CHAPTER 3 FALSE HOPE

TROY's POV

I decided to make a short visit to my parents house where Rix and I grew up together. This house was full of our younger days together with Fatima. 

I took some time to unwind in the garden while my mother prepared a snack for us. Gardening has always been my mother's passion, and her garden boasts a wide array of exquisite flowers.

I walked over to the garden and marveled at the crimson roses with their sharp thorns. I picked one, meticulously removed the thorns, and relished in its delightful scent. It was truly fragrant and appealing.

Then thoughts of a past tragedy flashed across my mind, and I remembered exactly what happened. This is the exact location where I found Rix, Unconscious.

I looked up at the highest part of the house. At the rooftop Rix commits suicide.

He jumped from the highest part of the roof and fell into the rose garden. Sadly, he hit his head on a stone, both of his legs were broken and the rose thorns poked his body. 

While lost in thought, I accidentally crushed the delicate flower in my hand because I was holding it too tightly.

I clenched my fists firmly, and then Erica crossed my mind. It's all her fault. All because of her.

I was getting closer to my plan, which was to seek justice for Rix no matter what. Someone had to be held accountable for what happened to him, and I will make sure of it. I promise.

"Son, come here, snacks are ready, join us with your Dad," my mom's voice brought me back to the present.

"Coming, Mom!" I answered and went back inside the house.  After my short visit, I bid farewell to my parents and went home because I had a meeting to attend.

ERICA's POV

Today is Sunday, and it's quite unexpected to find Troy at home. Normally, he spends his time hanging out with his friends. 

Right now, we're in the living room and we still haven't reconciled. I'm lying on the sofa with my eyes closed, and our dog, Butter, is next to me while Troy is busy painting. 

Yes, he's good at painting, one of his hidden talents. And today, I'm his subject. I noticed he was sneakily glancing at me while he worked on his art. 

He continued to paint me as I lay there, and it appeared that he had returned to his usual self. Maybe Fatima was correct;  I had misinterpreted everything and had overreacted. Maybe  he had just been exhausted at that time.

  I was preparing to get up when he halted me. "I'm not finished yet. Please don't move," he said without taking his gaze off his artwork, still deeply absorbed in it. I drifted off into sleep and was roused by Butter's whining. I had been asleep for approximately 15 minutes.

I glanced at Troy's spot, but he was no longer there, and the painting materials he was using were gone too.

Did he finish his painting? Where did he go? He didn't even wake me up. I reached for my phone and called him. After about 20 seconds, he answered.

"Babe, where are you?" I asked.

"I'm on the veranda, preparing for a candlelight dinner. Come here after you're dressed up; I'll wait for you. Don't rush," he replied before ending the call abruptly. So rude, but I love him.

I got up with excitement. "Don't be nervous, Erica. He painted you, and there's even a candlelight dinner. Maybe he's going to apologize; it's a peace offering. Come on, this is what you've been waiting for, to reconcile," I told myself, feeling an indescribable happiness.

I hurriedly went to the bedroom, took a shower, and dressed up. Of course, I made sure to look good for Troy. I wore an off-shoulder dress above the knee and applied a bit of makeup and lip tint. I was ready to go.

With excitement, I stepped out onto the veranda. As I approached I'm wondering because I heard voices. Did I mishear something during the candle light dinner, or am I assuming again? I overheard their conversation.

"Finally, we've got a positive outcome after so long. I think this new one won't disappoint us," Fatima's voice said.

"And it's based on research results and has undergone tests, but the rare material needs to be purchased from overseas. It's just a matter of time; we should also follow the rules when it comes to funds," Troy's voice chimed in.

Maybe they were talking about business. I reached the entrance, noticing Fatima and Ryan there.

There were five other men looking at a piece of paper, Troy's painting and they hadn't noticed me yet.

"Okay, now let's relax," Troy said.

"Okay, cheers!" his friends replied, grabbing their glasses and taking a sip.

I approached them with a smile, thinking that Troy might be proudly showing them his beautiful painting of me.

"Babe," I called out to him.

He turned to look at me, and he took my hand as I approached him. 

"You have a visitor?" I asked even if I saw them, it's just I am confused.

"Troy, why don't you explain and introduce your new creation to us?" one of the men in white interrupted, referring to Troy's painting, which they were examining.

I looked at Troy with excitement and smiled, but he had a serious expression, not even a hint of a smile.

"I think the one who is most familiar with it should introduce it herself," Troy replied emotionlessly then glanced at me.

"Erica, don't be shy; go ahead," Fatima urged me.

"It's such a great painting by Troy. You should be happy and proud of him," she added.

"Of course, I am proud of my husband, and he knows that," I replied with a smile.

But in my mind, I couldn't help but wonder why Troy wasn't the one explaining. After all, he was the one who painted it.

He's also familiar with me; we're married. I turned to look at Troy in the eyes and began speaking.

"My husband, Troy, painted a picture of me. I think it's because he loves me so much," I started, but I didn't get to finish. I noticed a change in their expressions, especially Fatima. I also caught a whisper from another man beside her.

"Even though he doesn't express it openly, we all know he painted a picture of what's in his heart," I continued.

The man next to Fatima nodded.

I also noticed Ryan's shifting glances between the painting and Fatima.

Wait, is there something wrong? But I brushed it off and focused my attention back on my husband.

"I love you, babe," I said to him before hugging and kissing him.

"Well, I don't know what's going on," Ryan said, catching my attention.

However, Troy removed my arms from his shoulder, pushed me away, and took the painting. He pulled me out roughly. As we stepped out onto the veranda, he pushed me away angrily.

"Next time, can you please speak after you see everything clearly?" he said to my face before showing me the painting slowly.

The joy I felt when I saw the painting melted away. My eyes widened in shock. It wasn't me. I wasn't in the picture; it was Butter, our cute dog. I stared at it for a moment, thinking I might be seeing things, but I wasn't.

I glared at Troy with intense anger, tears filling my eyes because of rage and embarrassment in front of his guests.

In my anger, I grabbed the painting from him and tore it up right in front of him and rushed into the bedroom, locked the door, and broke down in tears once more.