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.
