Chapter 1

The low hum of conversation filled the gallery, the clean white walls covered in my art. People drifted between my canvases, glasses of champagne in hand, their faces lit by the soft track lighting. Tonight was a celebration, ten years since Chloe Miller walked into my tiny, cramped studio and told me she would make me a star. Ten years together.

Chloe stood by the gallery entrance, a perfect host. She wore a black dress that was simple but expensive, her blonde hair pulled back in a sleek knot. She laughed at something a critic said, her smile bright and easy. From across the room, she was everything I ever thought I wanted, successful, beautiful, and mine.

I felt a hand on my arm and turned. It was our friend, David. "Ten years, Liam. Can you believe it? You guys are the goal."

I smiled, a real smile. "Yeah. It's been amazing."

And it had been. Chloe gave me this, the gallery, the shows, the life I had only dreamed of. All I had to do was paint, and love her. It felt like a fair trade. I watched her move through the crowd, her confidence a force of nature. She was the center of this world, and I was happy to be in her orbit.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and I saw her glance down. The bright, easy smile on her face tightened for just a second, a tiny crack in the perfect surface. She turned away from the person she was talking to and walked quickly toward her office in the back. I saw the name on the screen before she angled it away, "Mark."

A cold feeling trickled into my stomach. She had told me she blocked his number years ago. I made my way through the crowd, my own smile feeling stiff now. I stood near her office door, pretending to look at a sculpture. I could hear her voice, low and urgent.

"I told you not to call me tonight," she whispered. "Yes, I have the money... No, I know you're sick, just... give me an hour."

My chest felt tight. Sick? Money? She had told me Mark was out of her life, a mistake from her past she had moved on from. We had been together for a decade, a whole decade. I thought we didn't have secrets like this.

The party's cheerful noise sounded distant and fake. An hour later, just as she'd said, the gallery doors opened again. It wasn't a late guest. It was him. Mark Davis stood there, looking pale and thin. He leaned on Chloe like he might fall over without her. She had her arm wrapped tightly around his waist, holding him up.

A hush fell over the remaining guests. Chloe' s face was a mask of worried concern. "Everyone, this is my dear friend, Mark," she announced, her voice full of a tenderness I hadn't heard in years. "He's not well, and he needed me."

She guided him to a chair, completely ignoring me. I was standing ten feet away, but I might as well have been invisible. People started whispering, their eyes flicking between me, Chloe, and the sick man she was fussing over. The warmth of the party was gone, replaced by a thick, awkward silence. I felt my face get hot with humiliation. This was our anniversary party, and she had brought her ex-boyfriend.

Chloe finally looked at me, but her eyes were cold. "Liam, come here." She pulled me into her office and shut the door. "Mark's band has a gig tonight, a huge one. A scout from a major label is going to be there. But their lighting system just fried."

I just stared at her, confused. "What does that have to do with me?"

Her expression was hard, impatient. "You know what it has to do with you. I need you to do it. The lights. For his stage."

I felt a jolt of panic. "Chloe, no. I can't. Not on this scale, not with no notice. It takes too much out of me. You know what it does." Using my ability, my real talent that no one else knew about, wasn't like painting. It was a part of me, and using it drained my life force, leaving me sick and weak for days.

"Don't be dramatic," she snapped. "This is his one shot. His whole career depends on it. You can't be selfish right now." Her voice was sharp, cutting. There was no concern for my well-being, only a demand. "He needs this. I need this."

She was forcing me. Using my secret, the one only she knew, to help the man she told me she had forgotten. The man she was still taking care of. The man she still loved.

They took me to a small, dark music club a few blocks away. The air was thick with the smell of stale beer and desperation. Mark was already on the small stage, tuning his guitar, looking much healthier than he had at the gallery. Chloe stood beside him, her hand on his back. "Liam's going to create some of his light art for you," she told him, her voice sweet.

She turned to me. "Don't mess this up, Liam."

I stood at the back of the stage, behind the amplifiers, my hands trembling. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, calling on the energy inside me. A faint, blue light started to glow from my palms. I pushed it out, shaping it into thin, shimmering threads that snaked through the air, wrapping around the microphone stands, pulsing with the beat of the music. The pain started almost immediately, a deep, cold ache in my bones.

Mark's band started playing, and Chloe gave me a sharp nod. I had to do more. I pushed harder, weaving complex patterns of gold and silver light that danced and swirled around Mark. He was the center of it all, bathed in the glow that was draining the life from me. My vision started to blur at the edges, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. I leaned against an amplifier to stay upright. "Chloe," I tried to say, my voice a weak croak. "I can't... I need to stop."

She was standing at the side of the stage, her eyes fixed on Mark, her face shining with adoration. She didn't even look at me. She just waved a dismissive hand. "Keep going. It looks amazing."

The crowd was cheering, mesmerized by the show. They had no idea it was killing me. The light poured out of me, brighter and more frantic. I felt myself getting colder, the ache in my bones turning into a sharp, grinding pain. I stumbled, falling to my knees, but I forced my hands to keep producing the light. I couldn't stop. She wouldn't let me.

When the last song ended, the light from my hands sputtered and died. The last of my strength went with it. I collapsed onto the floor, my body shaking, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I was so cold.

Chloe rushed onto the stage, but she ran right past me. She threw her arms around Mark, kissing him. "You were incredible!" she cried, her voice full of joy. "They loved you!"

Mark was laughing, high on the applause. He didn't even glance down at me, the man crumpled on the floor at his feet.

Chloe finally turned, her happy expression turning to one of annoyance. "Liam, get up. People are staring. Don't make a scene." Her voice was a harsh whisper. She nudged me with the toe of her expensive shoe. "Pull it together."

She turned her back on me and walked off the stage with Mark, her arm around his waist again. She left me there, on the dirty floor of a strange club, alone and in agony.

Lying there, shivering and broken, I felt something inside me shift. It was the last piece of my heart breaking, the last bit of naive hope dying. The last ten years had been a lie. Our love, our life, all of it. A lie. And in the cold, empty silence after the applause, I knew, with a certainty that hurt more than the pain in my bones, that I was done. It was over.