Chapter 3

I packed up my personal belongings and walked out of the gallery. The night was dark, and the yellow glow of the streetlights stretched my shadow long against the pavement.

Thinking back to the years I spent with Julian, my heart was a tangled mess of emotions.

During college, we bonded over art. He was the muse in my paintings, and I was the soul in his sketches.

Back then, we had endless dreams for the future, working and fighting side-by-side.

After graduation, we didn't look for comfortable corporate jobs. Instead, we decided to open our own gallery.

That road was much harder than we ever imagined.

Lack of funding, zero connections, brutal competition... every obstacle felt like a mountain crushing us.

But we never gave up. Julian worked sales during the day, and stayed up all night with me while I painted. Our love grew stronger during those dark days.

Eventually, our hard work paid off. The gallery gained a reputation, even attracting the attention of famous art critics.

Even though I painted anonymously, watching customers stop in front of my work, their eyes filled with genuine admiration, gave me an indescribable sense of pride.

But Chloe had turned all of our sacrifices into nothing but a joke.

I went back to our apartment and sat on the sofa, letting my mind wander.

I knew crying wouldn't solve anything. It would only make me look weak.

So, I wouldn't shed a single tear. I wanted to watch them crash and burn under the weight of their own lies.

I opened my phone. On Snapchat, Chloe had already posted a photo of her posing with Arthur Sterling.

The Sterling family held absolute power in Seattle's high society. Arthur's stamp of approval was the ultimate honor for any artist.

Yet, looking at the picture, I didn't feel a single ounce of anxiety.

Because I knew Chloe only got this far because of her sweet talk and manipulative charm.

But she had no real skill. Her technique was mediocre, and her talent was non-existent. She could never replicate the soul of my art.

I took a deep breath and began packing my bags.

This apartment, once filled with warmth and laughter, now felt freezing cold and foreign.

Every object held a memory, but now, those memories felt like sharp knives piercing my chest.

I gently touched the familiar furniture, saying goodbye to a chapter of my life.

The clothes in the closet, the books on the shelves, the painting we had worked on together that hung on the living room wall... I touched it gently, a bitter taste in my mouth.

This painting was once the proof of our love. Now, it was just a relic of a broken marriage.

I pulled out my suitcase and neatly folded my clothes inside.

I was wrapping up my thoughts when the front door clicked open.