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?
