He Stole My Art and My Mother,So I Stole His Empire

At the Capital City Art & Calligraphy Competition, the event that was supposed to define my entire career,

the piece I'd poured three years of my life into was publicly accused of plagiarism.

Doctored intimate photos of me and one of the judges filled the main screen.

My mother collapsed on the spot, clutching her chest as her heart gave out.

While the sirens of the ambulance screamed through the chaos, Maxwell Delgado's childhood sweetheart climbed onto the winner's podium.

Maxwell seized my wrist, his warning voice cold enough to freeze bone.

Peggy's sick. She doesn't have much time left. This first-place award has to go to her. Don't fight it.

Even if you tried, you wouldn't win. Not against me.

Don't worry. I'll announce our engagement soon. You'll be Mrs. Delgado for the rest of your life. That should more than make up for today.

I sat beside my mother's cold body in the hospital morgue,

tears hitting the tops of my shoes,

Maxwell Delgado, being your wife will never make up for what I've lost.

But destroying you and her? That'll be enough.

Three days later, I knelt in a black dress before my mother's portrait at the memorial service.

The smoke from the incense and candles burned my throat raw and set my eyes on fire.

A wave of perfume rolled in from behind me, sickly sweet enough to turn my stomach.

Maxwell was here.

My mother's body was barely cold, and he'd brought the woman who killed her to pay respects.

Maxwell wore a tailored black suit, his arm wrapped around Peggy Pruitt, who was draped in a cashmere shawl.

Just like that day on the stage, he shielded her completely, not a gap in his armor.

Felicia Winfield, Peggy just finished a round of chemo. Go pour her a glass of warm water.

I didn't move.

Maxwell stepped forward, his dress shoes striking the tile floor, each step echoing sharp and hollow through the empty hall.

Felicia.

He locked his hand around my wrist, exactly like that day at the awards ceremony,

squeezing hard enough to grind my bones together.

I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?

Before I could answer, Peggy was already stepping in. She tugged at the cuff of Maxwell's shirt with her pinky, her voice a soft, pitiful whimper.

Max, don't be mean to Felicia. She's so upset right now, how could she possibly think about me? It's fine, really.

She pressed herself into Maxwell's arms as she spoke,

looking so fragile that even a stranger off the street would have felt sorry for her.

I watched Maxwell's arm tighten around her waist,

pulling her closer with a tenderness so fierce it was as if he wanted to fold her into his body for safekeeping.

Felicia.

Peggy turned to me, holding out a box.

I know you're grieving. I brought some calming incense especially for today. I hope it helps your mother rest in peace.

She extended the box toward me.

I glanced at it once, reached out, and knocked it straight to the ground.

Maxwell's eyes went cold in an instant. He was about to tear into me when he froze mid-step.

I stared at what had spilled across the floor and let out a bitter laugh.

There was no calming incense in that box.

It was the first-place certificate from the Capital City Art & Calligraphy Competition.

On the left side, stamped in gold foil, was the name Peggy Pruitt, gleaming like a blade aimed straight at my eyes.

The image of my mother crumpling to the ground at the awards gala three days ago tore through my mind, over and over and over.

Hatred churned so violently in my chest I could barely breathe.

I shot to my feet, ripped the certificate from the floor,

and hurled it into the fire burning before my mother's memorial.

Nomy certificate

Peggy let out a piercing scream and lunged for the fire, but before she got close, she crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.

Crack!

Maxwell's open palm connected with my face.

He shot me a vicious glare, then rushed to Peggy's side and pulled her into his arms.

His hands moved restlessly over her reddened knee, stroking it again and again.

I looked at Maxwell. The only thing in his eyes when he looked back at me was disgust.

Ever since Peggy was diagnosed with leukemia,

Maxwell had taken every ounce of tenderness he once gave me and transferred it to her, piece by piece.

Two years now. Two years, and somehow the leukemia patient's complexion only grew rosier by the day.

Yet Maxwell, a man who'd clawed his way through nearly a decade of cutthroat business, couldn't see anything wrong with that.

He sacrificed his time for her.

He sacrificed our relationship for her.

I thought if I waited long enough, he'd wake up.

But now he'd sacrificed my mother for her.

I was done waiting

Felicia, apologize to Peggy.

Maxwell's tone left no room for argument.

Peggy just finished a round of chemo today, and the first thing she wanted was to come pay respects to your mother. You can't even appreciate that? And you burned her certificate?!

With that kind of pettiness, how do you expect to be Mrs. Delgado?!

Then I won't be.

I picked up the trophy that had shattered on the ground moments ago.

Its jagged edge sliced into my finger.

Bright red blood seeped across the name engraved on the trophy, Peggy Pruitt,

I locked my eyes on Maxwell's bewildered face and spoke, slow and deliberate.

Maxwell Delgado, I will never be wife to the man who killed my mother.

I want you and her to pay for what you did. Both of you.

I left the funeral parlor.

I went straight to the Capital City Art & Calligraphy Competition Committee, my original drafts and the full recording of my creative process in hand.

