“Oh, don’t worry about her, babe. She is nothing more but a pawn in my game. Once it’s over, I will drop her, and we’ll be on a plane to Hulu for our honeymoon.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. That voice. I knew it too well—it belonged to Rex Sterling, my husband of two years.

Tonight was supposed to be huge. My first solo art exhibition, doubling as a charity event, with some of the most important people in the city attending. It should’ve been a dream come true.

But now? Now I couldn’t even breathe.

I had been looking for Rex, wondering why he’d disappeared right before the event started. Instead, I stumbled across this.

And her.

He stood close to Sara, his hand on her cheek like she was something precious. He even ran his fingers through her hair.

It hit me like a live wire, every nerve in my body short-circuiting at once. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Sara Dubois. My nemesis.

We had been rivals since college, both of us art majors.

She was the it girl everyone wanted to befriend or date—perfect blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and lips so flawless they looked like a gift from the gods. Even in jeans and no makeup, she would still turn heads.

Meanwhile, I was the scrappy underdog who got attention for my art instead of my looks, which she couldn’t stand.

She made it her mission to sabotage me every chance she got. And now, here she was. With my husband.

“Really?” Sara asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “Promise me you’re not lying. You’ve been all over her lately—those interviews, big events, everything. It’s making me nervous.”

“Trust me, okay?” Rex said, his voice smooth and reassuring. “It’s almost over. I just have to keep up appearances a little longer. Her popularity is working in our favor.”

“You’d better,” Sara said, yanking him by his tie. “The last thing I need is people finding out this ‘charity foundation’ is just a cover for your scam.” Then she kissed him, hard and deliberate.

Hot tears burned down my cheeks as I stood there, frozen. I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t move. And then I did—I turned and walked away, quiet as a ghost, afraid of them catching me.

It was funny, really, how I was scared of being seen, like I was the one who had done something wrong.

I burst into the tiny room I had been using as a makeup and fitting space, slammed the door, and threw myself onto the sofa.

Sadness settled over me, heavy and suffocating, like a dark cloud filling my chest, my head—every inch of me.

My thoughts were a mess. Everything from the past few years collided with the image I had just seen, swirling together in a way I couldn’t untangle.

Questions came at me like a flood, one after another. Had I ever truly known the man I married? Did he ever really love me? How much of what we had was real? How much of it had been a lie?

Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless, smudging the carefully applied makeup I had spent so much time on.

My body felt like it was running on autopilot, trembling and weak. I bit down on my lower lip to stifle the sobs threatening to break free.

All I wanted to do was scream. Scream until my throat was raw. Or cry until there wasn’t a single tear left in me. Maybe throw something, just to hear the satisfying crash of it breaking—anything to let this pain, this anger, this heartbreak out.

But I couldn’t. The event was starting in fifteen minutes. This was my night, my big moment, and people were counting on me. No matter how shattered I felt, I couldn’t let this ruin everything.

After letting myself cry for a few minutes, I wiped my face with shaking hands.

My reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable; red eyes, streaked mascara, smudged foundation. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my makeup bag and got to work, trying to fix the damage as best I could.

A few moments later, came a knock at the door. “Willow, are you in there? We’re starting in less than five minutes.”

That voice. Sweet and comforting once. Now, it made my stomach churn. Each word dripped with venom I hadn’t noticed before, and they made me want to throw up.

But I couldn’t give in. Not yet. Not here.

“Okay, honey.” I forced a smile and opened the door. There he was—Rex, standing casually in front of me, looking polished as ever in his sharp grey suit.

His light grey eyes matched the silver of his ear piercings, and not a single hair seemed out of place. Nobody would ever guess what he had been doing just minutes ago.

I pushed the thought aside. I had to survive tonight first.

“Everyone is looking for you. What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice soft, sweet even, as if he cared. “Remember, you’re the star tonight.”

He reached for my hand, but I stepped back instinctively. That used to win me over every time, but now it just made my skin crawl.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head, his expression the perfect mask of concern. His tone was so convincing it almost hurt. If I hadn’t learned the truth, I might’ve believed him.

