The Unmatched Beauty Beneath The Veil Chapter 2

Ten years ago, on a sweltering summer afternoon, Jared took me out to the countryside to paint.

We stood on a crumbling, abandoned stone bridge. He was busy capturing the scenery, while I watched from his side.

The bridge had been neglected for decades. Suddenly, the stone beneath his feet gave way, and he began to slip backward over the edge.

Without thinking, I lunged forward and shoved him toward safety.

He tumbled onto the grass, scraping nothing but his knees.

I plunged into the jagged ravine below. A rusted iron rod tore through my left cheek, ripping the flesh open from my cheekbone down to my jaw.

Blood soaked the earth.

The surgeon had to use thirty-seven stitches to put my face back together.

After that day, a hideous, jagged scar became a permanent fixture on my left cheek.

Jared had knelt by my hospital bed, weeping, swearing he would love me forever, that he would never care about my scars, and that he owed me his life.

But promises fade. Human hearts rot.

I stared at him, unable to believe my ears. "Jared, you're using my face to hurt me?"

A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual, patronizing coldness. "I'm only looking out for you. The internet will tear you to pieces. You'll be crying before the night is over. Darcy, try to have some self-awareness."

I trembled, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I forced them back.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the velvet box, popped it open, and looked at the cheap, pathetic ring inside. The diamond was so small and poorly cut it resembled a piece of broken glass.

I laughed softly, tossing the box back into his chest.

"Think whatever you want," I said. "I don't want to marry you anymore anyway. And tonight, I am going up on that stage to claim my own award."

I turned on my heel.

Jared lunged, grabbing my arm and pulling me back so hard I nearly lost my balance.

"What the hell is wrong with you? There's a limit to how much of a tantrum you can throw!"

I sneered at him. "Jared, tell me the truth. Did you actually buy this ring for me? Or did you buy a real one for Kelly and just toss me the free gift?"

His face stiffened.

The ring was indeed laughably tiny.

Two days ago, I had found an identical box in Kelly’s vanity. But the diamond in her drawer was ten times the size of mine.

At the time, I found it strange. But later, I saw an advertisement for that exact jewelry store.

The Collector’s Edition. Limited to one piece worldwide. Value: Eight million dollars.

Limited to one piece.

That meant the eight-million-dollar ring was sitting in Kelly's drawer, while the scrap of glass in my hand was likely nothing more than a complimentary token.

Exposed, Jared's expression turned defensive, but he quickly assumed his usual high-and-mighty posture. "What are you talking about? I just thought your features were... a bit delicate, too understated to carry such a massive stone. It would look out of place on you. I didn't mean it as an insult. Delicate is a compliment. Stop acting up. If you really want a big one, I'll buy you one later."

He dismissed it so easily.

Of course he would. He was rich enough to throw money around without a care.

Last year, when Kelly claimed she was having trouble breathing, he spent fifty million dollars to charter a private jet and fly in a world-renowned team of respiratory specialists.

The doctors spent three days running tests only to conclude there was no physical issue, suggesting she simply needed rest.

Fifty million dollars, gone in the blink of an eye.

The year before that, Kelly wanted to see the Northern Lights. He leased a private jet and flew her halfway across the globe. When they returned, Kelly claimed she was exhausted and her condition had worsened, prompting him to spend tens of millions more on consultants.

Again, they found nothing.

Over the years, he had poured over a hundred million dollars into Kelly's endless whims.

But for me, he couldn't even buy a proper engagement ring.

Seeing my stubborn refusal, Kelly chimed in from behind, her voice dripping with artificial distress. "Darcy, please don't be mad at Hank and Jared. It's all my fault. I'll tell them right now that I don't feel well and won't go on stage. Jared... my chest feels so tight... I think it's happening again..."

Frantic footsteps scrambled behind me.

The steps leading to the main stage were right in front of me.

I lifted my foot to take the first step—

Suddenly, a rush of cold, viscous liquid poured over the back of my head. It drenched my collar, trickled down my neck, and soaked my entire back.

The sharp, chemical stench of red paint filled my nose, clinging thick and heavy to my skin.

I froze.

Hank stood behind me, holding an empty paint bucket.

"Hank?" My voice was choked, barely a whisper.

"Now you don't have time to go on stage, do you?" Hank’s eyes reflected my pale, paint-streaked face. "Just let Kelly take your place. The credit is still yours, and since Kelly is beautiful, everyone will praise Luna as a goddess. Even if you explain the truth later, the public will only admire you for being such a loving, supportive sister."

He patted my shoulder gently. "I'm older than you, Darcy. I've walked more roads than you've eaten grains of salt. Stop being so stubborn. Listen to your brother and go change your clothes."