Page 154 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“The lighting crew just texted, they’ll be here early and—” She stops, seeing my red eyes. “Oh, honey.”

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, turning away to fuss with the corner of a canvas.

“Clearly.” She sets down her notepad and approaches slowly, like I’m a wounded animal that might bolt. “You know you can talk to me, right? About whatever happened with Gideon?”

I open my mouth to deflect again, but what comes out instead is: “The emails were dated from before we even made our arrangement, Lucy. He was working with Blackwell from the beginning.”

Her eyes widen. “Wait, what emails?”

So I tell her everything. About finding the folder in his desk. About the “Media Strategy” document targeting me and my gallery. About how the timing matches perfectly with the opening we’re frantically preparing for.

“Wait, how does this even benefit him?” Lucy asks when I finish. “Seems like it would hurt his image and his company more than anything else.”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “His mind works in strategic, devious ways.”

She studies me cautiously. “Everything you’ve said... doesn’t really sound like the Gideon I’ve seen with you. You’re sure there isn’t anotherexplanation?”

“What other explanationcouldthere be?” My voice rises. “The dates, Lucy. The specific details. Who else would have access to that information?”

A young assistant pokes her head in. “Ms. Redwood? The PR team needs your approval on the press release draft, and the caterers are on line two about the opening night menu.” Lucy waves her away. “Tell them we’ll call back in ten.” The girl nods and disappears.

My phone buzzes again. Gideon’s face flashes on the screen. Something in me cracks.

“Enough!” I grab the phone and decline the call, then open the settings and block his number entirely. “It’s really over,” I whisper, my voice catching.

Lucy watches me with concern. “Are you sure you want to go through with the opening? We could postpone.”

For a moment, I seriously consider it. Cancel everything. Hide away. Lick my wounds in private.

If you cancel, he wins. And you might never open again.

“No,” I say, forcing strength into my voice. “I’m not letting him or Blackwell take this from me too. The opening stays on schedule.”

“If you’re sure...” Lucy says, clearly unconvinced.

“I am.” I straighten my shoulders. “My stepfather tried to make sure I’d never have this opportunity. I won’t let Gideon finish what my stepfather started.”

The lighting crew’s loud arrival interrupts us. I peer out the door and spot four technicians wheeling equipment cases and specialized fixtures into the main room. Their team leader, a no-nonsense woman in her fifties, immediately starts issuing directives. “Those track heads need to be six inches lower, and we’ll need to reconfigure the accent lighting completely.”

Lucy squeezes my hand before returning to her coordinator role, rushing out to them to discuss the installation timeline.

I’m left alone with the paintings, these traitorous pieces that reveal feelings I never wanted to acknowledge.

I pull out my phone and stare at the blocked contact. It feels so final. So real.

You actually fell in love with him. After everything you promised yourself. After all your rules and walls. Stupid, stupid girl.

Hours later, after most of the crew has gone, the gallery begins to calm. A few painters remain, touching up spots revealed by the new lighting system. Two electricians are troubleshooting a dimmer switch that’s causing flickering in the east wing. Their voices echo through the now-larger space, bouncing off bare walls that will soon showcase my heart for all to see.

I curl up on my mattress in the back room. The gallery is silent except for the occasional passing car outside and the rhythmic tapping of the night carpenter finishing baseboards. I think about my security detail, Diana and Michael taking turns standing watch outside. In a week, they’ll be gone, and I’ll be left to fend for myself once more. Like I always have. Freed from the fake marriage that has caused me so much pain.

I’m surrounded by paintings of Gideon, unable to destroy them despite what he’s done. Some of them will have to go into the exhibition. I don’t have enough other material ready, and the pieces loaned by the collectors need to be complemented by my own work.

I reach out and trace the line ofGideon’s jaw in one of the portraits. Even in paint, his eyes seem to look right through me.

He knew exactly what would hurt me most. My art, my credibility, everything I’ve fought for.

Anger wells inside me. Then mortification at the thought of what’s coming.

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