Alicia picked up her bag-it waspletely dry. Unzipping it, she found every piece of clothing washed and warm from the dryer. Her brows lifted in surprise as her gaze slid toward Brooke.


    “Your bag and clothes have all been cleaned and tumble-dried.” Brooke exined softly.


    Alicia reached straight for the roll of waxed paper inside.


    She unwrapped it carefully and spread the canvas across the bed. Most of it was intact, protected by the waxed paper. Only the edges had suffered-water had blurred the once-crisp mountain ridge, leaving the colors faint and pale.


    Brooke leaned closer, genuine pity in her tone. “Such a gorgeous piece. What a shame about the edge.”


    Then she tilted her head, recognition sparking. “Wait a second-this looks just like Sweetheart Queen’s work! Miss Lawrence, where did you buy it? My dad’s crazy about her. I wanted to get one for his birthdayst month, but she doesn’t sell. I even messaged her once, and she replied that every painting was like her own child, with a soul of its own, and she could never sell her children. Artists, right? Brilliant and a little strange. Paint something this good and then just keep it locked up?”


    Brooke kept going, words tumbling out. “Sweetheart Queen’s blown uptely. Feels like everyone online is praising her. Collectors keep saying her work is an investment, that she’s destined to be a great artist. Buy now, cash inter. Everyone’s begging for her paintings—some even throwing out ridiculous offers.”


    Alicia turned her head, eyes narrowing, the corner of her gaze sharp as ss.


    Sweetheart Queen. Tiffany’s username. That ridiculous, sugar-sweet handle had managed to take over the inte in just three short months.


    And every single painting behind it was hers. Alicia’s. She had been churning out canvases like clockwork— one every two, three days. The Lawrence family had spotted her talent early, but not to nurture it, only to drain it. Back then she was foolish enough to think they finally saw her worth, because they would only talk to her when they wanted another painting.


    Day after day, it was nothing but eat, sleep, and paint.


    And every finished piece was photographed, posted online under Tiffany’s username. Only ny days, the Lawrence family had packaged Sweetheart Queen into a viral art darling.


    There had been countless offers, sky-high prices-and not a single sale. The Lawrence family wasn’t holding back for nothing. They were crafting Tiffany’s persona,ying the groundwork for her grand debut as Edward West’s future disciple.


    This time, Alicia hadn’t given Tiffany a new canvas. Which meant Tiffany would have nothing fresh to take to Edward West. The only cards left were those dozen paintings Alicia had burned through in the past three months. But they were already online. Old news. No spark. <fn28f1> For original chapters go to f?ndnovel</fn28f1>


    So the n was obvious. They would y the reveal-expose Tiffany as the real Sweetheart Queen. That identity was their leverage now.


    65 vouchert,


    Alicia thought back. In herst life, Tiffany hadn’t made it into Edward West’s art studio during that round of recruitment. Only after her “Sweetheart Queen” persona went public did she start circling closer to him. A yearter, she finally became his apprentice.


    This time, things had shifted. Alicia’s return had forced their hand. They were moving the reveal up.


    Her lips curved, a cold edge hidden in the smile. Yes. Time Tiffany’s mask came off.


    She turned to Brooke. “These paintings, they’ll be for sale.”


    “Really?” Brooke’s eyes widened, thrilled. “Miss Lawrence, do you know Sweetheart Queen?”


    Before Alicia could answer, Brooke waved a hand at herself. “Listen to me, asking something so dumb. Of course you know her-Sweetheart Queen’s paintings are sitting right here. I believe you. I’ll just wait until Dad’s birthday next year and buy one for him.”


    Then, a little hesitantly, “Next year… will she sell?”


    “She will.” Alicia gave a small nod. Edward West would be in Riverdale in a little over a week. It was time for the world to meet Sweetheart Queen.


    Brooke beamed, showering her with thanks until her phone buzzed. She excused herself, promising, “Rest here, Miss Lawrence. I’ll bring your dinner.”


    Alicia expected cafeteria food. Instead, Brooke returned with twocquered boxes, the kind stamped with the crest of Noble Leaf Bistro.


    Noble Leaf Bistro wasn’t big, but it was infamous. The owner was entric-every morning he picked a number between one and a hundred. That number was the quota for the day. Once it was filled, no more dinners.


    Everything was fresh, made from scratch. No frozen shortcuts. Each dish bnced by a nutritionist, perfected by the kitchen until vor and health met in the same bite.


    No phone reservations. No exceptions. You showed up, queued, and prayed you made the cut before the day’s number ran out.


    There was always a line outside Noble Leaf Bistro. Some people queued an entire day and still never got in— once the owner’s number was reached, the doors were closed.


    Whether it was the rarity or the quality, the effect was the same-dinners from Noble Leaf were treated like


    treasure.


    Alicia remembered Tiffany bragging about it in herst life.


    She asked now, “Where did you get this food?”


    “Oh, Mr. Quinn ordered it.” Brooke replied.


    Alicia blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected the driver-not only to bring her to the hospital and arrange her stay-but to somehow secure a meal that was nearly impossible to book.


    Too thoughtful.


    But why would Mr. Quinn go that far for her?


    She turned the question over in her mind, finding no answer. By then Brooke had already lifted the lids off the twocquered boxes.


    At once, a warm smell drifted through the room.


    Alicia nced down. One tray held a delicate bowl of clear chicken broth with a few soft grains of rice-gentle enough for her stomach. The other was a neatly divided te with fourpartments, each holding a small portion of steamed vegetables. Nothing too heavy-everything perfectly portioned for someone recovering.


    Brooke ced the spoon into her hand. “Dinner’s ready, Miss Lawrence.”


    Alicia stirred the clear broth once before bringing a spoonful to her lips, savoring the warmth. Then she moved on to the vegetables-tender and crisp, their natural sweetnessing through without any heavy seasoning.


    Seeing her eat, Brooke didn’t hover. She smiled lightly instead. “I’ll step out. Call me if you need anything.”


    Alicia nodded, and the door clicked shut behind her.


    She tried the other three sides, each just as light, the vors gentle yet distinct. Nothing rich, nothing overwhelming-only freshness.


    Only then did she turn to the oatmeal. She had expected it to be nd, maybe even hard to swallow. But the first spoonful surprised her-warm, smooth, carrying the natural sweetness of oats with a faint nutty note. Comforting, simple, and gentle on the stomach.


    She finished every bite, then set the empty boxes neatly aside.