Chapter 2

The gallery's after-party was a crush of bodies and loud music. I found Chloe holding court with a group of critics, Leo hovering at her side like a sick, colorful parrot.

I walked straight up to her.

"We need to talk," I said, my voice cutting through the noise.

Chloe rolled her eyes, annoyed at the interruption. "Ethan, not now. I'm networking."

"Now," I insisted.

She sighed dramatically and followed me to a quieter corner. Leo trailed behind, his expression a mixture of concern and smugness.

"What is your problem?" Chloe demanded. "You're embarrassing me. That photo is art. It's a metaphor."

"A metaphor for what? For cheating on your fiancé in plain sight?"

"Oh, don't be so petty," she scoffed. "You don't understand the demands of art. The sacrifices."

Leo stepped forward, placing a hand on Chloe' s arm. "Chloe, darling, he can't understand. Normal people live in a world of black and white. Our world is... more nuanced." He gave me a look of pity. "The connection Chloe and I share is profound. It transcends your simple definitions."

I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Profound? Is that what you call it?"

I turned to Chloe. "You know, for a struggling artist, you have a very expensive studio in Dumbo."

Her face paled. "What are you talking about?"

"The rent," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. "I've been paying it for three years. Every single month. Five thousand dollars a month. Does that sound like a struggling artist to you?"

Chloe stared at me, speechless. The color drained from her face. She had told everyone, including Leo, that she'd gotten a special grant.

"You've been lying to everyone," I continued. "Building this fake narrative of a starving artist while I paid for your life. For your 'art'."

Leo looked from her to me, his mouth slightly open. For once, he had nothing to say.

"You're a fraud, Chloe," I said. "And your relationship is a sham."

I turned and walked away, leaving them standing there in stunned silence. The party's noise washed over me, but I felt nothing. Just a cold, clean emptiness.

The bohemian dream was a nightmare. And I had finally woken up.