I died consumed by guilt. The archangel gave me a chance to be reborn, to right a single wrong: to return her destined love to my sister.
I watched her discuss art with him in a rehearsed, lifeless tone. I listened to her complain in the dead of night, "What's the point of these boring charity projects?" I buried the part of me that had connected with his soul in that coffee shop.
Until he gazed at my painting of a wandering girl and asked softly,
"Why refuse to collaborate? Your brushstrokes hide a loneliness even I have never voiced."
That’s when I realized—
What he was searching for was never a title or status, but a soul that resonated with his own.

Screw the Script! I'm Done Pretending.

Trembling, I clicked open a video link. It showed Berenice sitting in what looked like a hotel room, her eyes rimmed red, her voice choked with sobs, her acting more masterful than ever before:
"My sister, Candice, she's been jealous of everything I've had since we were kids! Clothes, toys, our par...

Chapter 12