“No, I’m just feeling a little dizzy,” I said, brushing off his question. I needed to get away from him, away from this conversation.

But Rex being Rex, he wasn’t letting me off that easily.

He leaned closer, placing his hand lightly on my forehead. “You sure? Did you take any meds yet? I can delay the event, push it back half an hour if you need. Nobody’s going to mind.”

“No,” I said firmly, brushing past him. “Let’s just get it over with.”

“Alright,” he replied with a smile so earnest it almost made me laugh. How could I have ever believed it was real? “Just tell me if you’re not feeling well again. Your health comes first.”

I nodded, biting back the surge of emotions rising in my chest.

I couldn’t help but think back to the night we first met. It was pouring rain in the city, and I was at my lowest point.

It was a rainy night in the city, the kind of downpour that soaks through even the best umbrellas.

I didn’t have one of those though, just a battered, broken one I had found in the back of a closet. I was standing outside a pawnshop, staring at my late mother’s engagement ring in my palm.

I didn’t want to sell it. But I didn’t have much of a choice. My grandma was sick, the bills were piling up, and even with my degree, I couldn’t land a decent job.

When I finally stepped inside, the shopkeeper’s offer was so insulting I almost cried right there. I stormed out instead, slamming into Rex on the sidewalk.

He recognized me from college—he majored in management and often hung around Sara, the untouchable queen of our world back then.

“Are you alright?” he asked, catching my arm to steady me.

I flushed with embarrassment. “I’m fine. Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Instead of brushing me off, he asked me to go with him to a nearby café. And for some reason, I let him. I didn’t tell him what was going on, he didn’t need to know.

“If you ever need help,” he had said as we sat there, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

Back then, I thought he meant it. Now, I realized how wrong I had been.

From then on, we started talking more. Little by little, I reluctantly opened up—about my parents’ mysterious disappearance, my struggle to make ends meet, and my stalled art career.

Rex listened, really listened, offering encouragement in a way that made me feel seen for the first time in forever.

He believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. With his help as my manager, I started to rebuild my confidence. He loaned me just enough money to scrape by, and I finally got back to painting.

Thanks to Rex’s connections, word about my work spread fast. Suddenly, people were talking about me, and before long, some of the city’s most influential names were buying my art.

After a few years of working together, our professional relationship turned personal. Three years later, we got married.

To think that the man I trusted with everything wasn’t who he pretended to be… It was like the floor had been ripped out from under me.

“Honey, this is Mr. Bart Dubois, the owner of this gallery,” Rex’s voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.

I turned to see a tall, older man with silver-streaked dark hair that looked like it had been styled strand by strand. His sharp, angular features were a perfect match for his expensive, tailored tuxedo.

“Ms. Willow Sterling,” he said, his tone smooth and measured. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

There was an easy elegance to the way he carried himself, but beneath it, I could sense a hint of arrogance—the kind that came with old money and absolute confidence.

“And this is my wife, Delphine,” Bart added, gesturing to the woman beside him.

Delphine was impossible to miss. Her towering blonde hair was a feat of engineering, defying gravity with every curl and wave, and her bright pink silk ensemble was anything but subtle.

The oversized gemstones dripping from her neck caught the light with every movement, dazzling and excessive all at once.

“The pleasure is mine,” she said with a tight, almost practiced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Where Bart had charm, Delphine radiated something colder, harder to place.

“I’m truly honored to have my exhibition in your gallery, Mr. and Mrs. Dubois,” I said with a polite nod.

Anyone in this city knew the Dubois family. They were the top of the social ladder, practically royalty among the elite. And unfortunately for me, they were also Sara’s parents.

I fought the urge to grind my teeth as I spotted her approaching, her usual dazzling smile in place. Of course, the devil herself wouldn’t miss this moment.

She wore a black lace dress that hugged her full figure, its strategically transparent panels leaving little to the imagination.

