The phone rang almost instantly. A voice burst through in excited.

“Blythe, I just saw your confirmation email and called right away. I was terrified you’d change your mind, that you wouldn’t come! Professor Matilda adores your work!”

Half a month ago, I represented the gallery in a local oil painting competition.

Unexpectedly, I caught the eye of Matilda Lennox. Her assistant, Imogen Caldwell, reached out, asking for samples of my recent work, and just days later, the invitation arrived.

Professor Matilda was preparing to retreat into seclusion to develop a new series. She planned to travel through remote landscapes for inspiration, and she hoped I could be both her student and assistant, fully immersed in the creation process.

For any artist with a heart still burning, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, especially with the generous salary her studio offered.

But back then, I barely glanced at the email.

I had long since given up on painting, shelving my dreams to help Dexter rise again.

That competition had been nothing but a whim. Every canvas I’d touched in recent years was just a way to fill the silence.

All I had ever cared about was marrying Dexter, never wanting to be apart from him, not even for a second.

“Blythe? Are you listening? The studio already booked your flight. It’s in half a month. Is that okay?” Imogen’s voice chattered on, full of excitement.

“Yes, no problem. I’ll be there on time.”

Dexter didn’t come home that night. I curled up alone on the sofa, my eyes roaming across every corner of this little apartment.

We had bought this place with the earnings from our first big contract. It was Dexter’s idea, our love nest.

We lived here for years. Even after he reclaimed the company, we never moved.

This space held every piece of our past, every trace of affection.

I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment he stopped loving me.

Or maybe I was never the one he loved. Maybe I had only ever been a placeholder.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I packed up every single thing that belonged to him.

I had never noticed it before, but as I packed, the truth hit me. Everything in this house had been prepared by me. Every item, every detail.

The things Dexter actually used had long since been moved to the 79th floor.

This so-called home had been nothing more than a cage built solely to trap me inside.

The next morning, I arrived at the gallery, only to find the team busy installing a new exhibit.

I stood in the center of the space, staring at the largest canvas: the tender silhouette of a couple from behind.

The woman’s hand was raised slightly, a wedding ring gleaming on her finger.

The man had only been painted in rough strokes, but the tattoo on his right arm was unmistakable.

Its placement and design were identical to Dexter’s.

“Blythe, you’re here! What is this painting anyway? And they want to hang this garbage right in the center? HQ sends all kinds of trash. Next time, you should just butter up the boss. This? It’s pathetic.”

My coworker Anna Alesna came over to stand beside me, looking at the painting.

The gallery was a subsidiary of the Laurence Group.

Dexter never wanted me to work, but I hated being idle, so I took this position as a formality.

He never once concerned himself with gallery affairs. His empire was far too vast.

This was the first time he had ever given direct instructions for an exhibit.

My gaze fell on the freshly mounted artist bio: Heidi Ambrose.

Of course.

“Blythe, why are you here? The big boss called. He said you’d be taking time off from the gallery!”

Harriet Sutherland, the director, rushed over in a panic, subtly trying to block the artist’s name from my view.

So, that black card Dexter tossed me, telling me to go abroad and shop freely. It was just a distraction. A way to quietly promote Heidi without letting me find out.

I lowered my head, pretending not to notice anything, and walked into the office.

After all her years of study and training, this was what Heidi had produced?

I couldn’t tell if this was the best she could offer or if she simply wanted to make sure I saw it, to let me know they were already married.

I handed off all my tasks to Anna.

It wasn’t even a resignation. Technically, I was never a real employee.

I had thrown away every path that once belonged to my own future, all for him.

For three days straight, Dexter didn’t come home. I didn’t call.

Not once.

Now that I was leaving this city, I had no job to transition to and no friend to say goodbye to.

Seven years ago, my entire world revolved around Dexter.

I bought a new suitcase and replaced every piece of clothing that still carried his scent.

Finally, on the fourth day, a WhatsApp request appeared from an unfamiliar number. [There are still a few matters regarding the competition that need to be confirmed with Miss Griggs.]

I didn’t care about the competition anymore.

I had already signed the contract with Professor Matilda.

But the profile photo was of Dexter.

Even though it only showed half his sleeping face, I recognized it instantly.

That tattoo on his arm was undeniably his.

After accepting the request, I opened the stranger’s Instagram feed.

Pinned at the top was a post from this morning: nine wedding photos by the sea, across sprawling grasslands, and in front of a castle.

The woman’s face was always turned away or captured from behind. But the man’s face? Clear as day, it was Dexter.

I could guess the bride was Heidi.

