My Skin Was His Cruelest Canvas Chapter 2

I lunged forward, ignoring the hands trying to hold me back, and yanked the sheet away.

My mother’s eyes were wide, fixed in a final, frozen stare of terror.

“No... no, she was fine. She was healthy!” I screamed, the sound tearing through the quiet street.

The paramedic looked at me with a grimace of pity. “Looks like she swallowed a lethal dose of herbicide. Suicide.”

I didn't believe it. My mother loved me more than life itself. She wouldn't leave me alone in this world.

I found her phone in her coat pocket. There was an open message from an anonymous account. It was a link to a livestream.

I collapsed onto the cracked pavement. The pain and the hatred swirled in my chest, choking me.

It was me. I was the one who killed her.

I found a note in her drafts. Just a few sentences.

“Maya, don't stay with a man who doesn't love you just for my sake.”

“My butterfly girl, leave this city. Find your wings. Find your freedom.”

I wailed like a wounded animal over her body.

Growing up, my skin was always a mess of blisters and raw patches. Other kids looked at me like I was a monster, something contagious and rotting.

Only my mother would hold me, whispering, “You aren’t a monster, Maya. You’re my butterfly. If the world is too harsh for you, we’ll build our own world.”

I’d fought so hard to be normal for her. I’d worked so hard to build a life.

In middle school, Colin had been the one to fight off the bullies. He’d walked me home every day, even when it was miles out of his way. Back then, he was my light. I thought I’d found the only other person in the world who would protect me.

When I graduated, I took the trust fund my mother had saved and invested every cent into Colin’s first startup. I bet everything on him.

And I won. Or I thought I did.

The day his company went public, Colin handed me the keys to a vintage Rolls Royce. In front of a swarm of reporters, he looked like a god—elegant, powerful, and utterly devoted.

“Why such an expensive gift?” a journalist asked.

Colin smiled, the cameras flashing in his eyes. “When I was nothing, she sat on the back of my moped and believed in me. I promised her then that one day, she’d only ever sit in the back of a Rolls. It’s time the world starts calling her Mrs. Sharon.”

Then he knelt and slipped a diamond onto my finger. It was a fairy tale. The "Gold Standard" of New York romance.

I stayed in the morgue all afternoon until the administrator’s voice snapped me back.

“Mrs. Sharon, this card was declined too.”

It was the last card I had. The man who once bought me mansions had frozen every single account to appease his mistress.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat. I pulled out the crumpled Vietnamese bills, begging the man. “This is all I have. Please, just take care of her. I’ll get the rest, I promise.”

The man looked at the colorful bills and scoffed. “This isn't even enough for a deposit. Look, just call your husband. A man like Colin Sharon won't even notice this amount.”

I closed my eyes and unclasped the gold bangle from my wrist. “This is solid gold. It’s worth at least fifteen thousand. Please.”

He took it greedily, testing it with his teeth. His face soured instantly. He slammed it onto the counter.

“I called you ‘Mrs. Sharon’ out of respect, but you’ve got some nerve. Don't come back here with fake gold.”