Everyone in the city’s most powerful circles knew Julian Sterling was obsessed with my skin, pristine as moonlight. He even splurged a fortune to build a suspended crystal palace, just so he could sketch the most exquisite artworks on my body as dusk bled into night. He called me his greatest living masterpiece. But masterpieces, once touched by the mundane, become flawed. So, in the inferno that consumed his entire art gallery, he chose to salvage the cold canvases, leaving me to burn in the flames. As I lay dying on the frigid operating table, I heard his voice crystal clear, addressing the surgeon— “Be careful. Don’t ruin this skin.” “Seraphina is waiting to wear it.” They all believed I had turned to ash in that fire. But I came back. From the scorched earth, I rose again, a broken body reborn, and I came back for revenge. At the Sterling Corp’s charity gala, I saw my skin. It was on another woman. I wore an artistic veil, watching my ex-husband, Julian Sterling, with his new arm candy, Seraphina Hayes, as they stole the spotlight. Under the flashing lights, the skin on Seraphina’s back was flawless and luminous, so beautiful it was impossible to look away. It shimmered like pure moonlight, earning it the media’s nickname, “Moonlight Skin.” But it was mine. My gloved fingertips curled into a tight fist. The agonizing pain of being flayed alive three years ago felt like it was tearing through my nerves all over again. Julian basked in the admiring glances. He wrapped an arm around Seraphina, speaking in that familiar, overly sincere, utterly fake tone of his: “Many of you know my deceased wife, Stella Nova, once possessed the most perfect skin in the world.” I almost laughed out loud. Deceased wife? His gaze burned with feverish admiration as he caressed Seraphina’s back. “Now, medicine has allowed her to be reborn, in a different way.” The entire hall erupted in applause. They praised love, they praised technology, they praised a man’s devotion to his deceased wife. No one seemed to think it was utterly horrifying that a madman had flayed his wife and sewn her skin onto his mistress. The hatred churned in my gut. Just then, the host called out my new name. “Next, please welcome the rising entrepreneur, Ms. Blair Thorne, for her address!” It was my turn. I smoothed down my black gown and walked onto the stage. Each step of my heels was precise, firm, like I was treading on my enemies’ hearts. I took the microphone. My voice, hoarse from the fire, carried a strange, piercing quality through the speakers. “Hello everyone, I’m Blair Thorne.” My gaze swept over everyone, locking directly onto Seraphina. She seemed to squirm under my stare. “I’ve just returned to the country. I heard Mr. Sterling had acquired a truly exquisite treasure, and seeing it today, it certainly lives up to its reputation.” I paused, then smiled, changing my tone. “It’s just that I have a peculiar little hobby when it comes to collecting.” “I always believe that an object truly becomes art only when it’s placed in the right setting. If it’s placed in the wrong one…” I paused again, then spoke each word clearly, distinctly: “Then it’s just… trash… draped in human skin.” I watched with satisfaction as Seraphina’s face instantly drained of color. Only then did I turn my attention to Julian Sterling. His composure had shattered, and he was staring at me, utterly transfixed. I offered him a sweet smile. “Mr. Sterling, wouldn’t you agree?” The entire room fell silent. I glided off the stage, stepping over everyone’s stunned expressions. As I passed him, I leaned in, blowing a whisper into his ear, a sound only he could hear. “That gossamer silk is high-end.” “And frankly, not just any cheap imitation deserves to be wrapped in it.” I felt his body stiffen, his breath catching in his throat. With an even softer, more venomous voice, I delivered my blessing. “Julian Sterling, your new collection piece…” “Looks like it’s rotting already.” … The gala, naturally, ended in disarray. I, the madwoman who dared to publicly humiliate Julian Sterling, became the city’s hottest gossip. And Julian? He wasted no time trying to reclaim his dignity.