Her glossy skin and perfectly shiny lips were impossible to miss—Sara always knew how to steal the spotlight. Of course, she had already been hounded by photographers before the event even kicked off.

“Hi, guys! Oh, thank goodness, you’re all here. I finally escaped those paps,” she said dramatically, wiping away non-existent sweat before fussing with her perfectly styled hair.

“Darling, have you met Mrs. Sterling, the artist of the night?” Delphine chimed in, her tone warm enough to fool anyone, though I could still catch the subtle edge of disdain in her voice.

“Of course, Mom! Willow and I go way back, we were classmates in college,” Sara said with a practiced grin as she draped an arm around me and rested her head on my shoulder. Cameras immediately started snapping, and I forced myself to smile.

From the outside, we probably looked like besties catching up, but I knew better. I remembered the whispered insults, the calculated pranks, and the way she’d turned my college life into a living nightmare.

And now, knowing she was likely having an affair with my husband, her overly friendly act only made my stomach churn. She wasn’t just manipulative; she was terrifyingly good at it.

My hands clenched into fists, and nausea rose in my throat. Before I could completely lose my composure, I mumbled an excuse and headed straight for the restroom.

Inside, I barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. My whole body was trembling when Rex walked in, his brows furrowed in concern.

“You look terrible. Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should take a break. I’ll manage things out there,” he said, handing me a tissue.

“No,” I muttered, shaking my head as I wiped my mouth. “I’ll be fine.”

I took a deep breath, and reapplied my lipstick. By the time I stepped back into the gallery, the room was packed with guests, and it was time to face the crowd.

Rex stayed close as I took center stage. Cameras flashed, and the room went quiet. “Thank you all for being here tonight,” I began, forcing a smile. “I hope you enjoy the art I’ve poured my heart into. This is just the opening night—feel free to visit all weekend, free of charge.”

The room filled with polite applause, but my hands were clammy, and my voice wavered slightly.

Public speaking wasn’t the problem—I had done it plenty of times before. It was what I had to say next that made my chest tighten and my knees feel weak.

I swallowed hard, pushing through the lump in my throat. “I’m so thankful for everyone who’s supported me—my friends in the media, my incredible team, my manager and husband, and, of course, the Dubois family for allowing me to showcase my work here in such a prestigious space. It’s an artist’s dream.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few smiles lighting up the room.

Then a reporter stepped forward. “Your work is everywhere these days—offices, galleries, even international buyers are snapping it up. Can you tell us the theme of the latest collection?

I paused, my mind racing for the right words. “It’s about love,” I said finally, keeping my tone light. “Love surrounds us—in romance, in friendships, in small moments. I’m so grateful for the people who’ve shown me love, and I hope that emotion resonates through my paintings.”

There was an approving hum, but another voice cut in, teasing. “Would you say your husband is your muse?”

A ripple of laughter followed, and I glanced at Rex. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes practically begged for the answer he wanted to hear.

I nodded, plastering on my best smile. “Of course. He’s my greatest inspiration… my greatest love. He’s taught me so much.”

I tried to sound genuine, but I could feel my facade cracking. My voice felt tight, my words empty, and I could only hope no one noticed.

Rex, always quick on his feet, stepped in smoothly. “Thanks for the questions, but Willow’s been working so hard these past few weeks. She’s not feeling her best tonight. You’ll find all the details about the collection in the pamphlets.”

“You’re such a supportive husband,” a woman in the crowd remarked warmly. “Willow is lucky to have you.”

Rex pulled me closer, his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. “No, no. I’m the lucky one to have her,” he said, flashing his most charming smile.

The room erupted into a chorus of “aww,” and for a moment, the focus shifted to us as the picture-perfect couple.

But not everyone was buying it. I caught Sara glaring at us from the corner, her smile forced and bitter amid the sea of approving faces.

As the event died down, I slipped away to a corner sofa, sinking into the cushions and finally catching my breath. The weight of all the fake smiles and forced interactions left me drained.

“What a night, huh?” a voice cut through my exhaustion, making my eyes snap open.