Mandy gave me a tight deadline and called constantly to check on my progress.

She always made sure to have the phone on speaker so I could hear Ethan's voice in the background.

And Ethan played along perfectly with his new girlfriend's need to show off, cooing sweet nothings to her like an obedient puppy.

As I painted his portrait, his face would appear in my mind with uncontrollable clarity, from the slight curl of his eyelashes to the way the wind would tousle his hair.

The clearer the memories, the worse my head throbbed, and I had to rely on painkillers to stop myself from wanting to bang my head against the wall.

But the sunset was just too magnificent, and the process of mixing colors, applying paint, and blending was incredibly tedious.

For five days, I barely slept or ate, living off instant ramen, and I felt completely drained.

When I made the final brushstroke, I stared at the finished piece.

In the oil painting, Ethan's smile wasn't quite the same as in the photo.

It was infused with more of the warmth from my own memories of him.

Every stroke, every dab of paint, was perfectly placed.

I let out a long sigh, leaned back in my chair, and slowly closed my eyes, planning to rest for just a moment.

On the desk, my phone buzzed with an urgent ring.

Ring! Ring!

As expected, it was Mandy.

The second I answered, she demanded, "Chloe, is our painting done yet?"

"Tomorrow is the deadline. If you can't deliver it on time, I'll have to dock your fee according to the contract."

I hadn't spoken in a while, and my voice was hoarse, like something was stuck in my throat.

I had to clear it twice. "Ahem! Ms. Williams, the painting is finished. When would be a good time for me to bring it over?"

Mandy sounded surprised and paused for a second before saying, "Now is good. Bring it to our place."

I agreed and hung up.

Since I had just finished, the paint wasn't completely dry, and it took some effort to carefully wrap and package the canvas.

When I stood up, a wave of dizziness washed over me.

My knees buckled, and I nearly collapsed.

I gripped the edge of the desk, shaking my head weakly and mumbling to myself, "After I drop this off, I really need to get some rest."

Then I laughed a bitter, self-deprecating laugh.

Taking romantic photos of my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend, painting their portrait, and then hand-delivering it to their home.

My life was pretty pathetic.

But first, I had to stay alive.

Carrying the painting downstairs, I hailed a cab and gave the driver an address that was painfully familiar.

I leaned my head against the window and drifted off to sleep.

The taxi moved in fits and starts with the traffic lights, finally pulling over on the street outside the luxury condo building.

"Miss? Hey, miss? We're here."

The short nap hadn't helped at all; if anything, I felt even more exhausted.

I dazedly paid the fare, pushed the door open, and stumbled out on unsteady legs.

I forced myself to walk to the front entrance and pressed the buzzer.

Ding-dong—

Ding-dong—

Whether it was on purpose or not, the buzzer rang for a long time, but no one came to the door.

I could feel my breathing getting short, my heart pounding in my chest—a warning sign from my body.

After what felt like an eternity, the door finally opened.

Mandy stood there in a sheer silk nightgown, her hair damp as if she'd just showered.

"Sorry about that, Chloe," she said with a look of apology, but she couldn't hide the triumphant smile playing on her lips. "We were… busy."

It didn't even faze me anymore.

My voice was flat and calm. "It's fine. I didn't wait long."

As I handed her the painting, I saw Ethan inside, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

My lips moved, and I whispered, "I hope you like it…"