2- The Proposition

I didn't go to the gala. I didn't need to. I could picture it perfectly: Julian on that stage in front of the city's elite, soaking in the applause while Isabella stood beside my painting and let everyone believe it was hers. I let him play the generous, wealthy billionaire, completely oblivious to the fact that I was the one who had painted the masterpiece he was handing away.

Instead, I went to the only man in the city who could help me destroy him.

The cab ride across town felt like one long held breath. My suitcase rattled against the seat beside me, and my sketchbooks sat heavy in my lap. For five years, I had made myself small enough to disappear. I had forgotten what it felt like to walk into a room and ask for something.

The cab pulled up to the towering glass skyscraper of Thorne Industries. I didn't have an appointment, but I didn't need one. I walked into the lobby and straight to the receptionist desk. "I'm here to see Mr. Thorne," I said.

The receptionist looked me up and down. I was in a wrinkled coat with a suitcase at my feet, and I knew exactly what she saw. "Do you have a meeting scheduled?"

"Tell him Clara Vance is here."

The woman's eyes widened. She picked up the phone, whispered something, and within thirty seconds, a man in a sharp suit was rushing out of the elevator to escort me to the top floor.

The doors opened into a massive corner office. Damien Thorne stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the skyline. He turned as I walked in, his grey eyes—a piercing, calculating shade—sweeping over me. "Mrs. Vance," Damien said, his voice smooth. "I heard you walked out on Julian right before his big gala."

"Word travels fast," I said.

"I make it my business to know everything that happens to Julian," Damien said, a small, cold smile playing on his lips. "So, why are you here?"

"I want him destroyed," I said. My voice didn't waver. "I want Julian to lose everything. His company, his reputation, his money. I want him to know exactly who ruined him and why."

Damien's smile widened. "Now you're speaking my language. I've been trying to tear down Vance Enterprises for years, but Julian is careful. He has no obvious weaknesses." Something flickered behind his eyes, there and gone. "Let's just say Julian owes me far more than money."

I didn't ask what he meant. I had my own debts to collect. "He has one weakness," I said. "Me."

Damien raised an eyebrow.

"For five years, I have been the invisible wife," I said, stepping closer to his desk. "But I am also E.L. Works. The artist whose seascape Julian bought for ten million dollars so another woman could put her name on it."

Damien's eyes widened in genuine shock. Then, just as quickly, they narrowed. "E.L. Works doesn't exist outside of auction catalogs, Mrs. Vance. Forgive me if I need proof."

I had expected that. I set my sketchbook on his desk and opened it to the first page. Charcoal studies of waves, rough and unfinished, each one dated in my handwriting. I turned the pages slowly, until the sketches became the seascape that had just sold for ten million dollars.

Damien turned the pages himself. He was silent for a long time. When he looked up, the cold calculation in his face had been replaced by something close to awe. "You are E.L. Works," he said, and let out a low, impressed laugh. "Julian paid ten million dollars for his own wife's painting and never knew. That is an incredible stroke of irony."

"He told me he was broke when I begged him for money to save my father's life," I said coldly. "But he had ten million dollars to hand my work to his ex. I want to take what's left of that money, and I want to use it to burn his empire to the ground."

Damien watched me for a long moment, his grey eyes calculating. "Here is my proposition," he said. "You need protection. Julian is a vindictive man. As soon as he realizes you aren't coming back, he will try to destroy you. If you partner with me, you get my legal team, my security, and my resources."

"And what do you get?" I asked.

"I get the ultimate weapon against my enemy," Damien said. "A massive, public exhibition, hosted by Thorne Industries, debuting the brand new, exclusive E.L. Works collection. We announce your identity to the world. We make you a legend, and we publicly humiliate Julian in the process."

I thought about Julian standing in the foyer, yelling that I would be back by morning. I thought about my painting hanging beside Isabella's name. If I did this, there was no going back. The quiet, invisible Clara would be dead forever.

"I have one condition," I said.

"Name it."

"I want the first painting in the exhibition to be a portrait of his betrayal," I said. "I want it so vivid, so damning, that no one in this city will ever look at Julian the same way again."

Damien pushed off from his desk and extended his hand. "Deal," he said.

I shook his hand. His grip was firm and warm, steadier than anything I had felt in years.

"The divorce lawyers will stall," Damien said, walking me to the door. "Julian will try to freeze your accounts. But don't worry. I have a team of lawyers who are already working on a counter-strike. For now, I have a secure wing in my estate. You can live and work there."

"You move fast," I said.

"I don't like wasting time," Damien replied. "And neither should you. An exhibition like this takes months to build, and I want every critic in the city begging for an invitation. You have three months to paint a collection the world can't look away from, Clara." He paused. "Make it hurt."