The Vanishing Heiress

Chapter 20

"Thank you. I'm doing well here. If you have time, you should visit. There's a beautiful ocean and an active volcano that could erupt anytime. I wake with the sunrise and rest at sunset—it feels like 'happiness.'"

Megan Sullivan set down her paintbrush and replied to Officer Chen's message.

To her surprise, despite the twelve-hour time difference, Officer Chen responded instantly: "That's wonderful. I'm genuinely happy for you. I just wanted to check in and let you know people are still looking for you. Live well—no need to reply."

The less said, the better. The fewer traces left behind, the safer she'd be.

Now that Megan had started a new life, it was best to cut off any chance of being found. That was Officer Chen's reasoning.

Megan smiled faintly at the words "no need to reply."

She understood Officer Chen's kindness perfectly.

During her seven years at Redpine Correctional Facility, if not for Officer Chen's help, Megan would have died a thousand times over.

She remembered Officer Chen had been demoted to Redpine. Back then, two lost souls had leaned on each other, offering warmth when it was needed most.

"Wow, Megan! I had no idea you could paint like this?"

Her landlady had climbed up to the rooftop to dry fruit when she spotted Megan at her easel.

"Just doodling. It's not very good."

It wasn't modesty—just the truth. Megan hadn't touched a paintbrush since returning to the Montgomery family, let alone during her years in prison.

"Oh, nonsense! It's beautiful! The sky, the ocean—so vivid. If you have time, I'd love a painting for my restaurant." The landlady beamed.

Megan hesitated under such direct praise.

"Megan, whatever your past was, you're here now. That means you get to be someone new, live a new life. Don't let the past cling to you. Pretending to move on while still holding on—that's the saddest way to live."

The landlady's voice was earnest, her weathered palm brushing gently over Megan's hair.

A faint, soothing scent of chamomile lingered—likely from the oils she often used.

Megan looked at the woman, a fifty-something half-Chinese, half-American, and suddenly felt her eyes sting.

An urge to cry swelled in her chest.

Strange. After all these years, through every hardship, every wound to body or soul, she'd never shed a tear.

"Megan, come downstairs when you're done. I'll make us some fruit tea."

Unaware of Megan's emotions, the landlady smiled brightly before heading back inside.

"Alright. Let's have hotpot tonight—with Andy." Megan curved her lips slightly.

She didn't cry.

Maybe fate had finally taken pity on her, letting her meet kind souls like the landlady and Andy in a foreign land like Dominica.

And the landlady was right about one thing—if she'd chosen to start anew, she couldn't let the past haunt her. Not her heart, not her body.

Once she finished the seascape, Megan decided to visit a tattoo parlor.

The scar Ethan Sterling had left on her waist nine years ago no longer deserved a place on her skin.

On a blank sheet, she carefully sketched a butterfly mid-flight.

Then, humming softly, she followed her GPS to the tattoo shop.

The artist was a white girl no older than eighteen, but her skill was unexpectedly refined.

When Megan saw the butterfly on her waist in the round mirror, something inside her trembled—like a storm that had been brewing for years.

A Morpho butterfly, the most beautiful in the world.

From now on, it would replace the jagged scar etched into her skin.

Vibrant. Dreamlike.

"If you ever want more, come back. You... suit this kind of beauty."