Dexter clearly didn’t want me to know they were married, but she couldn’t help showing off. So she hid her face on purpose.

That account never messaged me again, and I didn’t bother replying. I walked straight into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

But halfway through, a pair of large hands reached around from behind, slamming me gently against the bathroom wall.

My bare skin was pressed against his soaked trousers.

Dexter’s mouth found the sensitive spot behind my ear, kissing roughly, his hands roaming, gripping, and teasing my body.

“Not resisting? Aren’t you scared I might be a bad guy?” he teased, turning me around.

Without thinking, I wrapped my legs around his waist.

“Miss me? I was pulled into a last-minute business trip for three days. Why didn’t you come looking for me? Are you mad?”

He didn’t give me a chance to answer. His mouth crashed into mine, kissing me until I melted in his arms.

How could his love be this divided?

Three days of wedding photos with another woman, and then he returned to play the lover again as if nothing had changed.

I tried to push him away, but my strength had already dissolved under his touch.

“Let me go, Dexter. You reek of perfume. It’s making me nauseous,” I whispered, leaning weakly against him.

His body went rigid. He released me almost instantly.

By the time I finished drying off and stepped out, he had already changed into a new suit.

“Probably from President Bailey of Constellano Culture. He always bathes in cologne,” he said quickly, lying without even thinking. And it showed.

There was no perfume on him.

Just guilt, thick and clinging, after three days with Heidi.

“Why didn’t you go shopping? I heard you handed over your duties at the gallery. What happened?” Dexter’s eyes were fixed on my face, watching too closely.

He was so flustered that he accidentally brought up my new suitcase

“Why did you pack? Where are you going? Blythe, I…”

He faltered, unsure whether to explain, then suddenly crouched down and yanked open the suitcase.

“Is it because of those paintings? I can explain! I won’t let you leave me, those aren’t—”

“What paintings?” I cut him off, my voice flat.

So it was Heidi’s paintings that made him come running back to coax me.

They were already married. The gallery was hers now.

Why should I matter at all?

“I did go shopping. The saleslady gave me a suitcase to carry everything. I bought so much, I figured I might as well keep it.”

“What, you can disappear for days without a word, but I can’t max out your card? You want me to stay at the gallery and keep earning for you?”

I pouted, putting on my best playful sulk.

I was exhausted. If he wanted to keep pretending, let him. If we were going to part ways, we might as well make it graceful.

Dexter glanced at the pile of clothes, tags still intact, and exhaled in relief.

“You just said the paintings made you want to leave me?”

I stared into his eyes. His gaze flickered, avoiding mine, as he reached for a towel and began drying my hair.

“Just I bought a few paintings. They said I overpaid. I was worried you’d be upset…”

What a clumsy excuse.

The doorbell rang. Dexter immediately pushed me toward the bedroom.

“Go change. I brought in a stylist. I’m taking you to the award ceremony later.”

“What award ceremony?”

“The oil painting competition!”

“There’s no need,” I said calmly. “I only joined for fun.”

After all, I had already accepted the offer. Whatever happened with the competition didn’t matter anymore.

“No way! My wife’s work is going to win first prize. I’m buying it for the gallery!”

Wife.

He had never called me that before.

The word hit me like a stone. My body froze for a second.

The moment the door shut behind me, the tears came. Silent, sudden, unstoppable.

What was this?

A caged canary? A mistress bought off with affection and money?

I picked up my phone, my hands still trembling.

The stranger’s Instagram feed had just been updated again.

The woman still kept her face turned away while Dexter knelt on one knee, slipping a diamond ring onto her finger.

In the photo, I recognized so many familiar faces, Dexter’s childhood friends.

When he brought the Laurence family back into high society, they had smiled at me politely.

But behind closed doors, I was always that poor girl, the dog Dexter keeps.

I pretended not to hear. I forced myself to let it go for his sake.

I always gave his friend a face.

More than once, I had overheard them whisper that Heidi was his true match.

That I wasn’t even fit to carry her shoes.

And now, in that photo, their glowing expressions said it all.

The prince had finally reunited with his princess.

To them, this was the ending the story had always deserved.

I sat in silence as the stylist fussed over me for two hours. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I could barely recognize the woman looking back.

Once, I was just an ordinary girl chasing her dreams through art.

Everything changed the moment I met Dexter.

Now, with the illusion finally unraveling, I told myself, let this be the last celebration.

As we stepped out of the car, a sharp gust of wind swept by. Dexter, ever so considerate, slipped off his jacket and moved to drape it over my shoulders, but then came a sweet voice. “Brother Dexter!”

