Billionaire's King's Heiress

11-Faded memory

The way the grey and brown colours of the painting gave a depressing feel didn't uplift Michael's mood as much as he thought it would. In his opinion, it was a basic painting- a woman standing in front of a thatched house, dressed in a flowing torn grey gown, holding a hand over her arm, her long black hair flowing in the invisible wind. The trees were pretty much wet and had a dull shade of deep green, while the branches looked so fragile that a push would break the tree entirely. The whole painting was smeared, making it look like a faded memory in general. A sad, faded memory to be precise.

Michael stared vividly at it, studying it closer. Collecting paintings was his thing, and he had thought he was lucky that an auction was happening just as he needed something to take his mind off the previous night's event.

But here he was, staring at this exact painting, thinking of no other person than Diane.

For some reason, that was what the painting reminded him of. That was all he could think of. In fact, ever since he had seen her again at the launch party, he hated that she occupied his mind rent-free. It did anger him a bit.

There was no way she was going to have her happy ending, not after what she did to him. How dare she try to be happy?

"Mikey love, what're you doing babe?" Tiffany asked, placing a hand over his.

He had forgotten Tiffany was even with him. And he had not noticed either when his hands had travelled to feel the painting. Almost like he wanted to physically feel what it was radiating.

"There's a no-touch policy. How would you forget that?" She rambled on. "This is more of your thing than mine."

"God, Tiffany," He said flatly, "Be quiet."

Tiffany rolled her eyes, smacking her gum out loud, a scowl appearing on her face. "You forced me here, and now you're complaining?"

Michael turned to look at her, and seeing her face annoyed him just the same way it had been doing so for some months now, each anger growing with each passing day.

"You insisted on coming, do not be ridiculous," Michael said firmly.

Tiffany folded her arms and shook her head. "This is about that scoundrel, isn't it?"

"I have no obligation to answer that."

"I f*cking knew it. I did. You used to be so loving to me until you changed," She accused, her smoky eye makeup highlighting her suspicious gaze. "Have you been seeing her all these while? Huh? I even saw the two of you talk back at the party."

"I stopped indulging you the day I learned you lied about carrying my child," Michael answered back, the sight of the woman in front of him making him almost want to rip the painting beside him to shreds.

His eyes glanced around, making sure no hidden paparazzi was trying to get a good picture of him, fuming in his ears. The last place he wanted to be was on the night media news and certainly not in a negative way that would tarnish his reputation and make his company stocks drop, especially not after seeing Deveraux having the spotlight as of lately.

Tiffany bit her lips and looked away, not an ounce of remorse on her face. "Well, why're you still pretending to date me then? Huh? Why haven't you kicked me out?"

Michael scoffed, "Convenience." He shrugged. "You do know how to play your role."

"What?" She asked, feeling his words pierce her chest like dynamite. Convenience? That was her role in his life. Not his first love any longer, not the mother of his fake child which She had paraded for four months before getting caught. And certainly not the 'owner of his heart' like the media always called her.

He shoved a hand in his pocket, "You do a decent job at the Luxe Division, you don't embarrass me in public and-" His eyes ran her a simple look, "You tend to my s****l needs. That's useful."

For once, Tiffany got the clear message that they were done for real. It wasn't the time when he refused her kisses rudely in private or when he mummured for her to behave appropriately when they were in front of the camera or the times he treated her like a s*x toy, f*king her to his satisfaction and discarding her whether or not she was satisfied. He never called her or texted her, and it was a miracle if he ever replied to her texts or returned her calls.

On one occasion, her car had broken down late at night on her way back from dinner with her friends, she had gotten robbed there and even after she managed to find a payphone and some cents in her car to call him, he finally answered and simply told her he would take care of it. Those were one of the miracle times, and she had to wait four hours before help came.

As much as all those things bugged her, hearing him outrightly say this after two years still broke her heart.

"If that offends you, you can leave." He added.

Tiffany gritted her teeth, looking away. "No."

"That's what I thought. You would rather stay by my side. That is how much you are in love with me."

"Stop it already, you're hurting me."

Michael dismissed her as easily as the background jazz music, his attention returning to the painting. Men like him didn't lose their temper over a woman, and certainly not one like Tiffany. Maybe Diane. But certainly not Tiffany.

Michael nodded, taking one look at it before walking past Tiffany. "Put up the usual smiley face you have, I don't need you tainting my reputation right now."

He gestured to the Gallery associate who came over to where he was.

He didn't want to admit it yet but he was so sure the painting totally had nothing to do with Diane. So he told himself instead that the painting was quite simple, negligible and didn't really have anything much going for it. Maybe the way he felt was because of the paint's brushwork, or maybe it was because the artist was one of his favourites. He was so sure that was all it was.

Yet he bought it anyway.