The CEO Hid His Mistress Inside A Million Dollar Painting Chapter 13

The CEO Hid His Mistress Inside A Million Dollar Painting Chapter 13

Seven years later, Hyatt was released from prison.

He had been let out early for voluntarily returning his illicit gains and for good behavior.

But once he got out, he discovered that the world outside no longer had a place for him.

He had a criminal record. He had debts. And he had the scandal from that livestream hanging over his head.

No one dared to hire him.

He couldn’t find a decent job, so he ended up hauling bricks at construction sites.

Then an accident happened on site. He fell from a scaffold and his right leg was permanently damaged.

The contractor gave him a small payout and sent him on his way.

It was pouring rain that day.

I had just finished a meeting and was walking out of the company building.

Hyatt limped toward me as fast as he could, then dropped to his knees in the muddy water with a heavy

splash. “Perla… Perla, look at me!”

Security immediately moved to stop him.

But he clawed forward like a man possessed. “I’m sorry! I finally truly know I was wrong! Just give me one

more chance, okay?”

“I’ll do whatever you say from now on. I swear I’ll never lie to you again!”

I stopped and looked at him. Seven years had passed. He was gaunt and unrecognizable-his face ashen, his

pant legs uneven, one high and one low. He looked completely drained, hollowed out.

I asked him, “Hyatt, what do you want?”

He looked up at me, his eyes rimmed with red. “I want to go home. I really want to go home.”

I regarded him calmly. “Hyatt, didn’t you always believe that I was the one who couldn’t survive without you?

Well, now you see. Without you, I’m doing better than ever.”

His mouth opened and closed, his voice trembling. “Perla… I have nothing left now…”

I nodded. “That’s right. And that’s exactly what you deserve.”

With that, I turned and got into the car.

Just before the door closed, I could still hear him shouting, “Perla! Perla!”

I didn’t look back.

As the car pulled away, the windshield wipers swept gently across the glass.

I looked through the window and saw him still kneeling in the mud, like a dog someone had thrown away.

But that was the path he had chosen for himself.

Over these years, I had taken over the family company and slowly pieced my life back together, bit by bit.

The three of us-my parents and I-went to art exhibitions, went on trips, and stayed for a long time by the

seaside.

I also started a women’s support program with a lawyer friend, specifically designed to help people who had

been wronged in marriage and didn’t know how to move forward.

A lot of people asked me, “Ms. Flores, do you still believe in love after everything?”

I usually smiled and said the same thing, “Of course I do. Just because one man was trash doesn’t mean all

men are trash, right?”

That night, just as I pulled into the underground garage, my phone buzzed with a message.

It was from the investment bank president who had been pursuing me lately.

[Ms. Flores, I got the tickets to the art exhibition. Your parents are already waiting for you downstairs. If you’re willing, we can see the exhibition first tonight, then go to dinner.]

I looked down at the message and smiled.

Then I typed back: [I’m on my way.]

Those people and those things from the past were meant to be left behind.

And I deserved better.