At my new brand “Phoenix Rising” launch event, he showed up conspicuously with Seraphina. Seraphina wore a backless gown, her “Moonlight Skin” on full display. The entire press corps’ flashbulbs seemed to gravitate towards them. What truly sickened me was the familiar scent clinging to her. ‘Moonlight Whispers’. It had been my proudest creation, a perfume I’d blended exclusively for Julian. Catalyzed by my body temperature, it released a unique, cool yet lingering base note. That scent was Stella Nova and Julian Sterling’s exclusive memory. Now, that memory was being brazenly sprayed by a crude impersonator. Julian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. The look in his eyes as he gazed at Seraphina held infatuation, but also a fleeting hint of confusion. Because the scent was off. It was missing the most crucial ingredient. My body temperature. My soul. Seraphina, oblivious, clung to Julian’s arm and deliberately walked up to me, showing off. “Ms. Thorne, what a coincidence. Do you also like ‘Moonlight Whispers’?” “Julian says it’s the most beautiful scent he’s ever smelled.” I looked at her face, which was practically screaming provocation, and smiled. “Is that so?” “Yet, I always feel that fakes, no matter how good, never quite make the cut.” Soon, the launch officially began. I stood under the spotlight, holding a bottle of perfume, its dark liquid swirling within. “Thank you all for attending the Phoenix Rising launch event.” “Returning to ashes, then reborn.” My voice, a little raspy from the fire, was exceptionally clear through the microphone. “Today, I’m only introducing one product.” I raised the bottle in my hand and lightly pressed the sprayer into the air. “Its name is ‘Heart Ablaze’.” A strange fragrance instantly permeated the air. It wasn’t any kind of floral or woody scent. The top note was the scorching heat of a raging fire. The middle note was the icy coldness of betrayal piercing through bone. The base note was the scent of dead ashes, after everything had settled. “It was created to commemorate a lost love.” My gaze, dark and lingering, fell on Seraphina. “The top note is love, the middle note is betrayal, and the base note is ashes.” “What’s even more interesting is, it can awaken memories.” “It contains a special catalyst that can resonate in a magical way with certain ‘borrowed elements’.” As soon as the words left my lips, I aimed the perfume sprayer into the air and pressed it again. The fine, misty spray of perfume descended like a gentle rain, settling softly on everyone’s hair and shoulders. But the moment it touched Seraphina, a drastic change occurred! “Ah!” A piercing scream ripped through the venue. Seraphina’s flawless, luminous “Moonlight Skin” erupted in large, visible red rashes. It was as if countless invisible poisoned needles were brutally stabbing her. The imitation perfume on her, catalyzed by ‘Heart Ablaze’, transformed into a nauseating, putrid stench! The beautiful masterpiece, before everyone’s eyes, became a piece of rotting flesh! “It itches! It hurts so bad!” Seraphina shrieked in terror, frantically clawing at her back, instantly leaving streaks of blood. The entire hall erupted in chaos! Reporters’ flashlights flickered madly, capturing the horrifying scene. “Security! A doctor!” Julian Sterling’s face was ashen as he clutched a nearly hysterical Seraphina. Then he lunged onto the stage, grabbing my wrist with a force that threatened to crush my bones. Those eyes, once filled with false affection, now held only bloodshot terror. He stared at me, rigid. “What did you do?!” “Who… who exactly are you?!” Julian Sterling’s voice was tinged with a rare loss of control. I stood in the center of the stage, meeting his furious gaze, but offered no reply. Instead, I slowly, chillingly, offered him a cold, mysterious smile.
I turned and walked off the stage, crisp and decisive. My silence firmly hooked Julian Sterling’s sanity. And the real show had only just begun. After the launch event, I gave him a full three days to spiral. For those three days, the name “Blair Thorne” and her almost insane debut were the talk of the entire city’s elite. And the real lunatic, Julian Sterling, mobilized every connection he had, practically turning the city upside down to find me. But “Blair Thorne” seemed to have sprung from thin air, with no past, no traces. His punches landed in empty space, only fueling his deeper anxiety. Meanwhile, my second grand gift to him was quietly “blooming” in that lavish crystal villa. Seraphina was completely locked away by him. My private investigator told me that the best dermatologists in the city were sent to the villa, one after another, only to leave, one after another, at their wit’s end. The rashes were like a curse rooted in her flesh and blood; they didn’t subside but intensified. The catalyst in ‘Heart Ablaze’ specifically targeted the immune rejection of allogeneic transplanted skin. Medically, it’s called an “Accelerated Chronic Rejection Serum.” My little gift to Seraphina? She’d never get rid of it. Just as Julian Sterling’s patience and sanity were stretched to their limits. On the evening of the fourth day, I sent him a text: “Want answers? Meet me at our old spot.” Our old spot was the ruins of the burnt-down suspended art gallery. Three years ago, our love was buried there. Today, I would bury him there. The ruins were littered with broken steel beams, and the charred walls still bore the marks