The Jade Bangle

At a high-society banquet, my good-for-nothing brother Henry showed up with his new flame—a girl in a cheap sequin minidress, scraping her knife and fork against the plate loud enough to turn every head in the room.

"Get her out of here. The Warringtons don't need this embarrassment." I dismissed them coldly.

The girl cowered in Henry's arms, tears brimming. "Who does she think she is?"

I arched an eyebrow and let out a light laugh. "She's the one who funds your lifestyle now that you've blown every investment you've ever made."

---

1.

My brother Henry is a complete waste. The business our parents left behind crumbled bit by bit in his hands. He threw money around on investments like it was nothing, but every single time, he lost everything. He never put his mind to anything serious, and the women by his side changed faster than the seasons. He had a thing for the sultry type—red lips, heavy perfume that would linger in the living room for days. But this time, he'd fallen for a girl who played innocent. I knew better. She wasn't simple at all.

Henry might be a playboy, drowning in a sea of women, but he'd always kept a clear head. He knew how to separate work from pleasure. At high-society gatherings, his date had to be a proper heiress from a well-matched family. He never brought those fleeting flings that lasted a week at most. The elite circle was tight-knit; everyone valued their dignity. No one wanted their photos plastered online, becoming the punchline of someone else's gossip. Bringing an outsider to a private event made guests feel disrespected and unsafe.

But this time, Henry brought someone from outside the circle. She looked to be in her early twenties, timid and clearly out of her depth. Her face was innocent, with big, bright eyes and soft, flowing hair cascading over her shoulders. Her outfit, though, was anything but subtle. Her little dress was plastered with gaudy sequins, the craftsmanship so shoddy that they were falling off as she walked. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, and she wobbled in open-toed heels, leaning half into Henry's arms, acting coy. She became the center of attention the moment she walked in.

Her name was Yvonne.

2.

The high-society guests were all politeness on the surface, but underneath, they were the most exclusive bunch you'd ever meet. Victor Ashford, the ruthless heir of the Ashford family, smirked coldly. "Your brother's gone back to basics, has he? Too bad for the cleaning staff." He nudged a fallen sequin from Yvonne's dress with his custom Italian leather shoe, the disdain on his face making me grit my teeth. The worst part? He was annoyingly handsome, with sharp, refined features that had half the heiresses in the room swooning. Normally quick with a retort, I found myself momentarily speechless.

On the other side, the society matrons were dramatically cupping their cheeks, fingers lightly pressed to their ears. "Oh dear, I simply cannot stand that sound. It's giving me a headache." They shot sideways glances at Yvonne, who was struggling to cut her lamb chop with a knife and fork, their expressions a mix of contempt and barely concealed glee. I could read their faces: *Finally, the Warringtons are making fools of themselves. Let's savor this.*

Yvonne's handling of the utensils was clumsy. The lamb chop wouldn't cut, and her knife scraped against the porcelain with a grating screech. I couldn't take it anymore and signaled to a waiter. "Bring Miss Yvonne a pair of chopsticks."

Yvonne looked mortally offended, pouting at Henry. "Henry, does your sister not like me?" Her eyes drooped at the corners—the kind of look that made her seem most pitiable. This girl had no shame, bold enough to stir trouble right in front of me.

I raised an eyebrow with a scoff. "Miss Yvonne doesn't like chopsticks? Then bring her a pair of disposable gloves."

Henry couldn't stand seeing his girlfriend upset. He snapped at me, "Claire, don't push it. I let you have your way at the office, but out here, drop the princess act and stay away from my people."

Oh, please. "Let me have my way"? The truth was, he'd squandered his own money on bad investments and had to sell off the shares our parents left him just to cover his losses. When the media caught wind of it, our company's stock took a nosedive. I bought up all of Henry's shares at rock-bottom prices. Now, he had zero say on the board and was living off the monthly allowance I gave him.

But I didn't have the energy to argue. Right now, the Warrington name was being dragged through the mud by this girl. I handed Yvonne the disposable gloves. "Eat with your hands if you have to. It's better than disturbing the other guests." I gestured for my brother to look at the matrons at the far end of the table, who were covering their ears. "Maybe teach her some manners before bringing her out. You're making us a laughingstock."

3.

I sat alone at a table, a glass of fine champagne in hand, but I had no appetite for it. I just wanted this humiliating dinner to end so I could go home and deal with Henry. But Yvonne, as if she hadn't embarrassed herself enough, seemed determined to see the farce through to the end.