The officials stared at nearly fifty gigabytes of raw drafts, frozen where they stood.

Anyone who has ever truly painted would understand what those files meant.

Three years. Over a thousand days. I'd slept two, maybe three hours a night.

All for that one moment.

Felicia, why didn't you present these on the day of the ceremony?

Another official nearby pointed at the black mourning band pinned to my shoulder and nudged the one who'd spoken.

The speaker's expression darkened.

Then he clasped my hand tightly.

Felicia, don't worry. The committee will make sure you get justice!

A shrill ringtone cut him off.

He glanced at the caller ID, released my hand at once, and turned to take the call in the corner.

It lasted only a few minutes.

When he came back, his face was completely different.

I forced down the dread coiling in my chest and stepped forward, testing.

Sir, my evidence is solid. Surely this can be resolved quickly?

The man across from me gripped the USB drive so hard his knuckles went white.

When he looked at me again, every trace of warmth was gone.

We'll be in touch. What you submitted doesn't really prove much.

My heart plummeted.

I lurched forward and grabbed his hand.

Sir, this award means everything to me. I've spent half my life painting for this.

My mother already died because of this. I need justice

I heard you. Didn't I say to go home and wait?!

He wrenched his hand free.

We have work to do. Stop wasting our time.

The same officials who'd been shaking with righteous anger minutes ago walked away without sparing me another glance.

A security guard was already stationed at the door, ready to drag me out.

I left the committee office in a daze.

The moment I stepped outside, I saw Maxwell's car.

Everything clicked into place.

Felicia, I told you. As long as I'm in the picture, you can't win.

Maxwell lit a cigarette and leaned against the car door, one brow arched as he looked at me.

My fingernails dug deep into my palms.

I stared at him, shaking from head to toe, my voice cracking when I finally spoke.

Why?! Maxwell?! How could you?!

You know how long I worked for that award!

Faced with my fury,

Maxwell blew a slow smoke ring, the corner of his mouth curling upward.

There's really no need for all this, Felicia.

He stepped forward and seized my hand.

Compared to being Mrs. Delgado, that worthless little prize means nothing.

I love you, Felicia. I don't want you throwing away my love and patience over something this trivial. Come home with me

Get off me!

I ripped my hand free from Maxwell's grip,

swung my arm up, and slapped him square across the face.

Maxwell, I already told you. I will never be the wife of the man who killed my mother!

I won't let you get away with this!

Maxwell clutched his reddening cheek, slammed the car door shut,

and right there in front of the committee building, he laid on the horn at me,

his voice dripping with that same contempt again.

Mrs. Delgado, I'm happy to play this game with you. We'll play until you've had your fill. Until you learn to back down and admit you've lost!

I watched his car tear away in a cloud of dust.

I clenched my fist and drove it into the rough stone wall behind me.

Gravel bit into torn flesh.

Blood mixed with grit seeped through the gaps between my fingers and pooled in my palm,

staining the business card I'd been clutching.

I slowly uncurled my ruined hand and dialed the number on the card.

Maxwell, the one who loses in the end won't be me.

Felicia, are you sure about this? If it really goes that far, you and Maxwell will truly be

I'm sure.

Cindy Donaldson went silent on the other end for two seconds, then her voice came back low and steady.

Alright. As long as you're certain, I'm with you to the end.

Tears had been swimming in my eyes for a long time.

After those words from Cindy, I couldn't hold them back anymore and let them fall.

It was the first time I'd cried since my mother died.

Cindy must have sensed it through the phone,

because her voice softened.

Felicia, you know better than I do what Maxwell is capable of. Brace yourself.

I looked back at the committee building and managed a bitter smile.

I know. I'm ready.

Cindy, let's begin.

Done.

After I hung up, I watched the trees flicker past the car window, and a cold laugh rose from somewhere deep inside me.

Eight years. I'd been by his side through everything, from green and naive to polished and powerful.

I came from a business family. I understood the dirty tricks of the trade better than Maxwell ever had.

In the beginning, I was the one who taught him, piece by piece.

He learned. He got good at it. He mastered the chessboard.

And now every last bit of it was being used against me.

But it didn't matter. Cindy alone was worth every legal team in Capital City combined.

A shrill ringtone cut through my thoughts.

I hit the answer button.

Maxwell's voice exploded from the other end.

Felicia, are you serious?!

When I didn't respond, his tone eased just a fraction.

Felicia, there's really no need for this. You know my company's been dealing with some issues lately.

You're having Cindy sue me now? My entire legal department will have to drop everything for this. You're going to hurt the family business doing this.

That's not my home, Maxwell.

I cut him off, my voice cold.

Maxwell paused, as if he'd decided arguing with me was pointless.

Fine. Tell me what it'll take for you to drop this.

I let out a hollow laugh.

Make Peggy publicly admit she plagiarized my work.

In your dreams!

His voice shot up instantly.

Felicia, I don't understand you. What's worth fighting over about some stupid award? Peggy doesn't have much time left. Can't you just

I hung up before he could finish.

