“Sorry?! You think that fixes this?!” Adrian shouted, lifting the belt even higher. “Look at my wall! What kind of garbage is this?!”
But just before the blow could fall, his eyes flickered—just for a second—toward the wall.
And everything stopped.
His arm froze midair.
The belt slipped from his hand, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
His face changed.
From fury… to shock… to something far worse.
Pain.
Deep, piercing pain.
Because what was on the wall… wasn’t random scribbles.
It was a portrait.
A woman’s face—drawn with charcoal and faint chalk lines—so lifelike it felt like she might breathe. Every shadow, every detail had been placed with care. The eyes held emotion… warmth… exhaustion… love.
And just above her left eyebrow—
A small, delicate scar.
Adrian’s lips trembled.
“No… that’s not possible…” he whispered, his voice barely there.
It was Elena.
The only woman he had ever truly loved.
The one he had lost.
The one he had destroyed.
His knees gave out.
He collapsed onto the pavement in front of the wall, as if his entire world had just been ripped apart. Tears he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for over a decade finally broke free.
“Elena…” he whispered, his voice shattered.