Five Years Wasted Now They Beg Her Back novel Chapter 447

The crowd was thin here, and the lights were dimmed.

On the central wall hung a massive oil painting titled—*Abyss of Mirrors*.

Grace took one look and felt her feet were nailed to the floor.

The painting depicted the back of a woman.

Her torso was bare, her back painfully thin, with shoulder blades that looked like a pair of broken wings.

Surrounding her were countless shattered mirrors.

Each mirror reflected a different wound:

In one, there were cuts on a wrist, deep enough to show bone.

In another, there were the needle marks left from having blood drawn.

In yet another, there were bruises on knees from kneeling.

But what made Grace’s breath hitch was the small, distinctive crimson beauty mark on the back of the subject’s neck.

That was her mole.

That was her back.

That was… the image of her struggling in hell.

“This painting is called *Abyss of Mirrors*.”

A clear female voice suddenly spoke beside her.

Grace turned her head.

In that moment, she felt the blood drain from her face.

Standing next to her was a woman in a linen-colored long dress.

She wore a vintage-style beret, her long hair casually curled. Her face was bare of makeup, yet she possessed a heart-stopping beauty.

But the most crucial thing—

That face.

The eyes, the nose, the lips.

They were identical to Grace's.

It was like looking in a mirror.

But their auras were completely different.

Grace was like a piece of ice, cold and tough, forged through hardship. The woman before her, however, was like a free wind—passionate, unrestrained, and bursting with life.

The two stood side by side, looking at each other.

Grace shook her head.

She was still processing the news that had just shattered her entire worldview.

An older twin sister?

She had lived in the Hart family for over twenty years, called a jinx, blamed for her mother’s death, and no one had ever told her she had a sister.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Lottie put down the cigarette and took an old envelope from her canvas tote bag, pushing it across the table to Grace.

“This is from Mom. And this.”

She then produced a half-moon-shaped jade pendant.

Grace’s pupils constricted.

She instinctively pulled the jade pendant she had worn since childhood from around her neck.

She placed the two pendants together.

They fit perfectly.

The incomplete image of a rising phoenix was finally whole, shimmering with a life of its own.