I sat in the corner of Café Lumière, my fingers wrapped around a mug of black coffee. The bitterness matched my mood perfectly. Three days had passed since I'd discovered Nathan's betrayal, and I still hadn't returned to what I once called home. The hotel room I'd booked felt sterile and impersonal—exactly what I needed right now.
Professor Williams' letter of acceptance for the Paris residency lay open on the table before me. Three years in Paris. Three years to rebuild myself from the wreckage Nathan had left behind.
"It's the opportunity of a lifetime," I whispered to myself, tracing the embossed letterhead with my fingertip.
My phone buzzed for the twentieth time that morning. Nathan again. I silenced it without looking at the message and pulled out my laptop instead. The words flowed easily, fueled by a cold, clear anger I'd never felt before.
*Dear Nathan,*
*I've accepted a three-year residency in Paris. Our relationship is over. My lawyer will contact you regarding divorce proceedings.*
*Do not attempt to contact me again.*
*—Aria*
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then closed my laptop with a decisive click. The weight that had been crushing my chest eased slightly. I took a deep breath—my first real one in days.
"Ms. Blackwood?"
I looked up to see the café owner approaching with a fresh pot of coffee.
"I just wanted to say congratulations on your win. We've had your piece from last year's exhibition hanging in our back room. It's an honor."
I managed a small smile. "Thank you."
"Will you be celebrating with a show at Hayes Advertising? My daughter works in marketing there—she says your husband's planning something big."
My smile froze. "Ex-husband, actually. And no, I won't be showing there anymore."
The café owner's eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly. "Well, their loss is Paris's gain, from what I hear."
After she walked away, I stared into my coffee. Hayes Advertising. The agency Nathan had built—with my art, my connections, my soul poured into every campaign. I'd need to collect my work before leaving for Paris.
An hour later, I stood outside the gleaming glass building that housed Hayes Advertising. My security badge still worked—they hadn't had time to deactivate it yet. The receptionist's eyes widened when she saw me.
"Ms. Blackwood! We weren't expecting you today."
"Just collecting some personal items," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.
I took the elevator to the fifth floor, where my private studio was located. Nathan had insisted I have my own space when I agreed to contribute to his campaigns. "Your talent deserves a sanctuary," he'd said.
When the elevator doors opened, I froze. Through the glass walls of my studio, I could see Isabella. She was sitting at my desk, her feet propped up on the surface, talking animatedly on the phone. My paintings—studies I'd been working on for months—had been replaced with her mediocre imitations.
I pushed open the door without knocking. Isabella looked up, her expression shifting from surprise to smug satisfaction.
"Well, well. Welcome back, Aria." She hung up without saying goodbye to whoever was on the line. "Nathan said you might stop by."
"You're in my studio," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
She shrugged, twirling a pencil between her fingers. "Not anymore. Nathan thought I'd make better use of it, considering you'll be... unavailable."
I moved to the storage cabinet where I kept my personal sketchbooks and materials. It was empty.
"Looking for something?" Isabella's voice dripped with false concern. "Nathan had your things moved to storage. For safekeeping."
I turned to face her. "Get out of my chair."
"Your chair?" She laughed, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. "Nothing here is yours anymore, Aria. Not the studio, not the agency... not Nathan."
She stood and moved closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He chose me because I'm everything you're not. Young. Fertile. Undamaged."
Something snapped inside me. Without a word, I turned and walked out, straight to Nathan's office. His assistant tried to stop me, but I pushed past her and locked the door behind me.
At his computer, I logged in using the password I'd watched him type a hundred times. Five emails, five minutes. To each of Nathan's top clients, I sent the same message:
*As the artist behind the campaigns you've commissioned from Hayes Advertising, I am formally withdrawing all rights to my creative work. Legal action will follow if you continue to use any materials bearing my artistic signature.*
*Regards,*
*Aria Blackwood*
As I hit send on the final email, I heard Nathan's voice in the hallway, his tone frantic. Isabella must have called him.
I smiled for the first time in days. Paris was waiting, but first, I would burn this place to the ground.