After finishing her lamb chop, she took advantage of Henry's trip to the restroom to show off her social-climbing skills. She approached the wealthy young men, pulled out her phone, and insisted on adding them on WeChat. A pretty girl in her early twenties, her ambition written all over her face. But high society had its boundaries. To get someone's contact info, you needed a trusted introduction. To break into the circle, you had to offer something valuable in return. And beauty? That was never a scarce resource here. It meant nothing in the elite world.

The young heirs exchanged awkward glances, amused but unwilling to pull out their phones. From where I sat, I could see Yvonne clutching her phone nervously, shooting desperate looks toward the restroom. But Henry was taking forever. I felt secondhand embarrassment so intense I could've dug myself a hole, but I also couldn't help feeling a little smug. I downed my champagne in one gulp. In this circle, if you didn't know the rules, someone would teach you soon enough.

But then, out of nowhere, Yvonne pointed at me. "Don't get the wrong idea, everyone. I'm not an outsider. I'm Miss Claire Warrington's brother's girlfriend. I'm part of this circle too. If you don't believe me, ask her."

4.

I nearly choked on my champagne. The young heirs turned to look at me with interest. This circle thrived on gossip and watching people lose face. They wanted to see how I'd introduce this clueless "insider."

I set down my glass, smoothed my flowing silk dress, and walked over in my heels, taking my time. Annoyed as I was to clean up Henry's mess again, I couldn't afford to lose composure in front of others. I plastered on a smile. "I saw you were having such a lively chat. What made you think of me?"

Yvonne realized she'd caused trouble. She was a little afraid of me, standing there awkwardly, unsure how to respond. Charles Chu, the easygoing second son of the Chu family, loved stirring the pot. He asked with mock curiosity, "I've known Henry for years, and I've never seen him bring a random girl to a private gathering. He must really care about Miss Yvonne, right? Is he introducing her to everyone because you two are about to tie the knot?"

The first part was just fluff to make Yvonne happy. The last part was the real jab, aimed at me. Charles was mocking the Warringtons for getting involved with someone who didn't know her place. But Yvonne didn't catch the sarcasm. She blushed, coyly brushing her hair aside. She didn't deny the "tying the knot" comment, her eyes practically glowing with smugness. She was probably already dreaming of life as a society wife.

The other heirs looked at me expectantly. I blinked in mock surprise, playing along. In this circle, survival depended on good acting. "Oh, I wouldn't know. This is my first time meeting Miss Yvonne too. My brother must be completely swept off his feet. Getting married is such a big deal—you'd think he'd tell his family first."

Yvonne's face fell. When she thought no one was looking, she shot me a venomous glare. Just then, Henry emerged from the restroom and walked toward us. Yvonne looked relieved, rushing to his side with a pitiful expression, clinging to his arm and whispering something in his ear.

Henry abruptly interrupted the conversation and demanded loudly, "Did you bully Yvonne?"

I blinked. *What?* She was the one who'd put herself in an awkward spot and called me over to bail her out. And now she was tattling on me?

Victor Ashford, usually cold and quiet, suddenly spoke up in my defense. As the eldest son of the old-money Ashford family, his words carried weight in the circle. He clapped Henry on the shoulder with a laugh. "That's quite protective of you. But you've got it wrong. Miss Yvonne came over to add us on WeChat and said she wanted to join our circle. We all assumed you two were about to get engaged, so we asked Claire to clarify."

The other heirs chimed in agreement. Henry hadn't expected Victor to side with me. His accusation fizzled out, and he stood there laughing awkwardly. Then he glanced at Yvonne with a hint of surprise. Adding random people's WeChat at a banquet had exposed her ambitions. Even Henry, oblivious as he was, started to wonder if he was just a stepping stone for Yvonne to climb into high society.

Watching them stare at each other, I decided it was time to stop giving the others a show. I nodded politely to the heirs and motioned for Henry and Yvonne to follow me into a small, empty side room off the banquet hall.

I was exhausted. I'd spent the whole night watching Yvonne make a fool of herself and cleaning up Henry's messes. And he couldn't even appreciate it—he'd sided with an outsider and accused me of bullying his precious flower in front of everyone. I had zero tolerance for stupidity, and my anger had been building all night. It was about to boil over.

