Chapter 4 Summoning the very last dregs of her strength, Sloane dragged herself to the nightstand. Her hands shook violently as she fumbled for the emergency antihistamines she kept hidden and managed to swallow a dose. The medication slowly began to work. She collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, tears streaking down a face mottled with rashes and sweat. For the next few days, Julian didn't return. Yet, Sloane didn't need his physical presence to know his whereabouts. Lena's meticulously curated social media feeds told her everything. Julian took her to see a private doctor. He accompanied her to an art gallery. He bought her limited-edition jewelry. Soon, it was Lena's birthday. Julian knew she liked painting, though her skills were clumsy. Still, he spent lavishly to organize a private art exhibition just for her. Before leaving, Lena came to Sloane. "Miss Quinn, you have to come to my show! After all, I owe so much to your... care." Sloane pulled her hand away, her expression flat. "I'm not interested." Lena's face instantly fell, a picture of wounded innocence. Julian's face darkened instantly. His tone was sharp with irritation. "She's inviting you. Don't be difficult. You're coming." Sloane didn't want to argue. She stayed silent and followed them to the gallery. Inside, Lena's garish, clumsy paintings were displayed in ornate frames. As Sloane walked past a corner, she overheard two men whispering. "Mr. Shaw went all out for this? This is exhibition-level work?" "He's just humoring his mistress. Look how he dotes on her. He cares more about her than his own wife." Lena's face crumpled. "Julian, am I embarrassing you? My paintings... are they really that bad?" Julian immediately softened, comforting her. "Don't listen to their nonsense. Your paintings are wonderful." He pulled out his phone and sent a message. Minutes later a largo groun flandad tha -1- nuaising it no lleoninell and "full of spirit," and competing to buy her pieces. Lena's tears turned to a smile. Sloane watched with cold detachment. She recognized many of those "buyers" and "critics" as employees and executives of Shaw Group. Just another performance, staged to make Lena happy. A memory surfaced, sharp and cold: her first year at the Shaw estate, she had fallen gravely ill with a high fever. The live-in staff were all out. Weak and trembling, she had crawled to Julian's door, begging him to get her medicine or at least call the family doctor. Julian, then only ten years old, had merely looked at her with those beautiful, vacant eyes-devoid of any emotion-and then slammed the door in her face. The despair and icy isolation of that moment were seared into her memory. So he did have a heart. It simply never beat for her. Suddenly, the piercing shriek of a fire alarm ripped through the gallery. Thick smoke began billowing from a corner. "Fire!" someone screamed. Panic erupted. The crowd surged toward the exits. Lena shrieked and flung herself into Julian's arms. He held her tightly, shielding her with his own body as he forcefully carved a path through the panicked throng toward the safety exit. In his frantic rush, his elbow slammed hard into Sloane, who was trying to regain her balance.\ Caught off guard, she crashed to the floor. Before she could even attempt to rise, an ominous cracking sound came from above. A heavy decorative beam, weakened by the flames, broke loose and crashed down. It landed with crushing force on her legs. Excruciating pain instantly consumed her; her vision swam. From the safe zone, Lena's voice carried faintly. "Julian, I think Miss Quinn fell... Should we-" Then, Julian's voice, cold, utterly devoid of feeling, cut through the chaos and reached her fading hearing with perfect clarity. "No need. I told you. Her life means nothing to me." Chapter 4 2.63% Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!