Audrey’s POV:
:
I sat in the back of a taxi, absently watching the New York skyline blur past the window.
My mind was on the message Finley had sent me just minutes before.
Heads up, Audrey. David White from Horizon Gallery London just flew into New York. He’s asking about you. Wants to meet.
The name still echoed in my head. Horizon Gallery.
Those two words could still make my stomach clench.
I leaned back against the leather seat, closing my eyes as memories I’d tried to bury came flooding back.
Four years ago, I’d fled to London with nothing but a broken heart and a portfolio of paintings.
Horizon Gallery had been a small, struggling space in an unfashionable corner of East London.
They were the first to give my work a chance, to see something in my “Starry Night” series that resonated.
We grew together, two desperate entities clinging to each other in a competitive art world.
As my paintings gained attention from collectors, Horizon’s reputation rose alongside mine.
For a while, it had felt like home. Until it didn’t.
I’d always been private about my identity, preferring to let my work speak for itself.
74)
I refused most public appearances and photo opportunities, wanting my art to exist separate from my persona.
At first, Horizon respected this boundary–they even marketed me as “the reclusive genius behind the stars,” which seemed to add an air
of mystery collectors found intriguing.
But as my paintings started commanding higher prices and prestigious collectors came calling, Horizon’s priorities shifted.
The gallery director began dropping hints, then making outright demands.
“Your absence is limiting our commercial potential, Audrey. These collectors are paying six figures–they expect to meet the artist.”
When I remained firm in my refusal, the gallery made a decision that would forever shatter our relationship.
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Chapter 70
ผรณ
Without my knowledge or consent, they hired Victoria Reed–not just as an impostor to appear at events, but as an artist who could
mimic my distinctive style.
She didn’t just pretend to be me socially; she began signing paintings with my artist name “Liora“.
What started as occasional impersonations grew into a full replacement strategy.
Victoria’s commercial appeal soon made her more valuable to Horizon than I was. My authentic work became secondary to the profitable
machine they had created around my stolen identity.
Even when I was accused of plagiarizing Victoria, Director David White still stands on her side.
I rushed to the gallery, expecting them to be as outraged as I was. Instead, I found the director sitting calmly beside Victoria, who wore
an expression of rehearsed sympathy.
“This is unfortunate, Audrey,” he said without meeting my eyes. “But the market has spoken.”
The betrayal stole my breath.
They had rewritten history, inverting reality itself. The gallery I had helped build, whose reputation had risen with my own talent, was
now claiming I was copying the woman who had stolen my identity.
That was the moment I severed all emotional ties with Horizon Gallery.
I walked out, my hands shaking with fury and betrayal. But what I couldn’t escape was the ironclad contract I’d signed years earlier when
I was desperate and naive.
The contract’s exclusivity clause was ruthlessly comprehensive: I couldn’t exhibit or sell my work through any other gallery while under
contract with Horizon. Breaking this agreement would trigger a termination fee so astronomical.
They had me trapped in a professional purgatory.
So we reached a toxic stalemate. I refused to create new works for them, and they refused to release me from my contract.
Their message was clear: come back and play by our rules, or don’t play at all.
David’s sudden appearance in New York could only mean one thing–Horizon was getting desperate.
Since I’d left, the gallery had failed to produce any noteworthy exhibitions. Victoria’s derivative stars had lost their luster without my innovative original work to provide fresh inspiration.
Caspar’s proposal suddenly flashed through my mind. The Thornton Group’s influence and resources would provide an incredible platform.
for any artist.
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Chapter 70
:
I picked up my phone and typed a response to Finley: “Arrange a meeting with him at Le Bernardin. It’s time to end this once and for all.”
Finley’s reply came quickly: “Are you sure about this, Audrey? That termination fee will clean out your savings completely. Four years of
pinching pennies gone in one signature.”
1 sighed, watching the city lights blur past the taxi window.
“I’m sure,‘ I typed back.
*Christ, Audrey. I still can’t believe you signed that bloody contract without having a lawyer review it properly. Exclusive representation
with that termination clause? It’s practically indentured servitude.”
I could almost hear his exasperated accent through the text.
Finley had been one of the few bright spots in the darkness of the past four years. When the art world had turned its back on me during
the plagiarism scandal, he had been unwavering in his support.
“Yes, thank you for the reminder of my spectacular judgment,” I replied. “But I’d rather be broke and free than comfortable and chained to
Horizon for another day.”
I took a deep breath and typed what I truly believed: “I’m not afraid of starting over, Fin. My best work is still ahead of me. I have my
voice back now. The money will come.”
There was a brief pause before his response appeared: “Fine, you’ve always been impossibly stubborn once you’ve made up your mind.”
One hour later, I pushed open the heavy door of Le Bernardin.
The maitre d‘ welcomed me with a practiced smile and escorted me through the dimly lit restaurant.
As we approached the corner table, I froze mid–step.
David wasn’t alone. Sitting beside him, in a form fitting black dress, was Victoria Reed.
My impostor. My replacement.
The maitre d‘ glanced at me with concern. Mademoiselle? Is everything all right?”
18:33 Wed, Jan 28 M
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
