“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.

Sara sank into the sofa beside me, stretching out like she hadn’t just thrown my life into chaos. I stared at her, baffled at her nerve.

“Why so quiet?” she asked, tilting her head with mock concern. “Not happy your work’s in our family’s gallery?”

I clenched my jaw but forced a response. “No, I’m happy. Just… a little tired.”

She laughed, as if my tension was the funniest thing in the world. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. You haven’t changed a bit, Willow.”

I gave her a tight smile, chuckling along, hoping she would move on and leave me alone. But of course, she didn’t. She leaned back, making herself comfortable. “Your paintings are stunning, by the way. Really something special. Not just anyone gets a spot here, you know. But you… you pulled it off.”

“Thanks,” I replied flatly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She cocked her head, a sly grin creeping across her face. “So, love, huh? That’s the theme? You must really love your husband.”

The words landed like a slap. There was something too sharp, too deliberate about the way she said it.

Taking a steadying breath, I answered, “Yes. Love is everything, isn’t it? True love exists, even in the face of betrayal and selfishness. I hope my work reminds people of that. Of the beauty in staying true to what’s real.”

Somehow, I found the courage to meet her gaze, and for a moment, she looked genuinely caught off guard. But then her smirk returned.

“Wow. That’s… deep,” she said with a dry chuckle. “He’s lucky to have a woman who loves him so… unconditionally.”

Her words felt like a dagger wrapped in silk. My head spun, and every fiber of me screamed to lash out, to tear apart her smug little facade. But I couldn’t.

Before I could say something I’d regret, Rex appeared with Bart and Delphine in tow. “It’s a wrap!” Rex exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Willow, congratulations! It’s only day one, and your work’s practically sold out!”

Bart raised his champagne glass in my direction. “This place hasn’t seen a crowd like this in years. You’re the talk of the town, Mrs. Sterling!”

I glanced at Sara. Her smirk had vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped expression. It was a small win, but I’d take it.

A waiter approached with a tray of champagne. Bart gestured toward it. “Mrs. Sterling, let’s toast to your big success tonight!”

I shook my head, the dizziness catching up with me. “Thank you, Mr. Dubois, but I’ll pass. I’m not feeling up to drinking right now.”

Rex jumped in, raising his glass. “I’ll toast with you, Mr. Dubois. Willow’s feeling a little off tonight, she actually threw up earlier.”

“Threw up?” Delphine’s bright red lips curved into a knowing smile. “Mrs. Sterling, could it be… are you pregnant?”

The question hit like a gong. I felt the air shift as both Rex and Sara turned to look at me, their eyes boring into mine, waiting for an answer.

I forced a polite smile. “No, nothing like that. Just a little under the weather.”

“Oh, well, even if you were, it’d be wonderful! You’re married, after all,” Delphine said cheerfully, completely missing the tension radiating from her daughter. “A baby would be such a blessing!”

By the time 9 p.m. rolled around and the gallery finally closed, I let out a long, relieved sigh.

Rex glanced over, concerned. “I’ll have the driver take you home. Get some rest, take some medicine. I’ll handle everything else here.”

I studied him, searching his face for cracks—any sign of guilt or dishonesty—but his expression was steady, sincere even.

For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I had been wrong about him. Maybe he really did love me. Maybe what I had seen with Sara was just a stupid, one-time mistake. But the universe loves proving me wrong.

On the way home, I realized my purse and phone were still in the makeup room. I asked the driver to call Rex, but the call didn’t go through.

“Turn around,” I said, sighing. “We’re not too far. I’ll just grab my things.”

When we got back, the gallery was dark and quiet, mostly empty, but the doors weren’t locked yet. I hurried inside, found my belongings, and started heading toward the exit.

That was when I heard it—low voices and muffled sounds coming from the storage room where my unused paintings were kept.

I froze. My pulse quickened as I stood there, staring at the closed door. What the hell was going on in there?