?Chapter 805:

    Inspiration struck her all at once.

    Even while she had been behind bars for four years, Maia never put down her pencil. “Rebirth” was only a small window into her talent, a snapshot of the journey her art had taken. Since childhood, drawing had been inseparable from her sense of self.

    Excelling in fashion design, she knew, required rock-solid fundamentals — especially when it came to mastering the human form.

    Back in school, Maia often participated in art contests, consistently winning first prizes. Yet Richard and Sandra never paid her efforts any mind. In fact, they would scold her for “wasting” time on art.

    Discouraged, Maia eventually withdrew from everypetition.

    Of everyone in the Morgan family, only Vicki ever recognized her passion, leaving warm encouragement scribbled on the backs of her drawings: “Wonderful work, Maia. Don’t stop.”

    Because of Vicki’s faith in her, Maia stayed true to her love for art, never letting it go.

    It was Vicki who once told her that art could capture and preserve everything someone holds dear.

    One painting — a portrait of Vicki — had once hung in Maia’s bedroom at the Morgan home. Whenever she looked at Vicki’s gentle smile in that portrait, a measure of calm would settle her aching heart.

    Rosanna had gotten rid of that portrait — along with the rest of Maia’s treasured possessions — without a second thought.

    Despite the loss, Maia still felt the memory of that painting’sfort as if it were yesterday.

    Meanwhile, Chris’ bedroom told a very different story: only a mother’s portrait, her face forever left unfinished. The fact that he had grown up without a single memory of her appearance pressed heavily on Maia’s mind.

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    Just then, the low rumble of a taxi pulling up caught her attention at the roadside.

    “Need a lift?” The driver’s question snapped Maia from her thoughts.

    Maia nodded gently. “Could you take us to the hotel, please?”

    One after the other, Maia and Chris slipped into the back seat.

    As the car rolled forward, city lights and shadows streamed past in a slow, gentle rhythm. Sunbeams slipped through the ss, painting Maia’s profile with a warm, golden hue that softened her features.

    Scenes from the street flickered by, but Maia’s gaze often drifted to Chris, lingering with quiet interest. She took in his strong brow, the fan of thickshes casting shadows beneath, the sculpted nose, sharp lips, and those eyes that always seemed to hold unspoken tales.

    Every nce was quick — never more than a second — swift and almost instinctive. She was certain her curiosity went unnoticed.

    In fact, even the smallest shift of Maia’s eyes didn’t escape Chris’ notice as he sat beside her. Still, he chose not to say a word, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

    Appearingpletely absorbed in the silence, he let her believe he hadn’t seen a thing.

    Before long, the taxi rolled up to the hotel entrance. Shoulder to shoulder, they made their way through the lobby, rode the elevator up, and reached their floor in quietpany.

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