”
He leaned closer until their faces were almost touching.
“Tell me… who Leo’s real father is. When I saw him, it felt like I was looking at myself.”
Sheina let out a soft, cold laugh.
“You’re too confident, Damian. Just because Leon looks like you doesn’t mean he’s your son. Leon is Thomas Blake’s son. A man who truly loved me.”
Hearing that name, Damian’s emotions exploded. He pulled Sheina closer until their bodies pressed together.
“You’re lying!” he growled, gripping the back of her neck and forcing her to look at him.
For a moment, the atmosphere shifted. They were no longer just enemies, but two people who were both hurt… yet still drawn to each other.
Damian’s gaze fell to Sheina’s lips. He wanted to kiss her, to force the truth out of her.
“Let me go,” Sheina said softly but firmly. “Or tomorrow, you will never sell my paintings again.”
Damian didn’t let go. Instead, he lowered his head, burying his face near her neck, inhaling her scent.
“Why did you come back… if it was only to hurt me?” he whispered.
Sheina closed her eyes for a moment. Her body felt weak, but the painful memories quickly returned. She pushed him away with force.
“Don’t be insolent. I’m not Camila. I’m Sheina. Remember that.”
Sheina straightened her dress.
“Thank you for the dinner. But your attitude is truly disappointing.”
Without looking back, she walked out with confident steps.
Damian stood there, breathing unevenly, his fists clenched tightly.
He knew… he had lost tonight.
- Writer
