Chapter 6
554words
With Ethan's guidance, "Caged Bird" became the sensation of the Biennale.
Its raw, suffocating beauty stunned critics and audiences alike.
Under my pseudonym, I granted exclusive interviews to several prestigious art publications.
In every photograph, I wore an elegant mask that revealed only my eyes—cold, clear, and unflinching.
"Darkness is rebirth," I told ARTnews. "My work is dedicated to those who suffer in shadows yet still reach for light."
Overnight, I became the art world's most enigmatic rising star.
My solo exhibition "The Golden Cage" was fast-tracked onto the calendar.
The venue: Milan's most prestigious gallery in the heart of the fashion district.
I knew Alexander would see the coverage.
Given his obsessive nature, he would inevitably appear.
He could never tolerate a woman once under his thumb escaping his gravity, much less soaring beyond his reach.
He would come to clip my wings personally.
Just as he had five years earlier.
But I was no longer the malleable Vivian he'd once known.
Exhibition preparations proceeded flawlessly.
Ethan secured Europe's finest curation team and personally oversaw every detail.
The night before opening, he arrived at my studio with espresso and pastries.
I was applying the final brushstrokes to my centerpiece.
The canvas was titled "Sacrifice."
Against the backdrop of a sterile operating table lay a faceless woman. From her abdomen bloomed an obscenely lush blood-red rose.
At the rose's heart gleamed a crystalline blue gemstone.
The exact shade of "cornflower blue."
Ethan studied the canvas in prolonged silence.
"It's devastating," he finally murmured.
"Is it?" I set down my brush. "Reality was infinitely more brutal."
Ethan sighed, placing the paper bag on my worktable. "Tomorrow will be war. Are you prepared?"
"I've been preparing for this moment for years."
Opening night exceeded all expectations.
Europe's art elite—critics, collectors, gallery owners—packed the space.
Masked, I observed from a shadowy corner as the crowd ebbed and flowed.
They lingered before each canvas—stunned, thoughtful, debating.
"Caged Bird," "Shackles," "Marionette," "Deception"...
Each piece captured a fragment of my five-year imprisonment.
My silent testimony.
Alexander arrived at precisely nine o'clock.
He wore charcoal Armani, his hair perfectly styled, radiating cold authority.
His entrance commanded immediate attention.
Camera flashes erupted in his wake.
He ignored them all, striding purposefully through the gallery.
His gaze swept the room, locking onto me instantly.
Despite my mask, he knew me immediately.
He cut through the crowd with surgical precision.
His eyes were black with barely contained rage.
"Vivian," he murmured through clenched teeth, "I'm genuinely impressed. This revenge scheme shows unexpected creativity."
"You flatter me," I replied evenly. "I learned from the master of manipulation."
"You think this will destroy me?" He laughed softly. "How naive. These paintings are nothing but your twisted fantasies. No one will take them seriously."
"Is that so?" I arched an eyebrow. "Then let's wait and see."
At that moment, the crowd began to shift toward the center of the gallery.
The curator had taken the small stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us at Lady Night's debut exhibition, 'The Golden Cage.'"
"It is my honor to welcome Lady Night herself to unveil her masterpiece—'Sacrifice.'"
Every spotlight converged on me.
I drew a steadying breath and glided toward the stage, feeling the weight of every gaze.
Alexander's face drained of all color.
