Chapter 3

Brandon frowned, about to speak, when Tiffany's tears started flowing like a broken faucet.

"Maya, why do you always have to fight me for everything? If it's not mine, then whose is it?"

As she ran out the door, Brandon's flicker of doubt vanished.

"Your lies are getting more ridiculous by the day."

He shot me a cutting glare. "I'll deal with you when I get back."

Then he chased after her.

I stood there for a while before continuing to pack. There wasn't a huge amount, but not little either. My heart felt heavy. I tossed our shared mementos into a box, slapping a "junk" label on it.

By the time I finished organizing everything, it was past midnight. My head felt light, the images of the amusement park from my childhood swirling repeatedly in my mind. I finally drifted off to sleep as dawn approached.

But I was woken up not long after by the sound of a door being forced open. I opened my eyes to see several unfamiliar men rushing into the room.

They dragged me out of bed. My face went chalk-white. Trying to suppress my panic, I said, "Who are you people? You know trespassing is against the law, right? Leave now, and I can pretend nothing happened."

But instead of letting go, their eyes shamelessly raked over my body.

"Mr. Hayes sent us to bring you back to the company. You messed with him, you're gonna pay the price."

Hearing they were Brandon's men, my heart eased a little. He was probably still mad about Tiffany crying last night. After a night of restless sleep, all the repressed memories had resurfaced. I wasn't afraid to confront them about the painting's origin.

"Wait outside. I need to get dressed."

The men smirked. "Why bother? You look good just like that."

They ignored my struggles and forcefully pushed me into the car. I was wearing only a thin nightgown, and colleagues in the office building pointed and whispered as I was led through.

Seeing my disheveled state, Brandon's face showed a hint of displeasure. But just as his hand reached for his suit button, Tiffany, her voice laced with fury, accused me.

"Maya Reed, you've gone too far! I put up with you targeting me, but how could you tear up the painting I gave Brandon?"

The painting? Didn't Brandon take it with him last night? I was confused. I looked up, meeting Brandon's dark, menacing gaze. Any fleeting pity I'd thought I saw earlier must have been my imagination.

I shook my head at him, calmly saying, "I didn't do it. Don't accuse me baselessly."

Brandon raised a hand.

Soon, two people walked in. One was the colleague who'd given me the lemonade yesterday. Tiffany stepped in front of them, her voice gentle, but her eyes full of menace.

"Don't be scared. Just tell us what you saw last night."

As if on cue, they started speaking over each other.

"Around eleven, we were just finishing overtime and about to leave when we saw Maya come back."

"She stormed into Mr. Hayes' office, came out with something, and headed straight for the shredder."

"A few minutes later, she went back into Mr. Hayes' office."

I listened in disbelief to their fabrications. But clearly, Brandon believed them. He picked up the shredded pieces, his eyes bloodshot, and kicked me hard in the chest.

"With both witnesses and evidence, what more do you have to say?"

I gasped for air. These so-called "proofs" were nothing but a baseless accusation. "I wasn't even at the company last night. You can check the security footage to see if I did any of that."

Brandon seemed to have anticipated my words, and the surveillance footage was played. One glance, and my face went stark white.