The Second Life of a Discarded Heiress

Herschel felt his eyes sting as he gazed at the painting.

A wave of sorrow crashed over him, leaving his chest tight, as if he could barely

breathe.

Someone nearby noticed and kindly steadied him. "Are you alright, sir?"

"I'm fine." Herschel forced the suffocating feeling down, burying it deep inside.

He managed a smile. "Thank you," he said to the stranger who'd helped him.

The person nodded, then wandered off with their companion to look at other pieces.

But Raymond's father, Weston Carmichael, lingered where he was, lost in thought while staring at the painting titled *Home*. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

When the exhibition ended, it was time for the grand art prize to be announced. Weston's eyes flickered as he thought of his son, but in the end, he decided to stay for the ceremony.

He joined the crowd as everyone filed into the gallery's main hall.

This part of the evening was for the awards. The place buzzed with anticipation. Herschel found a seat at random, settling in among the audience.

As he glanced around, his gaze landed on someone in the front row.

Nigel sat there in a crisp white suit, every strand of hair meticulously styled.

Herschel smirked at the sight of his back. "That rascal actually cleans up alright for once. Doesn't look half bad."

From the way Nigel was dressed, Herschel could tell tonight meant the world to him.

Soon, the host began announcing the finalists, listing the paintings the visitors had voted for-and *Home* was among them.

At the mention of the title, a surge of excitement flashed in Herschel's eyes. He nearly jumped to his feet.

People nearby shot him odd looks, as if he were some country bumpkin who'd never seen a real gallery before.

Sheepishly, Herschel sat back down.

Then came the jury's turn to vote. One by one, the judges cast their ballots-for Nigel.

The grand prize was his, no question.

As Nigel walked up to the stage, he felt a rare flicker of happiness.

He kept his face composed, but his eyes betrayed his excitement.

After accepting the award and delivering a short speech, Nigel turned to leave the stage. That's when he caught sight of a familiar face in the back row.

For a second, he thought he was seeing things-was that really Herschel sitting there?

After all, his father had always hated his painting, had made it clear he

disapproved of this world. What would he be doing at an art show?

Nigel blinked hard, hoping to clear the illusion. But the face in the back was unmistakably real.

It was really him.

What was he doing here?

Vl

Nigel forced himself to keep his composure as he left the stage. Instead of returning to his seat he circled around and slipped into the row beside Herschel.

Noticing someone sit down next to him, Herschel's expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

Nigel kept his tone cool and polite, a hint of distance in his voice. "Dad, what are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

All these years, Herschel had always been the one scolding his son. But tonight, he'd come to apologize. For a moment, he actually felt nervous.

He braced himself and finally spoke. "I... I came to see you."

"To see me?" Nigel froze, genuinely surprised.

Their relationship with the Saunders family had grown colder over the years. When Nigel left the hospital Herschel was furious, and every meeting since had ended in hafsh words. Lately, they'd simply avoided

each other altogether.noveldrama

And with Herschel's open disdain for his art, the very idea that he would show up

here was almost unthinkable. Nigel could hardly believe it.