Chapter 4
622words
The debut piece was titled "Caged Bird."
In the painting, a sapphire butterfly struggled within an ornate golden cage, its delicate wings tattered and broken.
A prominent art critic shared it with the caption: "Within profound oppression, I glimpse the most resilient life force. Eagerly awaiting more from this enigmatic new talent."
The art world erupted in speculation.
Galleries and collectors extended lucrative offers, all met with deafening silence.
I scrolled through interpretations of my work, feeling nothing but hollow detachment.
They saw only metaphorical suffering, not knowing each brushstroke was literally soaked in my blood and tears.
Ethan arrived with a contract while I was deep into my second canvas.
"An invitation to the Milan International Art Biennale." He placed the document beside my easel. "The global stage every artist dreams of. Interested?"
I set down my brush and examined the invitation.
"Milan?"
"Yes." Ethan nodded. "The curators discovered your work online and were captivated. They're offering you a dedicated exhibition space."
I fell silent.
Milan meant stepping back into the spotlight.
It also meant potentially crossing paths with Alexander.
His business tentacles reached across continents.
"What's holding you back?" Ethan asked quietly.
"I just—"
"You're worried about running into Alexander," he stated flatly.
My silence confirmed everything.
Ethan sighed. "Vivian, you can't hide forever. Your talent deserves recognition. These paintings shouldn't be imprisoned in this cottage."
He paused meaningfully. "Besides, don't you want him to pay? This is your chance. Let him see you thriving without him. Let him realize exactly what he discarded."
Ethan's words unlocked something within me.
Why should I hide?
I wasn't the one who should feel shame.
"I'll do it." I met his gaze steadily. "With one condition."
"Name it."
"I want a solo exhibition immediately following Milan." My voice hardened. "I've already chosen the theme."
"Which is?"
I enunciated each syllable with precision: "The Golden Cage."
Surprise flickered across Ethan's face, quickly replaced by understanding.
"Consider it done," he said simply.
The day before my flight to Milan, my phone rang with an unexpected caller ID.
Alexander's mother—my former mother-in-law.
Her voice sounded frail. "Vivian, might we speak in person?"
I was taken aback.
Since the divorce, the Grant family had maintained radio silence.
I'd assumed they'd written me out of their narrative entirely.
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Grant?" I kept my voice neutral.
"It's about Alexander and Claire." Resignation colored her tone. "The wedding is next month, but Claire... she's not well."
"Oh?"
"The doctors say the pregnancy is high-risk. Her emotional state is volatile, with signs of potential miscarriage." She sighed heavily. "She's been having terrible nightmares—claims something is... clinging to her."
My heart plummeted.
"Alexander has consulted specialists worldwide, but none can identify the cause. They finally consulted a spiritual advisor who suggested... who suggested an unborn child's spirit might be involved."
My grip on the phone tightened involuntarily.
"To resolve this... situation... we need the biological mother's forgiveness." Her voice took on a pleading quality. "Vivian, I know my son wronged you terribly. But Claire's baby is innocent. Please, for the child's sake, will you meet with Alexander?"
I remained silent for so long that the line crackled with tension.
"Vivian?" Mrs. Grant finally ventured. "Are you still there?"
I finally spoke, my voice glacial: "Fine. Send him to me."
"Where should he come?"
"Saint Mary's Cathedral. West side of the city."
After ending the call, I gazed at the storm clouds gathering outside my window, a cold smile playing at my lips.
Alexander Grant was finally coming to me.
The masterpiece I'd crafted just for him was finally ready for its unveiling.
