Chapter 2

In the center of the exhibition hall, Hudson stood tall, surrounded by a crowd of sycophants. Over the past five years, he had expanded the Harrington Group into an absolute empire.

People were practically tripping over themselves to flatter him.

"Mr. Harrington, are you here for the masterpiece of the legendary artist, Atalanta?"

"I heard the starting bid for The Departure is in the eight figures. If you secure it, the Harrington Group's dominance in the art investment world will be untouchable."

Hudson gave a curt nod. His eyes weren't on the painting, though. They were locked dead on me.

Standing beside him was Vivian, wearing an elegant champagne silk gown. Her makeup was flawless, and she smiled softly, resting her hand on his arm.

"Hudson has always had impeccable taste in art. We're just here to browse today."

Despite her modest words, her eyes practically dripped with smugness.

Hudson’s face darkened with irritation. He looked at me as if my very existence was a stain on his perfect evening.

I remained kneeling, completely focused on the canvas.

A crying child had run past a moment ago, accidentally brushing their chocolate ice cream against the bottom corner of the painting.

"Excuse me, ma'am! This is a high-profile exhibition. Please step away from the artwork immediately!"

A gallery manager in a sharp suit rushed over, his voice sharp and tense.

He took one look at my simple white t-shirt, faded jeans, and the faint paint smudges on my fingers. His eyes practically flared with hostility.

"I'm sorry, but the painting was smudged. I'm just cleaning it up," I explained quietly.

The manager's face fell. "This painting is worth tens of millions! You're 'cleaning' it? Can you even begin to comprehend the liability here?"

"Get up, now! Don't ruin the experience for our VIP guests."

Though he didn’t yell, his voice was loud enough to draw a crowd. Within seconds, every eye in the gallery was fixed on me.

Right then, Hudson strolled over, with Vivian clinging tightly to his arm.

Our eyes met. His gaze was colder than ice, filled with utter disgust. "Michelle?"

The manager blinked, looking at Hudson. "Mr. Harrington, you know her?"

Hudson let out a cold, dismissive sneer.

"Just a desperate relative who would do absolutely anything for money. We don't know each other."

With that, he looked away, as if looking at me for another second would rot his brain.

Vivian immediately tightened her grip on his arm, putting on a show of mock pity.

"Michelle, why on earth are you working a job like this?"

"I know you were bitter when you had to leave the Harrington estate, but you didn't have to degrade yourself like this."

"Being a cleaner isn't shameful, of course. But doing it at a high-end gallery like this? Aren't you a bit out of your depth?"

Her words instantly sealed my fate as a "pathetic, desperate cleaner" in everyone's eyes.

The manager’s face twisted in disgust. He reached out to grab my arm.

"Get out of here! Stop making a scene. If you ruin our gallery's reputation, you won't survive the lawsuit!"

I dodged his hand, my voice turning icy. "I told you, I can fix this. If there’s any damage, I will take full responsibility."

He let out a harsh laugh. "Responsibility? With what? You could sell your kidney and still not afford a single inch of this canvas!"

He reached out to grab me again.

I ignored him entirely. I pulled a specialized fine brush and a small bottle of organic solvent from my canvas tote bag, carefully working on the stubborn spot.

Hudson’s brows furrowed deeply.

He probably thought this was another one of my elaborate stunts to win back his attention.