Even after Her Death by Rita Bond

Billionaire Is 11

The moment I realized it, rage flooded my chest.

People always say that after death, you turn into a vengeful spirit, seeking revenge. But clearly, that's just a myth. It felt like I was trapped inside an invisible barrier, unable to do anything. Even with my enemy right in front of me, I couldn't touch her!

I could only watch as she claimed all my hard work, day after day, using it to win effortless praise from everyone.

Those paintings were never meant to earn praise. They were created to heal myself.

For the past two years, thanks to Anna, my emotions had been in a downward spiral. I even went to see a therapist, who told me I was suffering from severe depression. Medication could only suppress it but not fix it. He suggested that I either distance myself from the source of my depression or learn how to heal.

I knew the source all too well-it was Anna and Luke. But at the time, I was so consumed by my obsession that I allowed myself to sink deeper into the darkness.

Before I left the Sanders' house, I often hid in the basement studio, painting over and over again, getting hurt and then healing myself, over and over.

I never imagined that even in death, Anna wouldn't leave my work alone.

Suddenly, someone noticed the signature on one of the paintings, like they had just discovered something huge.

in middle school, I used the pseudonym "S" to enter a design competition,

parents had high expectations for me. Fearing they'd think I was wasting my time on art, I didn't even show up to

Every year, I'd publish a new piece, though no one knew it was me-not even Luke. Two years ago, I accidentally posted a new

I didn't explain or try to

people claimed I was "S,"

within two weeks, the

Anna had unearthed all the paintings I

and some of my longtime fans instantly recognized my style, mistaking Anna as

busy insulting me, while others were praising her. Anna, under the title of "genius artist," gained a reputation for being

shared online, and soon the internet

the charity work I'd done under the name S was now being credited to

all this unfold, a complex expression appearing in his eyes. Even though he didn't know that I was S, he was still familiar with my painting style. "Anna, did you really paint

tears. "Luke, who else could it be if not

the style looked different from what you

I can paint in lots of ways. Luke, you'll get

her fingers slowly slid down his chest. She was getting