The little flower clung to Henry, playing innocent. I couldn't stand to look at them. "Take her and get out. You've disgraced the Warringtons enough."

Henry, humiliated in front of his girlfriend, flew into a rage and raised his hand to hit me. But I was faster. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it backward. He yelped in pain, tears almost spilling.

Yvonne looked utterly wronged, sobbing as she huddled against Henry. "Claire, fine if you look down on me. But Henry is your brother. How dare you treat him like this?"

I raised an eyebrow and laughed. "How dare I? Because he had no manners, bringing someone like you to disturb the guests and embarrass the family. Because he failed at every investment and now lives off the allowance I give him."

5.

Henry stormed off with Yvonne in a huff. After watching their theatrics all night, I had no desire to socialize with the guests. But in the business world, you couldn't always do what you wanted. The Warringtons' connections still needed maintaining. I touched up my lipstick in the mirror, pulled myself together, and was about to head back to the main hall when the lights in the room suddenly went out.

I was enveloped in a familiar, cool masculine scent and pulled into a warm embrace. I pushed against his chest indifferently. "Not tonight. You should leave. It'll look bad if someone sees us."

He seemed angry, biting down hard on my lip. I winced at the pain. Then he let go abruptly and walked out without looking back.

Victor Ashford was always like that—decisive, never saying soft words, always pulling away when he wanted. He left me alone in the dark, his cool scent still lingering on my lips.

No one knew that Victor was my secret lover. "Lover" wasn't quite the right word, though. There was no love between us—just a mutual exchange of needs. Being a child of a wealthy family was never easy. It was exhausting—endless business courses, endless networking. When Victor held me, I could let go of all my fatigue and forget about work. He had deep, striking features and a body that was pure perfection. He was exactly my type. But he was also calculating and ruthless—not the kind of man I could build a future with.

Since it wasn't serious, I didn't want anyone to know we were together. The Ashford and Warrington families were both major players in the business world of our city. Any hint of a potential merger would make other families wary. These were critical years for me to take over the family business, and I couldn't afford any missteps. I kept telling myself not to get caught up in emotions. Work came first.

6.

Henry and I were blood siblings, but we'd never been close. When I was little, I was cute and did well in school, so our parents favored me. Henry was jealous. He'd always say, "I hate my sister. If she weren't around, Mom and Dad would love me the most."

When no one was watching, he'd have his friends shoot me with plastic pellets and sneak bugs and slimy toads into my backpack. For a while, I'd wake up screaming from nightmares, my hands still feeling that damp, slimy sensation. It was disgusting and unforgettable.

Back then, our parents were too busy with work to come home often. Our grandmother, who ran the household, favored boys over girls and always took Henry's side. She'd say Henry meant no harm, that I was just being overly sensitive and dramatic. I begged my parents to send me to a boarding school abroad. I wanted to be as far away from Henry as possible.

My middle school years abroad were carefree, but when I was seventeen, my parents died in a plane crash on their way to my graduation ceremony in the U.S. I became the family's unlucky charm. Henry called me in the middle of the night, sobbing and cursing me, calling me a jinx. I cried into my blanket, unable to stop, and deep down, I thought he might be right. After that, I didn't go back home.

It wasn't until I graduated from university that I realized how badly Henry and a few of our uncles had run the family business into the ground. I couldn't let them destroy everything our parents had worked so hard to build. I got on a plane back home, determined to turn things around.

7.

After I returned, every weekend, Henry and I had to go to the old family mansion to have dinner with our grandmother. When I arrived, the living room lights were off, and Henry and Yvonne were making out on the sofa.

"Take it to your room. Don't do it here," I said.

But they completely ignored me, getting even more into it, like they were putting on a show just to provoke me. I pulled out my phone and started recording them, the flash illuminating their faces. "You like being intimate in public so much? Let me share this with everyone."

I kept recording. Yvonne shrieked and pushed Henry away, covering her face with a throw pillow. For a moment, it felt like I was at a police raid.

"Claire, you've gone too far!" Henry cursed as he lunged for my phone. I dodged him easily.

"Don't grab," I warned slowly. "If I accidentally send this to the company group chat, the board might start questioning your priorities again."

Henry withdrew his hand awkwardly, but he tripped over the coffee table and stumbled to the floor. There were sequins from Yvonne's dress stuck to his face. I laughed in disgust, looking down at him. "Get the maid to clean the floor later. Grandma has bad knees. We wouldn't want her to slip on the sequins that fell off your girlfriend."

