Oliver Morrison's apartment was on the top floor of a discreetly luxurious building in the Upper East Side. When we arrived, he was already waiting at the door, dressed casually in a dressing gown, with anxiety and anticipation in his eyes that I had never seen in my previous life.

"Elizabeth?" His voice almost broke the moment he saw my mother. "My God, it really is you."


My mother stopped in her tracks, blinking in confusion. "Oliver?"

Twenty years of separation had created a distance between them, but when Oliver stepped forward and gently embraced my mother, that distance seemed to vanish instantly.

"I've been looking for you," he whispered. "They told me you didn't want to see anyone."


"They lied to everyone," I said, closing the door behind me. "Victoria has been drugging my mother to make her appear mentally unstable."

Oliver's expression changed from shock to anger. "I knew something was wrong. Richard suddenly cut off all of Elizabeth's old friends... but I never imagined it would be like this."


We settled in his spacious living room, Oliver prepared a cup of tea for my mother, then turned to me. "Ella, how did you find out?"

I gave him my prepared version of the story about Victoria's diary and my investigation. Oliver is an excellent lawyer, and he immediately began to think about legal strategies.

"We need medical evidence," he said. "Blood tests proving she was given inappropriate medication. We need witnesses to testify about Victoria's behavior patterns. We need—"

"We need time," I interrupted. "Victoria must be frantically searching for us right now. She will use every resource at her disposal."

Oliver nodded. "Well, you can stay here. I have sufficient security measures, and the residents here value their privacy highly."

While my mother rested in Oliver's guest room, he and I spoke quietly in the kitchen.

"There's one more thing you should know," I said. "Victoria has connections with Katherine Stanford, a close friend of Alexander Blake."

Oliver's eyebrows raised. "The Blake family? How did they get involved in this?"

"I'm not sure about all the details," I lied. "But I know Katherine and Victoria have some kind of agreement. I think it's related to my father's funds."

Oliver pondered for a moment. "That's interesting. I happen to be one of the legal advisors for the Blake family."

I feigned surprise. "Really? What a coincidence."

"Perhaps not a coincidence," Oliver said, his eyes flashing with a lawyer's characteristic shrewdness. "If Victoria and the Stanford family have business dealings, then your father's funds might have flowed into some project under Blake Enterprises."

I nodded. "Could you help me look into it? The kind that doesn't attract attention."

"Of course," he promised. "I'll start tomorrow. Now, you should get some rest too."

Lying on the bed in Oliver's guest room, my thoughts were racing. The first night had already changed so much, but the road ahead remained long. My phone kept vibrating—Victoria, Sophia, even my father were looking for me.

I took one last look at the messages. My father's last one read: "Ella, please call back. We're all very worried."

I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. The game was still ongoing.

In the days that followed, I moved cautiously. I contacted my father, fabricating a story about a short trip to explain my sudden disappearance.

Three days later,

I stood in a gallery at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, admiring an abstract painting. My mother was recovering well under Oliver's care, with the drugs gradually being flushed from her system. We had gathered preliminary evidence proving she had been improperly medicated, but we needed more time to build a complete case.

Meanwhile, I needed to continue my normal life to avoid arousing further suspicion.

"Interesting interpretation, isn't it?"

A deep, magnetic voice came from behind me, sending a shiver down my spine. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Alexander Blake.

In my past life, our first meeting happened in that hotel room, filled with awkwardness and misunderstandings. This time, we met in the temple of art, on my home ground.

I turned slowly to face the man who once ruined my life. He was more handsome than I remembered—perhaps because his face hadn’t yet developed that cold calculation. He wore a perfectly tailored dark gray suit, his black hair neatly combed back, and those unforgettable blue eyes focused intently on me.

"I believe the wonder of art lies in everyone having their own interpretation," I replied calmly.

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Ella Haston, right? I saw your name on the Blackley Foundation’s guest list, but I seem to have missed the opportunity to speak with you."

So he noticed me? Interesting.

"And you are Alexander Blake," I said, showing no surprise. "Your foundation does a lot of good work."

"Have you studied me?" he asked, a flash of interest in his eyes.

"I just did my basic homework," I replied. "Just as I'm sure you would do for all potential art investments."

He laughed, a genuine laugh, not the cold sneer I often saw after our marriage. "You think I'm here to invest in art?"

"Aren't you?" I countered. "The Blake family is known for their shrewd investment vision."

"Perhaps I simply appreciate beautiful things." His gaze lingered on me for a second.

In my previous life, this flirtation would have made my heart race. Now, I only felt a calm satisfaction, knowing that I was in control of this conversation.

"So, what do you think of this piece?" I asked, pointing to the painting in front of us.

Deep blue and dark red strokes intertwined on the canvas, creating a strange tension, as if depicting order within chaos, or undercurrents beneath a calm surface. This piece reminded me of my own situation—complex plans and emotions hidden beneath a surface of tranquility.

Alexander turned to the painting, examining it carefully. "I think it shows order within chaos, a carefully calculated structure hidden beneath the appearance of randomness." He paused. "Just like life itself."

I couldn't help but smile. "A businessman's interpretation."

"And you, Miss Haston? What do you see?"

"I see the possibility of rebirth," I said, my voice soft but firm. "I see how one can rebuild oneself from fragments."

Alexander's gaze became more focused. "You're an artist." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"I'd like to see your work."

Just then, a familiar voice interrupted us. "Alexander! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Katherine Stanford approached gracefully, her red dress like a warning signal. She took Alexander's arm while examining me with an appraising gaze.

"Kate," Alexander said, the temperature in his tone dropping a few degrees. "This is Ella Haston. Miss Haston, this is Katherine Stanford."

"Miss Stanford," I nodded politely. "Pleased to meet you."

Katherine's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Haston? Richard Haston's daughter?"

"Yes."

"I’ve heard about you," she said, her voice sweet but with a sting. "Your father has been looking for you recently. I heard you disappeared for a few days?"

Alexander's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at me.

"Just needed some time alone," I answered casually. "Artist's inspiration, you know."

"Of course," Katherine said. "Though it's natural for family to worry. Especially considering your mother's... medical history."

I felt a surge of anger, but maintained a calm exterior. "Thank you for your concern, Miss Stanford."

I turned to Alexander. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blake. I hope we have the opportunity to exchange artistic insights again."

As I turned to leave, I could feel his gaze following me. First round, I believe I won.