Abandoned Wife: Now Untouchable

Chapter 6 My Son Cheated

Anabella Clayton's POV:

I took Elinor to the Londale International Arts Center.

The final round of the International Youth Painting Competition was about to commence. The hall was teeming with children carrying easels and parents who could barely contain their nervous energy.

Elinor gripped my hand tightly, her other arm cradling her cherished sketchbook.

She wore a simple white cotton dress, her blonde curls pulled into a sharp ponytail, and her green eyes shimmered with excitement.

"Mommy, will I win?" she asked, looking up at me.

"Sweetheart, making it to the finals is a victory in itself." I knelt down and straightened her collar. "Just paint the world inside your heart as best as you can."

I stood up, only to be met by three figures that stopped me cold.

Near the registration desk stood Bowden, draped in a sharp, tailored navy suit. Beside him, Analia was intimately leaning over Dexter's shoulder, whispering to a staff member.

"Dexter?" I walked over, my voice laced with disbelief. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Dexter's eyes lit up when he saw me, and for a split second, he looked ready to lunge for a hug. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he stiffened.

Bowden turned around, a flash of surprise crossing his gray eyes before settling into an expression of disdain. "What are you doing here? Is Elinor competing? Hmph. Dexter made it to the finals, so we came to support him."

"That's impossible." I looked Bowden dead in the eye. "Dexter doesn't even like painting. He doesn't even know that red and yellow make orange. How did he pass the preliminaries?"

I turned to Dexter, my voice stern. "Dexter, tell Mommy the truth. How did you qualify? Honesty is the most fundamental quality a child can have."

"I don't know... I..." Dexter scrambled behind Analia. "But I like painting! I can do it! And I knew about red and yellow! Analia said I have the instincts of a genius, so... so I came to Londale to compete."

"Anabella," Analia said, stroking Dexter's head with a cold, condescending smirk. "It seems you don't understand your own son, let alone respect his dreams."

"Yeah! She always says I'm not good enough!" Dexter snapped, glaring at me.

Elinor looked confused and shouted, "Dexter, you're lying! You told me you hated painting!"

Bowden's brow furrowed, his gaze sweeping over Elinor with a chilling indifference, as if she were nothing more than an obstacle in his son's way.

"Elinor, honestly? The stuff you doodle at home isn't all that much better than Dexter's."

The tears spilled over instantly. Elinor let out a sob and buried her face in my dress.

"Bowden, is that any way for a father to speak to his little girl?" I pulled Elinor closer, shielding her. "You let your son cheat, and then you deliberately wound your daughter? If you keep this up, Dexter will be lost completely!"

"I'm just stating facts. Besides, Dexter has been much happier without you around," Bowden replied coldly.

*****

The finals began.

It was a two-hour creative session. Parents were required to retreat behind the barricades.

I kept my eyes on Dexter through the crowd. He sat at his easel, looking agitated, mindlessly scribbling on the paper with a brush.

My heart sank.

My son clearly had no "genuinely brilliant instincts."

"Mommy, I need to go to the bathroom," Elinor whispered, waving at me.

I led her toward the restrooms at the end of the hall. Just as we reached the door, I noticed a figure tailing us stealthily. It was Analia.

Elinor went into a stall. I stood at the sink, pretending to fix my hair. Through the mirror's reflection, I saw Analia move quickly toward the door. Her hand reached for the handle, poised to lock us inside.

At the exact moment the door was about to click shut, I moved with lightning speed, jamming a thick paintbrush I had been carrying into the gap between the door and the frame.

Thud. The door stayed open.

I wrenched it back and, under Analia's terrified gaze, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against the corridor wall.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Let go! You lunatic!" Analia struggled.

In the scuffle, her bag hit the floor and burst open, spilling out several creative paintings, each with a different style but all masterfully composed.

I scanned the artwork and understood everything instantly.

