Art Professor Destroys Promising Artist's Canvas, But Her Fortune Changes Instantly!

The Unraveling

The storm raged outside, a violent symphony against the serene, almost sacred, quiet of the private first-class lounge. Rain lashed against the panoramic frosted-glass walls, blurring the amber glow of the tarmac into abstract strokes of light. Polished obsidian floors mirrored the distant neon beacons of the terminal, creating an illusion of infinite depth. It was a world away from the biting cold and the damp chill that clung to Hannah like a second skin. At 22, Hannah was a paradox: a destitute painter with the soul of a prodigy. Her oversized charcoal wool coat, splattered with the vibrant hues of her passion, did little to ward off the gnawing fear. Her pale face, glistening with stray raindrops, bore the fierce, red-rimmed intensity of emerald eyes beneath a curtain of matted auburn hair. In her paint-stained, calloused fingers, she clutched a worn portfolio, her only shield against the world. Towering opposite her was Armand Dubois, a man sculpted by privilege and arrogance. At 58, his immaculate cashmere turtleneck and camel wool overcoat spoke of a life untouched by hardship. Designer spectacles perched on his hawkish nose, reflecting the muted glow of the lounge, while a cruel, condescending smirk was etched onto his silver-stubbled face. Suddenly, Armand moved. With a brutal, possessive force, he seized the vibrant, raw-linen canvas Hannah had been protecting. The sound that followed was sickening—a violent tearing of fibers, an echo of shattered dreams in the hushed opulence. "Utter worthless amateur trash!" Armand spat, his voice laced with venomous disdain. "You will never hang in Paris, you pathetic gutter vagrant!" Hannah stood frozen, her mouth sealed shut, tears welling, her breath catching in her throat. Jagged shreds of her art fluttered down, landing like fallen leaves on the reflective marble floor. Her silent shock was a testament to the deep wound inflicted.