of the inferno from back then. Julian Sterling’s steps faltered slightly. He stopped about five meters in front of me, scrutinizing me warily. He hoarsely repeated the question from three days ago, but his tone now carried a hint of despair: “Who are you, really? Why are you hurting Seraphina?” I chuckled softly. “Hurting? Mr. Sterling, that’s an interesting way to put it. I merely let her experience firsthand what ‘rejection’ feels like.” “What are you talking about?!” “Don’t you, of all people, understand medicine? Don’t you know what the biggest risk of allogeneic transplantation is?” “It’s rejection, Julian Sterling.” His pupils constricted sharply. “You…” “What, did something click?” I took a step towards him, radiating the chill of hell. “Those things you said to the surgeon on the operating table three years ago, do you remember them?” Julian Sterling’s face completely lost its color. He trembled, taking a step back, as if he’d seen a ghost. “No… impossible, Stella is dead, I saw her with my own eyes…” “You saw her what?” I stood directly in front of him, slowly raising my hand. “Saw her burn to death? Or saw her flayed alive?” I lifted my hand, and my veil slipped. A face emerged, a tapestry of charred and newly formed flesh, crisscrossed with scars, like shattered porcelain forcibly reassembled. Some areas were newly pink, tender flesh, others were permanently carbonized, a disturbing yet shattered beauty. Julian Sterling froze. His eyes were wide, his Adam’s apple bobbed, his lips trembled, but no sound escaped him, as if his soul had been ripped from his body. “Well?” I gently caressed my disfigured cheek, my movements as tender as if I were touching a priceless artifact. “Between that perfect ‘Moonlight Skin’ and my ‘Shattered Porcelain’ reborn from fire, which one do you prefer?” I pointed towards the distant crystal villa, a cruel smile on my face. “One is my unique work of art; the other is a rotting fake.” “Mr. Sterling, the great collector, which do you choose?”
Julian Sterling finally managed to make a sound: “Ste…Stella…” “Wrong name,” I corrected him with a smile. “Now, I’m Blair Thorne. Stella Nova was burned to death by your and Seraphina Hayes’s own hands in that fire three years ago.” He instinctively reached out to me, wanting to touch my face, but his fingertips stopped an inch short in mid-air. Not because of its ugliness. But because that beauty, fractured to its extreme, once again ignited the twisted possessiveness deep within him. His eyes began to gleam, his breathing grew quick and shallow, and that familiar madness reignited in his pupils: “Even… even more perfect…” I watched the familiar, twisted fervor in his eyes and finally couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “Julian Sterling, you truly are still that pervert.” “No, *this* is true art!” His voice held a sick fascination. “Stella, look, the marks the flames left on you are more perfect than any sculpture. This beauty, reborn from breakage, is practically God’s masterpiece!” I looked at his gleaming eyes, and a wave of nausea rolled in my stomach. He was starting again. Three years ago, he had looked at my skin the same way, with that collector’s appraisal. “Come back to me!” He stretched out his hand, his voice laced with commanding fervor. “I’ll make you a unique collection piece, grander than ever before!” “I’ll build a larger exhibition hall for you!” “Let the whole world come and admire this priceless treasure!” “Enough.” I took a step back, my voice as cold as a blade. Julian Sterling was unmoved; instead, he laughed with even greater abandon. “Are you still angry?” “That’s all in the past.” “Seraphina was just a replacement, a failed imitation.” “You are my true love, my most precious collection.” He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if being flayed was my honor. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and played an audio recording. Dr. Maxwell Vance’s clear voice echoed from the phone. “Object-induced Art Phobia is a rare psychological condition.” “Patients develop extreme fear of specific art pieces.” “This fear often stems from traumatic memories and can be activated through specific trigger words…” Julian Sterling frowned, scoffing. “Playing mind games.” “You think these psychology tricks can scare me?” I turned off the recording and said softly. “Are you sure?” Then, I spoke the hypnotic command phrase Dr. Maxwell Vance had carefully designed, word for word. “The operating table is on fire.” The effect was instantaneous. Julian Sterling’s body froze. His breathing grew ragged, his eyes wide with terror. “No… impossible…” He began to cough violently, clutching his head with both hands. “Scalpel… fire… fire everywhere…” I watched silently as he fell to his knees. Trembling uncontrollably. This once arrogant collector was now like a startled wild animal. “How do you like it, Mr. Sterling?” “Now do you know what fear feels like?” His eyes were filled with incomprehensible terror. His lips quivered, unable to form a word. I stood up, looking down at him. “This is just an appetizer.” “Every day from now on, you’ll live in this fear.” “The moment you see a scalpel, the moment you smell disinfectant.” “Even just hearing the word ‘surgery’.” “You’ll remember that fire.” “What… what did you do to me?” Julian Sterling barely managed to squeeze out the words, his voice utterly hoarse. “You tell me?”
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