Henry was never good with words, and knowing Yvonne's cheap outfit had embarrassed him, he couldn't muster a retort. Under their furious gazes, I went upstairs to my room.

8.

The next morning at breakfast, Yvonne had completely changed her style. She was now wearing a modest dress that older people loved—the kind that screamed "marriage material." She kept her eyes down, spoke sweetly, and charmed our grandmother effortlessly.

"Claire, why don't you learn from Yvonne? She's obedient and family-oriented. You're always rushing around like a whirlwind. What kind of behavior is that? A woman's place is in the home. Leave the company matters to your uncles and brother."

Her face was kind, her smile warm, but her words were dripping with favoritism. The business our parents had worked so hard to build had been torn apart by our uncles and brother in just a few years. The market share had dropped by more than half. A once-united company had become a piece of meat for them to carve up. While I was abroad, my uncles had been busy siphoning off assets and funneling profits to their own families. Henry, after a series of failed investments, had no money to cover his losses, so he sold off his shares at a low price. When I found out, I quietly bought them up one by one, becoming the company's largest shareholder.

Since they wouldn't run the business properly, I would. On one hand, I brought in my own people to sideline my uncles. On the other, I gathered evidence of their asset transfers and self-dealing. As the company slowly got back on track, the very people who had tried to strip it bare started getting greedy. They whispered to our grandmother that I was just a girl, that once I married, I wouldn't be a Warrington anymore. Grandma, who had always favored boys over girls, tried to use "filial piety" to pressure me into handing the company back to my uncles. But I never paid her any mind.

Seeing my indifferent expression, Grandma realized I wasn't about to give up control. Compared to me, Yvonne seemed much more docile and pleasing. Grandma called for the housekeeper, Mrs. Chen, to bring a jade bangle from her locked chest. It was wrapped in soft cloth. Even though I'd seen it countless times, I was still struck by its warm, deep green hue. It was a full-green bangle, the finest quality. Even an amateur could tell it was worth dozens of properties in the city center.

Yvonne was mesmerized. Her greedy expression slipped out before she could hide it, her mouth slightly agape. Before Grandma could even speak, Yvonne was already reaching out to take it. I raised an eyebrow at Henry, signaling him to take a good look at the kind of woman he'd brought home.

Grandma was sharp. She noticed Yvonne's eager hand and gave her a kind smile before carefully rewrapping the bangle and placing it back in the wooden box. Henry gently took Yvonne's hand, seemingly to comfort her, but his eyes held a warning for her to be patient and composed.

I watched the whole scene with amusement. Everyone looked happy, but underneath, they were all scheming. Grandma hadn't planned to give the bangle away right then. She took Yvonne's hand affectionately. "This bangle is for my future granddaughter-in-law. If you and Henry get along well, you'll wear it at your wedding."

I could only imagine the curses running through Yvonne's mind at that moment. She was still too naive to outsmart the old fox. But it wasn't my concern. While everyone was distracted, I quickly grabbed the wooden box and put it in my bag.

"Grandma, you can't give this bangle away. It was my mother's dowry. In their will, Mom and Dad clearly stated it was to be left to me. If you've forgotten, you can ask Mrs. Chen to check."

On the day of the plane crash, I learned that my parents had already made a will. All the cash and properties were split evenly between Henry and me, but the bangle was left to me alone. It was my mother's most cherished heirloom, passed down through her family. I'd left it with Grandma for safekeeping while I was abroad because I didn't want to bring up painful memories. I never expected her to use it to bribe a future granddaughter-in-law.

Grandma knew she was in the wrong, but she didn't like being called out in public. "Claire, we're all family. Why be so petty? Family harmony is what matters most."

I was used to her double standards. I didn't bother arguing, afraid I'd give the old woman a heart attack. Meanwhile, Yvonne's face was a whirlwind of emotions—enough to entertain me for the rest of the day. The precious jewelry she'd thought was hers was now mine, and she was visibly furious, trying hard to pretend she didn't care. Her features twisted in a way that almost made me laugh.

Grandma patted Yvonne's hand soothingly. "Don't mind her, Yvonne. Claire's always had a bad temper. I'll give you another piece of jewelry another day. The Warringtons won't neglect their granddaughter-in-law."

