Chapter three - the artist with golden lies

She still saw Lincoln everywhere she in school but he completely ignored her but she wanted to know how he was genuinely until Evelyn met Mateo on a night she almost didn’t go out.

It had been four months since her breakup with Lincoln. Four quiet months filled with long walks alone and the slow process of convincing herself she was okay.

She wasn’t.

But she was learning how to pretend.

That Friday evening, her friend Ada dragged her to a small art exhibition in the city.

“You need to leave your house,” Ada insisted.

“I leave my house,” Evelyn replied.

“You go to the grocery store. That doesn’t count.”

Evelyn sighed but agreed.

The gallery was small but crowded. Soft music played in the background while people walked around holding glasses of wine, studying paintings that hung along the white walls.

Evelyn wasn’t particularly interested in art.

But one painting caught her attention.

It was a portrait of a woman standing in the rain.

Her face looked peaceful even though everything around her was stormy.

Evelyn stared at it for a long time.

“Interesting choice.”

The voice came from behind her.

She turned.

And saw him.

Mateo.

He had dark curly hair that fell slightly over his forehead and warm brown eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing paint stains on his hands and wrists.

“You like it?” he asked.

Evelyn nodded.

“It feels emotional like I m watching my self.”

Mateo smiled.

“That’s because it is.”

“You painted it?”

“I did.”

Evelyn looked back at the painting, then at him again.

“You’re talented.”

Mateo bowed slightly.

“Thank you.”

That was the moment he stepped into her story.

Mateo was unlike anyone Evelyn had ever met.

He was spontaneous.

Unpredictable.

Creative.

Where Lincoln had been structured and logical, Mateo was chaos and color.

One evening he called her at midnight.

“Come outside,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just trust me.”

Evelyn stepped outside her apartment building and found Mateo waiting with a motorcycle.

“Get on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Twenty minutes later they were standing on a hill overlooking the city lights.

Mateo spread a blanket on the grass.

They lay side by side staring at the stars.

“You’re smiling,” he said.

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I am.”

Mateo turned his head to look at her.

“You should do that more often.”

She then looked at him leaned in for kiss it felt like it lasted long but it was just for a few seconds

“Do you like it” he asked looking at her as she blushed then he dragged her and kissed her again

Dating Mateo felt like living inside a painting.

He took her to hidden cafés.

To quiet beaches outside the city.

To late-night music performances.

Sometimes he would sketch her while she talked.

“Stop moving,” he said once.

“I’m not moving.”

“You’re breathing too loudly.”

She laughed.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you like me.”

He couldn’t deny that.

Mateo made the world feel bigger.

Brighter.

More alive.

One afternoon he showed her his studio.

It was messy.

Paint tubes everywhere.

Half-finished canvases leaned against the walls.

But Evelyn loved it.

“This is where everything happens,” Mateo said proudly.

He showed her dozens of paintings.

Landscapes.

Portraits.

Abstract shapes filled with color.

“You’re really talented,” she said again.

Mateo shrugged modestly.

“I try.”

Then he pointed to a blank canvas.

“That one is for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“What will it be?”

Mateo studied her carefully.

“I don’t know yet.”

“But it will be something special.”

Months passed.

Evelyn fell deeply into the rhythm of Mateo’s life.

He kissed her like every moment mattered.

He looked at her like she was art.

Sometimes he whispered things that made her heart race.

“You inspire me,” he told her one night.

“No one has ever inspired me like this before.”

She believed him.

But Mateo also had a mysterious side.

Sometimes he disappeared for hours without answering his phone.

Sometimes he became quiet and distant.

“Are you okay?” she asked once.

“I’m fine.”

“You seem distracted.”

“Just thinking.”

About what?

He never explained.

Evelyn ignored the strange feeling in her chest.

Love required trust.

And she wanted to trust him.

One evening she decided to surprise him.

Mateo had told her he would be working late in his studio.

So she brought food.

She climbed the stairs quietly and pushed open the studio door.

Then she froze.

Mateo wasn’t alone.

A woman sat on a stool near the window.

She was beautiful.

And Mateo was painting her.

But that wasn’t what shocked Evelyn.

The woman wasn’t wearing clothes.

Mateo stood very close to her, adjusting the light on her shoulder.

They were laughing about something.

Evelyn felt the air leave her lungs.

Mateo noticed her.

His smile disappeared instantly.

“Evelyn.”

The woman quickly grabbed a robe.

“This isn’t what you think,” Mateo said.

Evelyn stared at him.

“Really?”

“It’s just work.”

“Work?”

“I’m painting.”

Evelyn laughed bitterly.

“She’s your model.”

“Yes.”

“And you forgot to mention that?”

Mateo ran a hand through his hair.

“It wasn’t important.”

“Not important?”

The woman awkwardly slipped past them and left the studio.

Now it was just the two of them.

Evelyn’s voice trembled.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you been lying to me?”

Mateo frowned.

“I’m not lying.”

“You disappear for hours. You hide things from me. And now this?”

“It’s art, Evelyn.”

“Don’t say that like it explains everything.”

The argument lasted hours.

Words flew across the room like broken glass.

“You don’t understand my world,” Mateo said.

“And you don’t respect me,” Evelyn replied.

“I respect you.”

“No. You respect inspiration. Not people.”

Mateo looked hurt.

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is lying.”

Days later, Evelyn discovered something worse.

Mateo’s paintings had become popular.

Very popular.

She visited another gallery exhibition with Ada.

And there it was.

A huge portrait hanging on the wall.

Of her.

But the title made her stomach drop.

“The Girl Who Didn’t Know.”

The description beside the painting mentioned that the artist had painted it during a “complicated relationship.”

People around her whispered about the story behind it.

Evelyn felt humiliation wash over her.

Her private moments had become public art.

That night she confronted Mateo.

“You used me.”

Mateo looked shocked.

“I didn’t use you.”

“You turned my life into a story for strangers.”

“You inspired the painting.”

“I’m not your inspiration.”

“What are you then?”

Evelyn’s voice was cold.

“Someone who loved you.”

They broke up that night.

But unlike her breakup with Lincoln…

This one was full of anger.

“You’re selfish,” Evelyn said.

“And you’re dramatic,” Mateo replied.

“Maybe.”

“But at least I’m honest.”

Mateo laughed bitterly.

“You knew who I was.”

“No,” she said quietly.

“I thought I did.”

Weeks later, Evelyn walked past a gallery window.

Mateo’s paintings were displayed inside.

People admired them.

Took pictures.

Praised his talent.

Evelyn stood there for a moment.

Then she turned away.

Because she had finally learned something painful.

Not everyone who says they love you…

Is telling the truth.

Sometimes they just love the story you help them create.

Evelyn who hasn’t cried for a long time broke down

She was used, her portrait scattered everywhere for what she felt disgusted with her self, everywhere she went on campus people recognized her

Talked about her and even laugh

She hated Mateo so much that every breathe she cursed at him