"So this was the plan?" I sneered, pointing at the paintings. "Lock Elinor and me in the bathroom so we couldn't compete and then swap these into Dexter's easel during the chaos of the staff looking for us?"

"You're making things up! This has nothing to do with Dexter! I didn't do anything!" she shrieked.

Attracted by the noise, the staff soon arrived.

I didn't let go. "This woman was trying to cheat. These are the finished works she brought in with her."

*****

Edmund Chavez's POV:

I stood in the VIP lounge on the second floor of the Arts Center, reviewing reports on my tablet.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted on the floor below. I set the tablet down and walked to the glass railing.

Among the crowd, a figure in a purple suit immediately caught my eye.

I recognized her immediately, but what was Anabella doing here?

I saw the little girl with the ponytail and the paintbrush by her side, and I guessed the situation immediately.

I signaled to the floor, and a manager quickly hurried up to see me.

"What's going on down there?"

"My apologies, sir. There's been an allegation of cheating. The lady in purple discovered that the woman accompanying a young boy had several pre-painted canvases hidden in her bag."

He pointed toward a woman in a white sweater standing in the main hall. Standing beside her was a man who looked familiar. I squinted and recognized it was Bowden.

I narrowed my eyes. "Is that woman the boy's parent?"

"It would seem so."

'So, Bowden is letting another woman play his son's mother? Is that woman his mistress? Doesn't he know that can really make Anabella upset?'

Under the bright gallery lights, I could see a fine sheen of sweat on Anabella's forehead, her back held as straight as a spear. Bowden was standing opposite her, roaring in her face.

"Inform the committee head, Mr. Garza," I said, my voice dropping to a freezing temperature. "If the evidence is solid, disqualify the boy immediately. I will not have an arts foundation funded by the Chavez family tainted by such a disgusting scandal."

Soon, an announcement echoed through the hall.

"Dexter Clayton is disqualified for violating the principles of fair competition. Please vacate the premises immediately."

The crowd erupted into hushed whispers and jeers.

The little boy froze for a few seconds before breaking into a world-shattering wail.

"This is all your fault!" He suddenly lunged at Anabella in a fit of rage. "You made me look like a loser in front of everyone! I hate you!"

In her rush to protect the daughter behind her, Anabella's foot slipped. She fell hard, her head striking the sharp edge of a marble pillar.

My heart constricted violently.

My hands gripped the railing so hard my knuckles turned white. At that moment, I really wanted to leap over the edge and drop down to her side.

However, I couldn't be so impulsive. "Stay calm, Edmund," I told myself. I couldn't appear yet, and more importantly, I knew she wouldn't want to see me like this.

On a rainy night eight years ago in the financial district, she had stood in a soaked suit, having just lost millions, and looked me in the eye with her chin held high. "Edmund," she had said, "don't you dare look at me with pity. I'll win it all back."

She was Anabella Sullivan. She was "The Apex". I knew a woman like her would be too proud to ever bow her head.

The last thing she would want was for me to see her at her lowest.

The girl who had walked away from England at sixteen without so much as a backward glance at the airport had never changed.

Soon, someone ran over with a medical kit and applied a bandage to her temple.

Anabella stood up. She looked at Bowden with a coldness that resonated across the entire hall. "Bowden, you aren't a fit husband, and you're not a good father! The moment I get back to Newford, we will finalize the divorce. I will not allow you to poison my children any longer."

She tried to reach for the sobbing boy, but he kicked at her repeatedly. The scene was pure chaos.

Eventually, security forcibly escorted the belligerent Bowden, his mistress, and the boy out of the building.

The competition resumed.

An hour later, the results were in.

When Mr. Garza announced that Elinor Clayton had won the gold medal, I stood on the second floor, a genuine smile finally touching my face.

I saw the painting she had created: a golden-haired giantess holding up a crumbling starry sky with both hands. And on the giantess' forehead, the girl had painted a tiny, unmistakable bandage.