His Stand-In Wife's Billion-Dollar Revenge

"It's just a few paintings. You can always redo them. What matters is that nobody got burned."

Just a few paintings.

Those were works I'd poured countless sleepless nights into, works that carried every hope I had for my career.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.

The dinner ended.

Simon draped his jacket over Anna's shoulders, then turned to me.

"Anna just got back. She's living alone in that apartment and she's afraid of the dark. I can't just leave her."

"Iris, call yourself a ride home, okay? Be safe. Text me when you get there."

With that, he ushered Anna into the car.

I stood alone in the cold wind. The dragging pain low in my abdomen was getting worse.

Gritting my teeth against it, I flagged down a cab and went straight to my studio.

The exhibition was next week. I had to reorganize my backups.

I opened my laptop and tried to process the final five-million-dollar payment for the venue. The screen flashed a notification:

Your supplementary card has insufficient credit.

I froze. Simon had given me that card. There had never been a limit on it.

I pulled up the transaction history. Ten minutes ago, the primary cardholder had zeroed out the credit line.

Late that night, Simon finally came home.

He carried the scent of Anna's signature woody perfume. He sat on the edge of my bed and reached over to put his arm around my shoulders.

I flinched away.

His hand paused mid-air. Then he smiled faintly.

"Iris, I froze the card because there's something I want to ask you."

"Your exhibition. Could you give the naming rights to Anna? She really needs a platform like that to rebuild her confidence."

"You love me so much. You'll say yes, won't you?"

I stared at him, bile rising in my throat.

I didn't dignify that absurd logic with a response. I lowered my eyes and tapped the screen of my phone to life.

The words in my memo app glared back at me:

Countdown to leaving the Stephens family: 2 days.

"Simon, do you have any idea what that exhibition means to me?"

My voice trembled.

He let out a soft sigh.

"Iris, Anna has depression. Her doctor said art therapy would really help her."

"You're just putting on a little show for fun, but she needs this to survive."

"When did you become so heartless? This isn't like you."

"No." Every word was deliberate. "That exhibition is my life's work. I will not give it up."

Disappointment clouded his eyes. "Cool off for a while."

The next morning, I grabbed my flash drive and rushed to the gallery I'd partnered with.

The moment I reached the entrance, I stopped cold.

On the poster by the front door, my name had been stripped away. In its place: Anna Henson: A Homecoming Art Exhibition.

I stormed into the office and confronted the gallery owner, a man who'd been Simon's close friend for years.

He kept his head down, mopping sweat from his forehead as he explained.

"Ms. Young, I'm so sorry. Simon sent his legal team over last night. They paid triple the penalty fee."

"He forced through a buyout of the entire time slot. He said you weren't feeling well and had voluntarily withdrawn."

A chill sank through my entire body.

I hailed a cab and went straight to the Stephens Group headquarters.

"Simon, what gives you the right to cross that line? What gives you the right to pull my exhibition?" I was shaking from head to toe.

Simon was sitting behind his desk. When he saw me come in, he poured a glass of warm water and held it out.

"Iris, have some water. Calm down. I'm just borrowing the venue for Anna to hold a small show."

"Be good. Next month, I'll book you the best space downtown for a whole month to make up for it. How's that sound?"

Crash. I knocked the glass out of his hand.

At that moment, Anna stepped out from behind the door, eyes rimmed red.