Anthony shoved me hard. My lower back slammed into the podium, and the sharp pain made me double over. Still not satisfied, he snatched the microphone and tried to smash it against the painting on display.
It was the only piece my mother left me before she died.
Gasps rippled across the room. I didn't have time to think—I just lunged to protect the canvas. However, I'd barely taken two steps before the press swarmed me. Their eyes were glittering with hunger for a big scoop. Their bodies closed in until I could barely move.
"Ms. Townsend, can you explain what just happened? Did you really take someone else's stuff?"
"Ms. Townsend, you brand yourself as an independent female artist. Why are you picking on a young woman?"
"Ms. Townsend, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
"Ms. Townsend…"
Question after question slammed into me until I could hardly breathe. I steadied myself and tried to stand, but the reporters, giddy with the frenzy, shoved me back down like they were ready to devour me whole.
Desperate, I shouted to Anthony and told him the painting was the final painting my mother had left for me. He faltered, and his raised hand lowered on instinct.
However, in the next second, Tanya staggered to her feet, feigning weakness as she leaned against the easel. The oil painting toppled, and she trampled it in her panic. Her heels ground into the canvas.
She cried as she did it. "Anthony, I didn't mean to. I didn't know the stand was unstable. Giselle will lose her mind over this. Is she going to kill me? I'm terrified."
Anthony pulled her into his arms, soothing her over and over. "It's fine. It's just a dead person's belongings, anyway. It might be cursed."
I remained trapped in the crowd as I stared at the filthy, ruined painting on the floor. I felt like a broken glass doll.
…
That night, several articles about a rising female artist being a homewrecker shot to the top of the trending searches. The nasty comments piled up.
"No wonder she could have an exhibition in Jorvain. She slept her way to it."
"Don't jump to conclusions. Maybe she sucked her way there."
"How much does a 'high-end' female artist charge for a night? I'd love a taste."
"There's no need to pay. You can just buy a couple of her paintings. Be a patron of the arts, right?"
"I've said it once, and I'll say it again. How many women in the art industry are actually clean? The conclusion is that we should just boycott female artists from now on."
I sat in my studio, almost punishing myself as I scrolled through every foul line until my heart iced over.
Noise came from downstairs. Anthony rushed up, looking frantic as he pulled me into his arms. "Giselle, I'm sorry. I didn't know things would blow up like this. I already had the trending searches taken down, and my legal team has issued warnings to the trolls. As for Tanya, I found out the whole story. I'll make her apologize to you."
I looked up at him, wanting to meet his eyes. "My mom's painting has been ruined. Is an apology all I'm getting?"
He stiffened, and his gaze skittered. "And… I'll ground her for three days. I'll make sure she can't go out or go shopping."
My lips curled up in a mocking smile as I backed out of his embrace. "That's it?"
Anthony frowned. Irritation seeped into his tone. "Giselle, she's just an immature young woman. What's the harm in cutting her some slack? Besides, I've never agreed with you being a painter. Do you know how disgusting it is to see pigment smeared on your hands and to smell those fumes on you?
"And your mom wasn't a famous artist. Even if her work was good, what does it matter? I'll just have someone make a better copy of the painting. Don't blow this out of proportion."