"Another day"—that classic empty promise, like a boss dangling a carrot. I knew Grandma too well. Henry's marriage wasn't even on the horizon. There was no way she'd give expensive jewelry to an outsider. I sneered inwardly, stood up, and gave Yvonne a bright smile. "Excuse me, everyone. I have things to do."

She stared at my bag, her eyes practically glued to it.

9.

I left the mansion and had the driver take me straight to the city center gallery. Today was the opening of the most anticipated art exhibition of the year, and I'd been invited as the opening guest. To be honest, I wasn't deeply knowledgeable about art. I'd just taken a few years of sketching and oil painting as a child, enough to have a basic appreciation. But I'd been incredibly lucky.

During summer break in high school, I traveled to Europe with some classmates. By sheer chance, I came across an oil painting at a flea market. It was a simple subject—a tranquil landscape. A few modest houses nestled among trees, with rolling mountains in the distance. But I couldn't take my eyes off it. The brushwork was skilled and powerful, the colors full of tension yet surprisingly harmonious. The frame was old and battered, and the surface was covered in a thick layer of dust, with no visible signature. It was inconvenient to carry, but the painting spoke to me. I insisted on buying it, and after much effort, I brought it back home and hung it in the study of the old mansion.

Later, a friend of my mother's, an artist, came to visit. When she saw the painting, she was amazed and suspected it might be a lost work by Paul Cézanne, the father of modern painting. We had it appraised by professionals, and it turned out to be an authentic Cézanne. Though the painting was badly worn, a close inspection with professional equipment revealed his signature in the lower left corner.

From then on, whenever there was a high-profile oil painting exhibition in the country, the organizers would contact me to borrow the piece. I became a regular at major exhibitions. Back in high school, this painting made me famous online. Netizens marveled that a child from a wealthy family wasn't just rich but also had artistic taste—buying a painting for a few hundred euros that was now worth who knows how many times more.

That year, art appreciation classes became all the rage in elite circles. Society matrons scrambled to enroll their children. Henry was jealous, saying, "Claire just got lucky."

But my mother shook her head. "Claire has an eye for beauty."

After the opening ceremony, I was chatting with a young artist when two familiar figures walked by—Henry and Yvonne. Many wealthy heirs liked to pose as art connoisseurs, so these exhibitions became prime spots for networking and even business deals. They wouldn't miss an event like this.

My Cézanne was the centerpiece of the exhibition. Henry was already familiar with the painting and sneered, trying to pull Yvonne away to look at other pieces. But Yvonne stopped in front of it, staring intently at my name on the plaque. From a distance, I heard her say venomously, "Henry, you're so pitiful. How can your family be so biased? They left the bangle to Claire, and this painting is hers too."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I bought that painting. Of course it's mine.

Henry, embarrassed, said to Yvonne, "What's so great about it? We'll buy one too."

I couldn't help but laugh. I walked over quickly to stop him from being stupid. "You can't just go looking for these things. The art market is full of traps. Be careful."

Henry looked away dismissively. "I'm not a garbage collector. I'm not going to dig through flea markets." He took Yvonne's hand. "We'll go to the auction house this afternoon. They have authenticated masterpieces. Pick one you like."

Yvonne nestled against him, shooting me a sidelong glance. "Sure, we'll buy a famous painting too. Let's see how smug she is then."

I was speechless. Did they think the auction house was any safer? With Henry's intelligence and his dwindling funds, he'd be cleaned out.

10.

I went home to rest in the afternoon and got a call from a friend in the art world. Henry and Yvonne had indeed gone to the auction house. My friend laughed. "Your brother's not holding back. The girl with him immediately fell for a Tang Dynasty calligraphy piece. He swore he'd buy it and hang it in the living room to outshine your Cézanne."

I remembered that Tang Dynasty piece. It was displayed in the most prominent spot at the auction house. Famous artist, excellent condition, and the starting bid wasn't high. A piece like that should have been a hot commodity, fought over by collectors. There was no reason it should have gone unsold for years. Anyone in the know would realize its authenticity was questionable. It had been on the market for years without any reputable institution willing to certify it. Usually, that meant the institutions were leaving room for the owner to save face. If the piece sold, the institutions and the auction house that stayed quiet would get a nice cut. For years, no one had taken the bait. But Henry, the fool, was rushing to be the one.

