Chapter 4

On the day of the art exhibit, I arrived just as the event was in full swing.

The gallery buzzed with excitement, and there she was—Leona, standing radiant at the center of a crowd of eager journalists. Her cheeks glowed as she posed beside one of the paintings, rattling off a rehearsed speech as if she were born for the spotlight.

I couldn't help but let my gaze drift down the long corridor, the walls lined with oil paintings I knew all too well. Every brushstroke, every hue—each one was mine. Yet beneath each frame hung a plaque bearing her name.

Tears welled in my eyes. She hadn't just stolen my work; she had robbed me of my identity. And as if that wasn't enough, she'd tried to claim my life with that car accident.

Why? Why did she think she could take everything?

As my anger simmered beneath the surface, Leona spotted me. Her smile never wavered as she walked over, her polished demeanor as saccharine as ever.

"This is my dear friend," she announced, her voice sweet and melodic for the cameras. "She's here to admire my artwork today."

Turning slightly, she added with a gentle laugh, "Rose is actually a veteran in the art world, though she stepped away from painting for personal reasons. I've always felt it was such a loss. Having her here today at my exhibit is truly special for me!"

Her words cut like a blade, but it was the look Matthew gave me from across the room that sealed it. His cold, unwavering stare wasn't just a warning—it was a threat.

Don't speak.

I smiled politely, my expression betraying none of the fire in my chest.

"Leona certainly has an impressive talent," I said. "But I'm curious—don't you think Leona's paintings bear an uncanny resemblance to those of the online artist Valerie Hemsworth?"

The words hit like a thunderclap. I pulled out my phone and held it up for the cameras.

For years, I had documented every piece I ever created, tucked safely away in a private online gallery. That morning, I had made the entire collection public. Every timestamped painting was proof that my work predated hers.

The color drained from Leona's face as she took the phone from me. Her eyes darted across the screen, her hands trembling.

"What...?" she stammered.

Around us, the journalists erupted into a frenzy. Microphones thrust toward me as questions flew from every direction.

"Rose, are you accusing Leona of plagiarism?"

Matthew's face darkened as he stormed toward me, his tone sharp and commanding, "Rose, stop spouting nonsense!"

Before he could close the distance, the gallery doors burst open, and a squad of police officers flooded the room.

"Who here is Leona?" one of them called out. "You are under investigation for suspected drunk driving and attempted murder."