Page 41 of Broken Destiny

Was she thinking about me the way I was thinking about her? Was she lying in bed beside her husband, wrapped in his arms, without a single trace of guilt? Had she built a new life so easily while I was still carrying the wreckage of the old one?

The questions kept multiplying, each one feeding the next, until my mind felt like a maze with no exit.

How had she ended up working in this field? Was she working in her husband’s office before marrying him? Had she moved from one man to another before finally settling down with her husband because of his wealth?

The next morning, while having breakfast, I noticed that only Greg had shown up.

“Where are the other two?” I asked, my voice low.

“I told them that work had come up and that you would have to cut this trip short,” Greg replied.

I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders easing just enough to keep me from snapping again.

I knew it was not his fault. I had taken my frustration out on him when he had done nothing to deserve it. The person responsible for my anger was somewhere in this village, living her life as if nothing had ever happened.

“I’m sorry for my words yesterday,” I said, lowering my eyes briefly. “I was rude. I was angry. I was completely caught off guard, and I just needed to vent.” I looked back up at him. “I just want to understand why she did what she did.”

“I understand,” he said. “But let go of your anger and talk to her.Find out everything from her side before you take things to another level.” He sighed. “Don’t turn this into a revenge trip.”

“Fine,” I replied. “I’m going to be working with her anyway. Let’s see how that goes.”

The truth was simple.

My anger had not disappeared. It had only stepped back, waiting for the right moment to strike again.

The question was not whether it would return.

The question was when.

That night, I sat alone in my hotel room and began researching the company online. I searched through their website, business listings, and public records, scrolling through page after page.

There was no mention of her name anywhere, not in the leadership profiles, not in the employee listings, and not in the archived press releases.

Every search led back to the same person.

Cole Harris.

A photograph of him appeared on the screen.

He was a good-looking man, confident in the way he stood, with the kind of smile that suggested certainty and control, as though he had never doubted his place in the world.

The short biography beneath the picture mentioned his wife, Eva, and their daughter, Chloe, presenting them as the perfect family, the kind of image that belonged in glossy magazines and corporate brochures.

The words blurred in front of me.

If the names and information on the website were true, then where did Nyah… Jiya… fit into all of this?

Cole and Eva seemed like intensely private people, which explained why very little information about either of them could be found online. Just like Jiya, they had guarded their personal lives carefully.

I kept digging anyway, my jaw clenching as I tried to piece the truth together while each new page revealed absolutely nothing useful.

And then it struck me.

The answer appeared so suddenly that it felt obvious.

The painting.

The way she had looked in it.