Despite everything, he was still family. I couldn't bear to watch him get duped. I sent him a WeChat message warning him that the piece might be fake. But he didn't listen. He snapped back, "Mind your own business. You just can't stand to see me happy."

When I tried to message him again, I found he'd blocked me. I sighed. *To each their own.*

11.

The annual autumn art auction began, and the entire elite circle was buzzing. Art investment wasn't just about preserving value—it was a status symbol. Every notable family in the city showed up. The first few lots were rare, high-value pieces that required proof of funds to even enter the bidding room. The calligraphy piece Yvonne had her eye on was in the first round.

I knew Henry didn't have much cash left. He'd probably mortgaged a few properties just to qualify for the bidding. After much hesitation, I decided to go watch the spectacle. News that Henry was going to bid on the Tang Dynasty piece spread quickly through the circle. Acquaintances came to watch the show. But clearly, Henry wasn't well-liked. No one warned him about the obvious scam.

By the time I arrived, the seats were almost full. The only empty spot was next to Victor Ashford in the back row. I acted like I barely knew him, exchanging polite pleasantries. He played along, but his eyes betrayed a hint of displeasure.

Henry and Yvonne sat front and center. Henry looked smug, like a strutting rooster. I debated whether to warn him one last time. After all his failed investments, he probably only had seven or eight properties left in the city center. If he sold them to buy a fake painting, he'd be in real trouble. But seeing his overconfident expression, I knew it was useless. I'd done my part. I'd warned him once. His path was his own to walk.

The starting bid for the Tang piece wasn't high. Henry confidently raised his paddle. No one else bid. Just as the hammer was about to fall, a phone bidder called in a higher price. Phone bidders were usually buyers who couldn't attend in person or wanted to remain anonymous. Henry refused to let the painting slip away and raised his paddle again. But the phone bidder matched him, driving the price up.

The audience held their breath as the price doubled. Even if the painting were real, the current price was steep. Henry hadn't expected competition. The price was already far beyond what he'd planned. From where I sat, I could see the sweat on his neck. But his ego wouldn't let him back down, especially with his girlfriend watching him with adoring eyes. I almost wondered if Yvonne was a plant sent by the owner to lure Henry in. But at least I knew the phone bidder was definitely working with the seller.

The phone bidder raised again. This time, Henry hesitated. But everyone was watching. He paused for a few seconds, glanced at Yvonne, and raised his paddle once more.

The phone bidder didn't counter. The hammer fell. The fake painting was Henry's.

12.

The auctioneer congratulated Henry warmly. Yvonne threw herself into his arms without a care. Henry was ecstatic, striding to the stage and inviting everyone to a nearby club for drinks. I turned to leave, but Victor grabbed my hand.

"Claire, let's go celebrate too."

He was usually so cold, but now he was grinning brightly, even winking at me mischievously. Why was he so happy? Then it hit me. The auction was being livestreamed. And I'd noticed Victor glancing at the camera several times, subtly nodding or shaking his head at key moments when Henry was bidding.

During the auction, I'd been too busy agonizing over my parents' hard-earned money being wasted to pay attention to Victor's strange behavior. A bold guess formed in my mind. "Was that painting yours?"

I stared into Victor's eyes. He didn't flinch. He nodded openly. "How does it feel? Satisfying?" He smiled at me, like he was waiting for praise.

I turned and walked away, disgusted. I hated Henry and Yvonne, yes. But watching someone exploit his stupidity with such a cheap trick to steal the Warringtons' money—money my parents had worked so hard for—left a bitter taste in my mouth. And Victor was flaunting it like an achievement. This circle was truly treacherous. I didn't want to see him for another second.

As I hurried away, I heard Victor's low voice in the empty hallway. "Claire, you know I don't need the money. I just wanted to help you get back at him. I've liked you for years. Everything I have could be yours."

I stopped in my tracks, my heart heavy. Memories of my struggles over the years flooded back, and tears welled up in my eyes. But I didn't turn around. I said coldly, "We're not right for each other. Let's not see each other again."

Henry paid the auction house in full immediately, took the painting home, and hung it in the most prominent spot in the old mansion's living room. He posted multiple times on social media, bragging about his refined taste and artistic eye. The sycophantic comments poured in, and Henry was thrilled.

