Chapter 16
I stared at the message from Rain with trembling hands. My heart dropped. A chill climbed up my spine, reaching my chest and locking it tight. Why now? Why were they suddenly looking for me after casting me aside so effortlessly?
I hit the call button.
Rain picked up on the first ring. “Hey, hey–it’s okay. I told you, I’ve got your back.”
“I’m scared,” I admitted. My voice cracked. “I feel like… like they’ll come and ruin everything again.”
Rain exhaled deeply. “They won’t. I’ll block every road I can. I’m serious, Alicia. You’re safe. Just promise me something, okay?”
“What?”
“Don’t go back. Not even if they cry, beg, or grovel.”
I nodded, then whispered, “Thank you for everything.”
“Anytime. I’m just so proud of you for finally leaving that bastard. Go paint the world and make it your own.”
We shared a small laugh, but even that trembled with unease. The call ended, and I held my phone close to my chest like it might shield me from everything.
The following days were harder than I expected. I found myself flinching at every knock on the gallery door, every unknown number. My thoughts were constantly spiraling–of Denver, of Paula, of the life I had finally walked away from but which still seemed to have a grip on my throat.
I couldn’t focus. My strokes were sloppy, uneven. I spilled coffee over a piece I’d been working on for three days and watched helplessly as the color bled across the paper. An entire canvas
ruined.
I sat there, holding the dripping cup, eyes stinging.
Julian noticed, of course.
He had a habit of knowing when something wasn’t right–even when I pretended otherwise. That afternoon, he leaned against the edge of my workspace, arms folded, watching me with those unreadable gray eyes of his.
“You okay?” he asked, voice soft but direct.
I startled slightly, then forced a smile. “Fine. Just tired.”
He tilted his head. “You sure? Because it looks like your brush is trembling and your coffee is now a modern art piece.”
gave a weak laugh, and he smiled at me before walking off without another word. A few minutes later, he returned with a new cup–hot chocolate this time–topped with tiny marshmallows.
“Here. No caffeine. Just comfort.”
I blinked. “You didn’t have to…”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I like pretending I’m everyone’s emotional support CEO.”
2:58 pm D D DD.
That made me chuckle, truly. I took the cup and cradled it in both hands, breathing in the warmth. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
He didn’t walk away. Instead, he pulled over a stool and sat beside me, his presence calm and grounding.
“What’s bothering you?” he asked. “And don’t say ‘nothing.‘ You flinch every time someone breathes near the door.”
I stared into my cup, debating.
“Okay,” he said, sensing my hesitation. “Then how about we just sit? No pressure. You paint, I sit here and pretend to know what colors go well together.”
I looked at him. “You’re going to sit here while I paint?”
“Yes,” he said matter–of–factly. “And if you start crying, I also have tissues. I’m very well–prepared.”
That made me laugh again, a little louder this time. And for the first time in days, something in my chest loosened.
So I picked up a clean canvas. I dipped my brush.
And while I painted, Julian sat beside me–sometimes quietly, sometimes making ridiculous comments like, “That green looks like the grass I killed last summer.”
At one point, he asked, “Do all artists smell like paint and sadness, or is that just you?”
I threw a tissue at him. He caught it.
And I smiled.
Maybe, just maybe, I could forget the rest of the world for a little while–with him sitting there beside me.
But the stress kept creeping in no matter what I did. One morning, as I entered the gallery, nausea twisted my stomach. I rushed to the restroom and threw up. Maybe it was just stress. Or maybe the weight of everything–the lies, the fear, the past I couldn’t outrun–was becoming too much.
Later that afternoon, determined to finish the catalog layout Julian had requested, I forced myself toward his office. I needed to tell him I was leaving early. That I wasn’t feeling well. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear his voice.
“No, I haven’t told her. She’s still adjusting. I don’t want to pressure her.”
Curious, I nudged the door open further. And there she was–a beautiful woman, stunning in every way, laughing softly as she leaned toward him. Her hand rested on his shoulder. Then she tilted her head, clearly about to kiss him.
I froze.
Something sharp cracked in my chest.
I didn’t wait to see if the kiss landed.
I turned.
Ran.
Chapter 16
The wind hit me as I burst onto the street, stumbling blindly down the pavement. My lungs
burned, my vision swam. I tried to remind myself that this wasn’t real. Julian wasn’t mine. This whole thing was just a business deal.
But why did it hurt?
Why did it feel like my heart had just been pierced?
I didn’t make it far before my legs gave way and the world spun.
Then everything went black.
