Scumbag and a Bitch, a Perfect Match(Maren's POV)

I studied the composition of the two paintings. To my eyes, the difference between them could not have been clearer.

"The one on the left," I said with certainty.

"Why?" the curator asked, interested.

"The blue sky in the left one uses true ultramarine... the blue on the right is chemically synthesized—the color doesn't have that grainy quality. And also..."

When he'd heard me out, the way he looked at me shifted from appraisal, to astonishment, to regret. "With a gift like that, why haven't you studied painting properly?"

I pressed my lips together. "I didn't have the money before. Painting is expensive."

The curator nodded in understanding. "Come by tomorrow."

I blinked, unable to believe it. "Really?"

"Of course it's real. Since you have no experience, you'll have to start as an apprentice." He smiled. "With a gift like yours, it'd be a shame for you not to go into this line."

My eyes went hot and I nodded with everything I had. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

The curator waved a hand. "Don't thank me too early. This trade looks glamorous from the outside, but it's hard work in truth—tedious, and the pay isn't high. If you can't take hardship, better to leave now."

Without a second thought I said, "I'm not afraid of hardship. But... can I do it part-time only? I have another job. I'd need to work the hours around it."

The curator was surprised. "Part-time?"

"Yes." I explained quickly. "I have fixed work to do mornings, noon, and evenings. My afternoons and evenings are free."

"I could come every afternoon and evening."

The curator thought it over. "If it's part-time, the work gets harder. Other people put in eight hours a day; you'd have three or four. To keep up with the progress, you'd have to be quick and never slack off."

"I'm not afraid of hard work."

"All right, then. One to five every afternoon, four hours. Wages by the hour—but at apprentice rates."

"That works." I agreed on the spot.

"One o'clock sharp, tomorrow afternoon."

"Yes. Thank you."

I was walking out with a light step, and had just reached the gallery door, when I heard laughter and chatter from outside, with one voice I knew.

"Really? Valentine is so good to you."

Clementine sounded smug. "I'm his fiancée. If he isn't good to me, who would he be good to?"

"I hear you two are getting married soon. Then he'll be able to inherit the family fortune. I'm so envious of you."

Clementine was walking toward the gallery on the arms of two stylishly dressed women.

"Oh, you're too lucky," the woman beside her flattered.

"I'm his fiancée, and I'm the one who saved his life." Clementine laughed softly. "Five years ago, when he was at his lowest, I was the one who rescued him and looked after him. If he isn't good to me, who would he be good to?"

I gritted my teeth in silence. It really was a small world.

Though she had some nerve.

I pushed the door open and walked straight out.

Clementine's eyes came up and landed on me. Her smile froze for a second, then spread back out into a dazzling arc.

"Well, if it isn't Maren!"

She came clicking over on her heels, her two companions trailing behind, eyeing me with curiosity.

"What are you doing here?" Clementine looked me up and down and curled her mouth into a sneer. "There aren't any repair shops around here."

"Just passing through. Something you want?" My face was cold.

"Passing through?" She narrowed her eyes and asked, wary, "You're not lying in wait for me here on purpose, are you?"

I looked at her, and found it absurd. "Who would lie in wait for you? Are you really that in love with yourself?"

"Don't tell me it's not about getting Valentine back." Clementine lifted her chin, her tone dripping with contempt from on high. "I'd advise you to put that hope to death. He's marrying me soon. You can't even reach the place beside him."

I suddenly smiled. "A piece of trash like that—I wouldn't take him if he came free. I should be thanking you for picking him up and carrying him home."

Clementine's face changed instantly. "You—"

"What?" I tipped my head. "Did I say something wrong? I carried him out of a mud ditch. I kept him for five years."

"Now he's got his identity back, and he turns around and gets engaged to you. A man like that—you honestly think he won't do the same thing to you one day?"

Clementine clenched her teeth, her smile gone entirely. "It seems blacklisting you didn't teach you your lesson."

"Blacklisting?" My eyes went cold, and I took a step toward her. "You think blacklisting me left me with nowhere to turn?"

I had nearly had nowhere to turn. She had nearly driven me out of my mind.

Luckily, I still had a little good fortune left—and I'd met Severin.

Clementine took half a step back without meaning to, though her mouth stayed aggressive: "You're a repair worker who can't even find a job. What kind of trick do you think you can still pull?"

"Miss Clementine," I said, holding her eyes, "has it ever occurred to you that Valentine might not actually know who saved his life five years ago?"

Her pupils contracted sharply. "What do you mean by that?"

"He's this cruel to me, and I'm the one who actually saved him. How long do you think the affection he shows you as his fiancée is going to last?"

Clementine's face went a little white. "Stop talking nonsense! I'm the one who saved him! He admitted it himself!"

"And you're the stain on his life, the past he despises most. Because of you, he struggled in a slum for five years. Do you think that because you saved him, he's going to grovel in gratitude to you for the rest of his life?"

The more Clementine talked, the more convinced she became of her own reasoning, and the more imperious she got. "Every time you show up in front of him, you drag him back to that unbearable time. He's sick to death of you!"

She was triumphant. "We're getting married next month. I'll send you an invitation."

I made a face, thoroughly disgusted. "I'm not going."

"That's not up to you." Clementine laughed scornfully, malice pouring off her. "By the way, what are you doing now? Don't tell me you've started picking through the trash?"

"Want me to toss you a little money, so you can go save that dying adoptive mother of yours?"

Something went off in my head with a buzz.

The next second I had her by the wrist. "Say one more filthy word and don't blame me for what happens."

My eyes must have looked genuinely frightening.

Because the triumph vanished from Clementine's face, replaced by a flash of fear.

Instinctively she covered her stomach, and threatened me in a shaking voice, "You—you dare touch me? Valentine won't let you get away with it!"

"Then I'll kill him first, and you after." I stepped closer, my voice cold enough to frighten her.

Clementine let out a short, sharp scream, wrenched her hand free, and ran.

Her two companions went white in the face as well and ran off after her.

I watched her figure disappear around the corner of the street and laughed at myself.

So her nerve wasn't as great as all that. She could be afraid too. She could feel fear...

I made my way back to the villa in a strangely low mood, went to my room, and lay down. Weariness seeped through my whole body.

So they were getting married this soon...

A scumbag and a bitch—a matched pair.

My head was a tangle of scattered thoughts, and I had kept my eyes down the whole way.

Suddenly, a black car pulled up silently beside me.