My Fiancé Let His Mistress Steal My Masterpiece

Violeta found Darren in the marble bathroom of his penthouse, checking his reflection before the party. She leaned against the doorframe, her silk dress catching the light from the crystal chandelier above. He didn't turn when she approached, but his eyes met hers in the mirror, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"I need you to do something for me," she said, her voice honeyed with the same warmth she used when she wanted something. "Something fun."

Darren's reflection raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

Violeta stepped closer, her fingers trailing along the marble countertop. "The little painter girl. Coraline. She'll be here tonight. I want her to drink."

He turned then, leaning against the sink. "And?"

"She has an allergy," Violeta continued, as if discussing the weather. "Quite severe, from what I've heard. A few drinks, and she'll be... unwell. It would be such a shame if she made a scene at your lovely party."

Darren's smirk widened. "You want me to poison her?"

"Oh, darling." Violeta laughed, the sound like glass breaking. "Nothing so crude. Just a game. Toasts. Everyone participates. She wouldn't want to be rude, would she? And we all have to drink. It's tradition."

She moved closer, her perfume filling the space between them. "You host. You invite Diego. Make it a proper circle. And when she starts to look unwell, well... accidents happen. Lucian will be so embarrassed. And after tonight, he'll need someone to comfort him. Someone who understands his world."

Darren studied her for a moment, then nodded. "Consider it done."

Violeta's smile sharpened. "Oh, and Darren? That painting he's submitting for the National Contemporary? The one he's so proud of? Make sure it's somewhere... visible. I want everyone to see his masterpiece before the evening ends."

She turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "It'll be a night to remember."

Darren watched her go, then straightened his tie in the mirror. He pulled out his phone and typed a message to Diego: *Party at mine tonight. Bring champagne. Lots of it.*

The reply came almost instantly: *What's the occasion?*

Darren smiled. *A game.*

---

I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a text from Lucian: *Rooftop at Darren's tonight. 8 PM. Be presentable.*

I stared at the message for a long time. No greeting. No explanation. Just an order.

My fingers hovered over the screen. I wanted to ask why. To remind him that we hadn't spoken in days, that he'd been coming home later and later, that the apartment felt like a mausoleum with us moving like ghosts through separate hallways.

Instead, I typed: *Okay.*

I set the phone down and looked at the ceiling. The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting stripes across the white paint. I counted them. One. Two. Three. Four.

My heart was beating too fast.

I got up. Showered. Let the hot water run over my face until it went cold. I stood in front of the closet for twenty minutes, trying to decide what "presentable" meant. In the end, I chose a simple black dress. The one I'd worn to the last gallery opening where Violeta had touched Lucian's arm and laughed at something he said.

As I zipped it up, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair was pulled back in a knot. My eyes looked hollow. I pressed my fingertips together until they went white.

Then I reached for my bag. The one I carried everywhere but never showed anyone. I opened it and checked the contents: wallet, keys, lipstick I never wore, and my sketchbook.

The sketchbook was small, battered, its cover worn smooth from years of being carried. I opened it carefully. The pages were filled with tiny sketches — hands, faces, light through windows, shadows on walls. Things I saw but never showed. Things I made when I thought no one was looking.

I traced a finger over a sketch of a woman's profile. It wasn't Violeta. It wasn't me. It was someone else entirely. Someone I'd imagined.

I closed the book and tucked it carefully into my bag. Then I zipped the bag shut and set it by the door.

I was ready.

I just didn't know what I was ready for.