His hand froze. The coat nearly slipped from his grasp.

We turned toward the sound. That profile was undeniable. The same angle as the photos. It was Heidi.

Dexter’s expression darkened instantly. “Why are you here?”

“I’m also in the competition…” Heidi stammered, biting her lip just before the tears began to fall.

With acting like that, she didn’t need a canvas. She needed a red carpet. The Oscars owed her a trophy.

Dexter was caught off guard and reached out awkwardly to wipe her tears, but I grabbed his hand and walked straight into the venue. “It’s starting.”

I didn’t believe it was a coincidence. After all her provocations, it was clear. She wanted to see me crack in front of Dexter.

She wanted a scene. A confrontation. She wanted everything laid bare.

But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

Throughout the award ceremony, Heidi kept casting glances in Dexter’s direction.

He leaned over, his voice low, saying they hadn’t seen each other in years, that he didn’t even know she was back in the country.

I said nothing.

Then came the announcement of the first prize. The host’s voice shifted, taking on a serious tone.

“There’s been some controversy regarding the first prize. We received a late submission that appears nearly identical to the judges’ original selection. Due to plagiarism concerns…”

“The committee has chosen to withhold the award. Both pieces will be exhibited, and the artists are asked to clarify the situation.”

There it was, my painting.

And next to it, a piece disturbingly similar.

“I heard some big name’s searching for a protégé! Stakes are high this year!”

“High stakes or not, plagiarism? That’s crossing the line. Just look, the one on the right clearly copied the left!”

“Not so sure. Maybe the left one’s just less refined, and the right borrowed the idea?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whoever’s at fault is finished. In the art world, one scandal like this and you’re done.”

The chatter swelled louder and louder, voices buzzing with tension.

Then the host revealed the name of the artist who had copied my work, Heidi.

She froze, her face flushing a deep, furious red.

That painting had been finished long ago. It had hung in the master bedroom on the 79th floor.

When I entered the competition on a whim, I had casually selected that piece.

She must have seen it in Dexter’s room.

Copied it on purpose. To provoke me.

To prove she had even shared his bed.

She never expected I’d use that exact painting for the competition.

“I completed this piece a long time ago. It’s been hanging in my boyfriend’s bedroom ever since. It was inspired by a trip we took together. His family photos can verify it, and he personally watched me paint it.”

Then I turned and handed the microphone to Dexter.

“Boyfriend’s word doesn’t count as proof!” someone from the crowd called out.

But another voice cut in.

“Her boyfriend’s the president of the Laurence Group! She’s not some amateur. She didn’t plagiarize. She probably joined just for fun!”

“No way she copied anything. I know her. Dexter’s bought out her entire gallery more than once, just to spoil her. She’s not here to compete. She’s just playing.”

People were quick to side with the powerful. They didn’t even stop to think.

But Dexter said nothing.

Heidi stood there, lip trembling, eyes glassy, wearing that same pitiful expression she always did.

After a long silence, Dexter leaned in and whispered into my ear, saying, “Heidi’s an artist. She can’t have this kind of stain on her record. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding…”

I stared at him, stunned, as he stepped forward and took the microphone.

“My girlfriend’s just been spoiled by me. The Laurence Group is prepared to donate ten million to charity and purchase both paintings.”

“What do you mean, Dexter?! You saw me paint it with your own eyes! So your first love gets protected, but I get accused of plagiarism?!” I blurted out, unable to hold back.

Dexter wrapped his arm around me, speaking softly like he was soothing a child.

“I won’t let the media touch it, don’t worry. Heidi isn’t like you, art is her everything. But you? You don’t even have to paint if you don’t want to. I can take care of you. If you get bored, I’ll buy you two more galleries, okay?”

The host, hearing the words “ten million donation,” jumped in quickly to smooth things over:

“It’s completely normal for two artists to be inspired by the same landscape and express similar emotions!”

I glanced at Dexter and let out a quiet scoff.

Of course. I should’ve known.

He would twist black into white without blinking, just to shield Heidi.

He wouldn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus. Why else would he marry her behind my back?

Letting me stand accused of plagiarism meant nothing to him.

I was just a decoration, his hidden canary in a gilded cage.

But Heidi? She was the delicate flower he had to protect. The real artist. The one whose career had to remain spotless.

Who could I blame?

It was me who gave up my dreams for him. I agreed to play the role of his shadow.

I deserved it.

Amid the whispers and cruel murmurs growing louder around us, I tore my hand from Dexter’s grip and stormed out.