Chapter 2

Scarlett was everything I wasn't. She was glamorous, confident, and moved through the gala like she owned the place. Her red dress was a slash of color in the sea of black and white, and her laughter was loud and magnetic. Every man in the room, including Liam, seemed to be caught in her orbit.

As we stood there, Liam' s grip on my arm was tight, possessive. But his eyes never left her. I could feel the tension radiating from him, a mix of desire and frustration.

"She looks... incredible," he murmured, more to himself than to me.

I forced a smile. "She really does. You should go say hello, Liam. It's been a long time."

He glanced at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He expected jealousy, a pout, some small act of defiance. He didn't expect encouragement. My compliance seemed to disarm him. He hesitated for a moment, then let go of my arm.

"Stay here," he ordered, before striding off towards her.

I watched him go, my heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest. This was step one. Show him I wasn't a threat. Show him I was on his side.

The next day, I started my real work. I told Liam I needed a change of scenery for my art, that the sterile studio was stifling me. I suggested moving my workspace into the main living area of the penthouse.

"The light is better here," I said, gesturing to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. "I think it will bring a new energy to my work."

He was skeptical at first. "It will make a mess, Chloe."

"I'll be careful," I promised. "And think about it, Liam. When you have guests, they can see a real artist at work. It's romantic, isn't it?" I used the word deliberately. Romantic. The kind of thing he thought Scarlett would appreciate.

It worked. He agreed, more interested in the image it would project than my actual art. Within a day, I had transformed the cold, minimalist living room. Canvases leaned against the walls, jars of brushes sat on the coffee table, and the scent of paint overpowered the expensive air freshener. The space became vibrant, alive, a place full of passion and creation. A place I knew Scarlett would find intriguing.

A week later, my plan bore its first fruit. Liam, on my subtle suggestion, invited Scarlett over for a private viewing of his latest acquisitions. He wanted to impress her, and what was more impressive than having a live-in artist?

Scarlett walked in, her eyes sweeping over the transformed space. She paused, a look of calculated surprise on her face.

"Liam, darling," she said, her voice dripping with honey. "You have a new pet?" She looked directly at me, her smile sharp and full of disdain.

Liam, ever oblivious, just laughed. "Chloe is a brilliant artist. My brilliant artist." He put his arm around my shoulders, a gesture of ownership.

I didn't react to her jibe. I just smiled politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Scarlett. I'm a great admirer of your work."

Throughout the evening, I played my part. I was quiet, unobtrusive, the dutiful artist in the corner. I made sure to leave my latest painting in a prominent position. It was a portrait, not of me, but of a woman with fiery red hair and a confident smile, bathed in golden light. I hadn't captured Scarlett' s face exactly, but the essence was unmistakable. It was a tribute, a piece of art designed to flatter her, to show Liam that my art, and by extension, he himself, revolved around her.

Liam saw it and his chest puffed out with pride. He led Scarlett to it. "You see? You're an inspiration."

Scarlett looked at the painting, then at me. Her eyes narrowed. She saw the strategy, the game. But she couldn't call it out without looking petty. She just smiled that sharp smile again.

"How... charming," she said.

Later, Liam walked her to the elevator. He came back looking triumphant. He felt he had made progress.

"She was impressed," he said, pouring himself a drink. "She said the apartment felt... alive."

He thought it was his victory. He had no idea it was mine. He sat on the couch, lost in thought, a small smile playing on his lips. He was remembering his evening with Scarlett, her laugh, the way she looked at the painting. He was thinking about his childhood with her, the long-lost connection he was so desperate to rekindle. He didn't even look at me as I quietly cleaned my brushes, a ghost in the vibrant world I had created just for them.