Chapter 22

Heather found her way to an unassuming, run-down house.

She pushed open the door, and before she could take a step inside, a woman rushed toward her crazedly.

The guards in the room quickly restrained Chrishell. But as soon as she laid eyes on Heather, she froze, her manic energy stilled by surprise.

Heather took a slow glance around the room. It was truly dilapidated, nowhere near the standard that Chrishell's persona as an artist from a comfortable, middle-class family would suggest.

Heather's gaze fell on a photo lying on the table. She picked it up.

In the picture, Chrishell was dressed in garishly bright clothes, holding a child.

Heather raised an eyebrow.

Chrishell glared at her. "What do you want? It was you, wasn't it? You had these people lock me up here!"

Heather examined her carefully. Without the mask of cultured elegance, Chrishell looked utterly ordinary—far from the ethereal artistic muse she had once pretended to be. She seemed vulgar, even plain.

Heath