I pulled over to the side of the road.

Tears had already soaked my face.

He helped her plagiarize. He schemed and maneuvered to make sure Peggy's name ended up on that award. And now he had the nerve to ask me why I was fighting over some stupid prize.

Eight years. Eight years completely wasted on him.

My phone rang, dragging me back.

Maxwell.

Felicia, if you're going to be this heartless, don't blame me for what comes next.

I glanced at the message and blocked his number.

But a quiet dread was already settling in.

I was just about to call Cindy to warn her when

her call came through first.

The second I picked up, all I heard was chaos on the other end.

Hurry, she's crashing! Get her to the ICU!

Cindy!

I was screaming her name.

Cindy, what happened? Talk to me!

A long silence. Then Cindy's voice broke through, raw and choked.

Felicia, my mom got hit. A dump truck ran a red light and just

I couldn't make out anything after that.

The phone slipped from my hand and struck the top of my foot.

A piercing ringing filled my ears

Another message from Maxwell.

Felicia, as long as I'm around, you'll never win.

I picked the phone up with trembling hands,

tried to call Maxwell, but my finger slipped and opened Peggy's social media page instead.

One minute ago. A fresh post.

The cemetery on the north side of town. My mother's gravestone, covered top to bottom in award certificates bearing Peggy's name.

Peggy stood in front of it, flashing a victory sign.

The caption:

Burn as many as you want. The people who love me will always give me more.

I clenched my fist and slammed it into the steering wheel.

The horn shrieked, shrill enough to rip through me.

But it brought me back.

I floored the gas and drove straight to the hospital.

I ran the whole way in. The moment I stepped into the lobby, every single pair of eyes seemed to turn on me, whispering, pointing.

I didn't care.

I tore through the corridors searching for Cindy like a woman possessed,

and in the chaos ran straight into her arms.

Before I could say a word, Cindy grabbed my wrist and shoved me back toward the exit.

Cindy, who never lost her composure, had pure panic in her eyes.

Why did you come to the hospital?! I called and texted you the whole way here, why didn't you answer?!

You need to leave. Go home. Now!

I stared at her, lost.

I was about to ask what was going on

when a crowd closed in around us.

A man in the group pointed at me, a lewd grin spreading across his face.

Hey, you're the slut who slept with the judges to win that award, right?! How do you even show your face in public?!

I whipped around to face him.

He hadn't been at the awards gala.

Maxwell had already told every media outlet that the photo was fake, that it would never be released.

The man seemed to read my mind.

He pointed at the giant screen behind me, his laugh equal parts disgusting and brazen.

What's wrong? Thought you could do your dirty little deeds and nobody'd ever find out?! Well, now the whole world knows!

I turned to look where he was pointing.

On the LED screen, three stories tall, my intimate photos with the judge were scrolling in a loop.

Compared to the ones shown at the awards gala,

these were far more explicit.

The tattoo on my lower back. My flushed face.

These weren't doctored. These were real photos from my private moments with Maxwell

It hit me like a bolt of lightning straight through my skull.

Before I could even process it, hundreds of reporters flooded into the hospital.

They propped up their cameras and started filming the screen behind me in a frenzy.

No! Get away!

Cindy was like a woman possessed, darting between the reporters to shove them back and then throwing herself in front of the screen to block it.

Her mother's blood was still smeared across her clothes. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was screaming at them like a wild animal.

In the shoving, I fell into the crowd.

A man lunged from behind me and ripped my shirt apart with one violent tug.

He pointed at the tattoo on my lower back, turning to the crowd with a leering shout.

Look! This slut really does have a tattoo on her lower back! Those photos are real! She's nothing but a shameless whore!

A pair of thick hands clamped around my waist.

Then the kicks and punches came, too many to count.

Through the chaos, a nurse burst out of the ward.

She stared at the crowd and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Is Cindy Donaldson here?!

Your mother's crashing!

The voice that had been screaming to protect me went silent.

Surrounded by curses and spit, Cindy, who was harder than iron, crumpled to the ground.

Beyond the crowd, Maxwell strolled toward us with Peggy on his arm and victory written all over his face.

In that single instant, every image collided at once: my mother dying in agony, Cindy's mother thrown by the dump truck, Cindy collapsing.

They stacked on top of each other, flashing behind my eyes like a strobe.

Hatred erupted from somewhere so deep it felt volcanic.

I forced every ounce of strength into my legs and stood. My bloodshot gaze swept over the two of them, smug and untouchable.

Then my eyes landed on the hundreds of cameras. I clenched my teeth and spoke.

You've all been investigating the Grandview Terrace construction disaster ten years ago, haven't you?! The one that killed and injured nearly a hundred people?!

The words landed, and the color drained from Maxwell's face.

His pupils shrank to pinpoints. He lunged toward me like a man unhinged.

The reporters blocked him instantly. Every lens swung to me.

You know the truth?!

Of course I do!

I screamed it, every word hurled straight into the cameras.

Maxwell's father killed those people! And the surveillance footage from that day is in my hands!