Artfully Yours Novels & Stories

The air was thick with wealth, ambition, and curated praise. I stood near my wall of art, a delicate nameplate beside each piece: Ayala Shomer's Collection Unfurling. City at Dawn. Letting Myself go. “Excuse me—are you the artist?” asked a woman with silver-streaked hair and a velvet shawl. “I am.” “These colors,” she murmured, studying ‘City at Dawn’. “They made me feel less alone.” “Thank you. That’s more than I could ask for.” By the second hour, I had shaken hands with curators, stylists, and even a magazine editor. Two of my pieces had red dots beside them, marked as sold.

Archie winked as I sat down at their table and pulled out my phone. I texted Kim and Cheryl and told them I’d be home tomorrow. Maybe. I got laughing emojis back from both and let it go. They knew it might not be tomorrow then. “I’m amazed at you, you know?” Archie said and from the look on his face he really meant it. “Why?” I asked not sure what I’d done that was so amazing. “Well, you’re just so adventurous. Open, honest, ready to try things.” He went back to the hamburgers he was making and flipped them over. “You’re just downright brave.”

“You’ve reclaimed your power, your voice, your art. And you’ve done it with grace, with strength, and with love. That’s something no one can take from you.” I let myself inhale, filling my lungs with the weight of the moment. “Yes,” I whispered. “I’ve reclaimed everything that was mine. And I’ll carry it forward, quietly, fully, and unshakably.” The boutique hummed around us, the light falling softly across fabrics, sketches, and the small circle of people who mattered most. It was intimate, it was quiet, and it was exactly what I had needed. Every glance, every whispered word, every shared smile carried a depth that no applause could replicate.

They flicker for a second, a little sign that he's happy about my purchase. "Deal. I'll have them sent to your address." "Thank you." "You're interested in my latte art? You already have her paintings." "It's different." "Deal." I stare at the painting on my phone again. On the right lower corner are words in black, "You're the arrow that pierces my heart, the stone that breaks my soul."

"It's definitely nicer than the knockoff I bought, but at least I have some dignity. I'd never wear a fake in public and make a fool of myself. "Or are you claiming that you're the guest from abroad, the legendary Mrs. Fields?" Her words set off an uproar of laughter. To them, it was utterly ridiculous. William Fields was a world-class business leader known for his sharp instincts and decisive judgment. As for me, I was nothing more than the worthless ex Hayden tossed aside three years ago. They could not even put us together in the same sentence. Selena tossed the ring lightly in her hand, flipping it up and catching it with careless ease. "Vivian, I really like this knockoff of yours. Sell

I could almost hear whispers coming from the projection itself, voices promising to show me things I didn't want to see, to make me relive every failure. "And the third is The Memory Thief's Garden. Perhaps the most dangerous of all because it doesn't attack, it seduces. Every memory you cherish will be offered for trade. Every moment of happiness, love, joy, peace, the Garden will promise you more, so much more, if you just give up a few memories in exchange. It's insidious. Predatory in a subtle way. The Garden knows exactly what you want most and will offer it to you wrapped in beautiful lies. Deadies who enter rarely leave. And those who do are hollow shells, having traded away everythin

Turning in his arms, I met his gaze, my dark eyes wide with a mix of challenge. My pulse fluttered at my throat, and he stared at the way my lips parted just slightly, as if I were already gasping for him. “An exhibition?” I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. “Like public sex in front of evryone?” Leonardo smirked, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips. His hand slid down, his palm flattening against my stomach before inching lower, his fingers teasing the hem of my dress. “That’s what I mean , my muse,” he murmured. “Art can be created in different ways.”

"I don't remember you telling me your name." "It's Zane," the alpha lied. "Zane," Eleanor mumbled. "I'm going to get the preparations started!" She ran off and Adrian resumed cutting the apples. A smirk spread on his lips. "Vernon Giordano-Donovan, I hope you'll like my gift." "I prepared it with all the hate in my heart."

“I feel good… Safe. Happy.” She leaned forward and put her hand on my arm. “That’s so wonderful to hear. You deserve someone like that in your life.” “I know that. I do,” I replied. I squashed the little worm of guilt the words called up. She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then pulled something out of her bag. “Oh, and before I forget!” she said, “Here.” She slid a cream-colored envelope across the table. I opened it. “You are cordially invited to a viewing of “Masterpieces of Handcrafted Sound” at the Artful Edge...”

Chaiwat POV (PRESENT DAY) It had to be him. I was very certain he was the one. The cold blue eyes. The swimmers build. The cologne. Fuck! All of a sudden, the door to my room opened and Wut stood at the entrance. I glanced at him, staring at his naked and muscular chest. I wanted to run my hands through them and bite his nipples gently in my mouth. Fuck! Woranut is straight! How can I be thinking such?!