I Became the Billionaire's Fake Lover to Get My Revenge
Chapter 22: I’m Ready

Chapter 22: I’m Ready

Anna stood beside her hospital bed, smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt. Over the weeks she had spent confined to this room, Daniel had brought her countless outfits, yet they had all remained untouched—until now.

A nurse, assigned to assist her, made the final adjustments to the cropped jacket, stepping back to assess the overall look.

"This suits you beautifully, Mrs. Dumas," the nurse said in a bright, cheerful tone.

Anna flinched. The unfamiliar name echoed in her mind.

Chloe Dumas... Right. That’s who I am now.

Forcing a polite smile, she ran her hands over her waist and hips again, as if expecting to find some lingering imperfection.

"Now, what about your hair?" The nurse’s voice broke her thoughts, making her blink in surprise. "Mr. Reid mentioned you need to keep it covered before stepping outside."

Ah, that’s right. William had insisted that everything about her appearance had to change—but her hair hadn’t been dyed yet.

"Did Mr. Reid bring a hat or a headscarf?" Anna asked, turning toward the nurse expectantly.

The woman rummaged through the pile of neatly arranged clothes on the couch, her eyes lighting up as she pulled out a delicate piece of fabric.

"Oh! This will do perfectly!" She held up a soft, light-pink headscarf. "It matches your outfit beautifully. Let me help you wrap it around your head."

Anna gathered her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck while the nurse worked deftly, securing the headscarf with surprisingly practiced hands. The soft fabric framed her face, transforming her reflection into something unfamiliar yet strangely alluring.

Just as the final touches were in place, the door creaked open. Daniel stepped inside, his footsteps slowing as his gaze landed on her.

"You look..." he began hesitantly, his eyes flickering over her as though afraid to linger too long on any one detail. "Disguised!" He blurted out after a beat, adjusting his tie with a sheepish expression. "The headscarf gives you this mysterious, old-Hollywood actress vibe. Like someone straight out of a black-and-white film."

Anna chuckled, charmed by his oddly endearing compliment. "A black-and-white movie actress?"

Daniel cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed, before shifting the attention away from himself with a quick gesture toward the door.

"Anyway, I’d like you to meet Violet Voss. Mr. Stark hired her to be your personal assistant from now on."

At the mention of a new presence, Anna instinctively turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps. The air carried the delicate whisper of a floral perfume brushing against her senses.

"Nice to meet you," a woman’s voice greeted her, smooth and composed, yet tinged with an air of quiet authority. "Violet Voss."

Anna parted her lips to respond, but habit nearly betrayed her. "An––" She caught herself just in time, swallowing down the name that no longer belonged to her. A small frown creased her brow as she quickly corrected herself. "Chloe Dumas. Nice to meet you."

She extended her hand, and Violet grasped it without hesitation. Her handshake was firm and steady.

Daniel observed the exchange with a fleeting smile, silently noting Anna’s growing confidence. It was still early—too soon for her to fully embody her new identity—but the effort she put into adapting so quickly was nothing short of impressive.

He stepped forward, his polished shoes tapping lightly against the floor as he closed the distance between them. "So," he began, his gaze shifting between the two women, "Violet will be at your disposal, Ms. Dumas. She’ll take you wherever you need to go. Are you ready to leave?"

For a brief second, Anna’s breath hitched, a flicker of hesitation tightening her chest. She tried to steel herself, curling her fingers into fists at her sides. With a deep inhale, she forced her chin higher, willing a confidence into her voice that she wasn’t sure she truly felt.

"Yes. I’m ready."

***

Violet stepped out first, smoothly opening the door of the sleek black car before offering Anna a steady hand. As Anna emerged, a gentle breeze carried the faint scent of coffee and paint, a familiar blend that tugged at something nostalgic within her.

The place she had chosen to visit one last time before leaving for France was The Art Corner, nestled in the southern part of the city.

A world of its own, this vibrant street belonged to the artists. It was an ever-evolving canvas, where creativity spilled into every corner, turning even the most ordinary walls into breathtaking masterpieces. Quaint shops and cozy cafés lined the sidewalks, each offering a unique blend of shopping and relaxation, but the true soul of this place was, without a doubt, the art itself.

Every day, dozens of artists gathered here to create—murals sprawling across brick walls, their colors so vivid they seemed to breathe; intricate mosaics and frescoes made from shattered wine bottles and broken porcelain, transforming fragments into beauty.

Chalk drawings adorned the roads, while canvases of all sizes fluttered on makeshift clotheslines, swaying gently in the breeze. Artists sat behind easels, their fingers stained with paint as they lost themselves in their craft. It was a paradise for art lovers—a place where passion spoke louder than words.

Many wandering artists had started here, their talent catching the eyes of art dealers or passionate collectors eager to claim a piece of originality. Some left as unknown dreamers and returned as celebrated names.

For Anna, this street held something even more precious—memories.

As a child, she had walked these paths countless times with her father, long before life had stolen away her innocence.

While Steven relaxed in a cozy café, a steaming cup of coffee beside him and a freshly folded newspaper resting on the table, Anna would lose herself in the world outside.

She wandered for hours, drinking in the details of the murals, observing the artists as they brought life to empty canvases, her heart swelling with admiration.

And then, as the days passed and the artists grew accustomed to her presence, something magical happened. They began to invite her into their world, handing her pencils, brushes, and paints. Encouraging her. Teaching her. Letting her create.

Back then, she had never questioned it—her love for art had been as natural as breathing.

Now, standing here again, she wondered if that love could still find its way back to her.

For years, a single wall had preserved a piece of her childhood—a tulip she had carefully painted onto an existing mural, blending it so seamlessly that it seemed as though it had always been there. It had been a quiet testament to the joy she once found in art, a small but significant mark of her younger self.

But a few years ago, that mural had been erased, replaced by something new. And this time, she hadn’t been there to leave her touch. She hadn’t even been given the chance. That day had marked the quiet death of her last true artistic endeavor.

"Be careful, Miss," Violet warned her, guiding her through the narrow, wind-swept alley.

Anna nodded, tightening her grip on Violet’s hand as she sharpened her focus on each careful step. The sweet scent of vanilla pastries grew stronger, wrapping around her senses like a warm embrace. They were close now—just a few more steps, and they would reach her father’s favorite bakery.

Then, suddenly, a voice slashed through the air like a blade.

"Oh, for God’s sake, Tiffany, are you seeing this abomination? Are there no talented artists left whose work I can actually buy?"

Anna froze. A sharp, painful tension coiled in her chest, her muscles locking into place as if her very body refused to move. A suffocating stillness overtook her, as though the world had been drained of sound, leaving only the echo of that voice reverberating through her mind.

She didn’t need to see the speaker to know exactly who it was.

That voice belonged to Susanne Hyde.

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