Soon, news of the Warrington heir's expensive purchase of a Tang Dynasty masterpiece made headlines. Most commenters were laypeople, marveling at his wealth. But a few knowledgeable voices pointed out that the painting's authenticity was questionable. "The starting bid was low, and it's been unsold for years. It's probably a fake."

This dissenting opinion enraged Henry. He started arguing with the commenter online, accusing them of being jealous of his money. The commenter shot back, "If Mr. Warrington can produce a certificate of authenticity from a reputable institution, I'll publicly apologize."

I never expected Henry, who had been so confident he didn't consult any experts before buying, to now go on a high-profile campaign. He contacted several institutions and even brought in media for livestreamed appraisals. But one after another, the appraisers apologized on camera, saying, "We cannot issue a certificate for this piece."

Anyone with half a brain could see what that meant. Within days, news that Henry had been swindled spread across social media, even trending on the hot search list. Henry was humiliated. He trashed the old mansion in a rage. According to the housekeeper, he even slapped Yvonne several times in front of our grandmother, turning the household into a bloody, chaotic mess.

I hadn't been back to the mansion in a long time. After reclaiming the jade bangle, I realized something: a place is only a home when there are people in it who love you. I had long since drifted apart from the people in that house.

13.

After the auction, Victor called me several times. I didn't pick up. The elite circle was too complicated, too dirty. I just wanted to focus on my work and run the business my parents had left me. I was busy during the week, and on weekends, I no longer went back to the mansion. I finally had time to participate in a small equestrian competition at the city's outskirts.

When I was a child, I'd seen characters on TV galloping across fields and begged my parents to buy me a purebred horse from Europe. They also hired a professional coach, and I trained every week. That horse became my best friend during my lonely childhood. Through middle school and university, I never stopped training and even won some regional competitions. But after returning home, work took over, and my training fell by the wayside. Recently, I'd decided to focus on myself, live my own life, stop meddling in Henry's affairs, and cut ties with my biased family. I resumed my equestrian training and started competing in amateur events again.

To my surprise, I ran into Henry, Yvonne, and Victor at the stables. Yvonne stood at a distance, her face bruised. When the wind blew, I could see large patches of purple on her legs beneath her skirt. Her eyes were filled with a venomous hatred that didn't belong on someone her age. She must have had a rough few weeks after Henry bought that painting.

When Henry saw me, he charged over, ready to shove me, but the security guards held him back. He cursed, "Claire, you traitor! You conspired with that Ashford bastard to swindle the Warringtons!"

I was startled. So Henry wasn't completely stupid—he'd found out the painting was Victor's doing. He must have seen me sitting next to Victor at the auction and assumed we were in cahoots. That was just like Henry—blaming everyone else for his mistakes, ignoring the fact that I'd warned him multiple times.

His insults grew uglier. "You jinx! You killed Mom and Dad! And now you're teaming up with outsiders to ruin me!"

When he brought up our parents, a pang of sadness hit me. I turned away, struggling to hold back my tears.

Victor lunged forward, ignoring the guards, and tackled Henry to the ground. He punched him repeatedly in the face, his voice vicious. "I sold the painting. Claire had nothing to do with it. You're just rotten and stupid. You deserve everything that's happened to you. And everything you did to Claire when you were kids—I'll make you pay for it all."

I stood there, stunned. Memories flooded back. When Henry had his friends shoot me with plastic pellets, he'd come home with a bruised face himself. The toad in my backpack—Victor had thrown it away for me. When I left for school abroad, I turned to wave goodbye to my parents and saw Victor waving at me from a distance.

So he'd seen everything. My lonely, miserable teenage years. He'd been watching all along.

But I didn't want to face him now. I just wanted to finish the competition. My horse was beautiful and graceful. I'd grown up with him, and when I was with him, I could forget my troubles and just be myself.

It was my turn. My horse trotted into the arena with a steady rhythm, circling elegantly. To my surprise, Henry was still watching from the sidelines, his face swollen from the beating. Yvonne held his hand, her eyes fixed on me.

I told myself to focus. The next event was the most dangerous: jumping obstacles. But I was confident. My horse and I had trained for this countless times. As we picked up speed and approached the first jump, I saw Yvonne's face twist into a smug, triumphant sneer. Her eyes were full of hatred, but her lips curled into a strange smile.

The moment we launched into the air, I felt my horse's front legs give way, as if they had no strength. The sensation of weightlessness hit me, adrenaline surging. I gripped the reins tightly.