Chapter 3: My Painting

My breath hitched as I stared at the images on the screen. Each brushstroke, every delicate detail — I knew them by heart. I had poured hours, days, even years into those pieces.

They were mine.

A reporter stepped forward, microphone in hand.

"Celeste, your debut gallery has taken the art world by storm. Especially this piece at the center. Some critics are already comparing your work to a genius contemporary artist, Ellaine Laurant. How does it feel to receive such high praise?"

Celeste feigned humility, pressing a hand to her chest with a dazzling smile. 

"Oh, I’m truly honored. I never imagined my work would be received this well."

My fingers dug into the sheets, my nails biting into the fabric as rage bubbled in my chest.

Another reporter asked, "Your pieces have such depth, such emotion. Especially this piece at the center. Can you tell us what inspires you to paint this scorched landscape? It looks like it has debris from after the fire. But look… the single dandelion blooming at the center of the ruins was like it bloomed from the ash. It looks intriguing!" 

Celeste let out a soft, rehearsed laugh. "You know, inspiration can come from anywhere. I just… paint what I feel." 

Lies.

Lies! Lies! Lies! 

How can she even explain it? It was inspired by the fire that happened at the orphanage!

She can never explain it because it never happened to her!

My breath came in shallow bursts as my vision blurred. Before I even realized it, I had thrown off my blanket and was already pulling on the nearest clothes I could find.

I had to go.

I had to stop this.

The gallery was grand — pristine and filled with people admiring my work as if Celeste had created them.

I stormed through the entrance, barely taking in the luxurious decor, the marble floors, or the high ceilings. Rage propelled me forward, my heart hammering in my chest as I pushed past guests murmuring about Celeste’s "brilliance."

And then I saw her.

Standing in the center of the gallery, basking in the glow of attention, effortlessly charming the crowd.

I didn’t hesitate. I marched straight toward her, my eyes blazing, my hands clenched into fists.

"Celeste!"

She turned at the sound of her name, her smile still in place — until she saw the fury on my face.

Her eyes widened like she was surprised to see me there. 

“Eloise? What are you doing here?!”

My stomach twisted at the sheer audacity in her voice. "How dare you?!"

Celeste sighed, glancing around. "Not here, Eloise. You’re making a scene!” she whispered. Her tone was worried. 

And before I could even answer her, she grabbed my arms and pulled me into a private room. 

"Let me go! You stole my painting and now you are parading it around as yours, and I’m the problem?"

She let go of me and smirked. 

"It’s not stealing if you gave them to me."

My jaw was clenched. "I never gave you anything!"

Celeste shrugged, sipping from her champagne glass like we were discussing the weather. 

"Oh, but you did. Adrian was thoughtful enough to hand them over. He said you wouldn’t mind."

I felt something inside me snap.

"Adrian?" I echoed, my voice a whisper of disbelief.

Celeste smirked. "Oh, you didn’t know? He brought them to me weeks ago. Said you were 'too attached' to your work and that I could put them to better use."

My entire body shook.

Too attached?

I had poured my soul into that painting and spent sleepless nights agonizing over every detail. And Adrian — that bastard — had handed them over to Celeste as if they were disposable.

I took a deep breath, struggling to keep my voice steady. "Take them down."

Celeste arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Excuse me?"

"I said take it down!" I repeated, my voice sharper this time. " — or I will sue you! You know they aren’t yours!"

Celeste chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Eloise. Always so dramatic." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "Let’s be honest here. Who do you think they’ll believe? Me — the golden child, the one everyone adores? Or you — the shadow that no one even remembers?"

I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

"I won’t let you get away with this," I whispered.

Her smile widened. "Oh, but I already have."

And with that, she turned her back on me and left me in the room, effortlessly slipping back into the crowd as if nothing had happened.

I stood there in the dark again, my hands trembling at my sides, my body rigid with the kind of fury that left no room for tears.

I had been betrayed. Humiliated. Stolen from.

________________________________________

Later that night, I found myself in a bar with Mia. I had to call her to pick me up from the gallery because I could barely stand on my own. She wanted to take me home, but I insisted I needed a drink — I needed to forget.

"How could they do this to me, Mia? After everything I did for her? For him?!" My voice cracked as tears spilled down my cheeks.

I grabbed another shot of tequila and downed it without hesitation.

"Slow down, Eloise! You’re already drunk!"

I turned to her lazily. "I don’t care!" I sniffed. "C-Celeste… she took everything from me! My life, my designs, my boyfriend — and now my paintings?! Why can’t she just leave me alone?! I did everything for her. I became her! This is so unfair!"

I slammed another shot back, and the room tilted. I was never a drinker — but I didn’t care anymore.

I just wanted to numb the pain.

"Haist… you poor thing," Mia said softly, brushing my hair out of my face.

I hiccuped, and suddenly, the tequila threatened to make an unwelcome reappearance. "W-Wait—"

I stood up abruptly.

"Where are you going?" Mia asked.

I pointed toward the restroom and rushed off without answering. I was halfway there when I crashed into someone.

For a moment, our eyes met — and the man was glaring at me like I’d just insulted his entire family. But there was something more in the way he stared at me. It was like he was disgusted by me. 

Fueled by alcohol and anger, I glared right back.

"Y-You—"

I tried to argue, but my stomach lurched again. With one last furious look, I spun around and ran for the bathroom.

God, my head felt like it was splitting in two.

After I was done throwing up, I sat on the cold tile floor, trying to steady myself. I swore I would never drink again. If it weren’t for Celeste and Adrian, I wouldn’t even be in this mess.

I was about to head back when my phone buzzed. When I saw the name on the screen, my stomach twisted all over again.

Mom.

Taking a deep breath, I answered. "M-Mom?"

"Eloise. Come home tomorrow morning. We need to discuss something. It’s urgent," she said, her tone cold and commanding as always.

My chest tightened. "What is it about?"

The last thing I wanted was to face Celeste again.

"No questions. Just come home."

And just like that, the line went dead.

I sighed. Looked like I didn’t have a choice.

When I got back to the table, Mia grabbed my arm before I could even sit down.

"Eloise! Look!" she said, shoving her phone in my face.

I winced, pushing it back. "Move it away! You’re making my head spin!"

"No! Look!" Mia insisted. "Your sister is getting married!"

My heart dropped. "What?"

I snatched the phone from her and squinted at the headline on the social media post.

Breaking News: Celeste Everhart of Everhart Enterprises is now engaged to Sebastian Whitmore of Whitmore Corporation!

My throat went dry. "Sebastian Whitmore?"

Scrolling through the comments, I saw people’s outrage.

"What?! Celeste can’t marry that guy!"

"Isn’t he the impotent son? Why would they do this to Celeste?!"

"Right! Celeste deserves better!"

I swallowed hard. Now I remembered him.

Sebastian Whitmore — the CEO of Whitmore Corporation, the most powerful company in the country. But despite his success, his reputation was terrible. He was known for never having a wife, never even being linked to anyone. Rumors swirled that he was either impotent… or gay.

"Did you know about this?" Mia asked.

I shook my head slowly. "No."

But then I remembered my mother’s call — and dread curled in my stomach.

Was this what she wanted to discuss?