Page 118 of How to Get Even

She’dwrongedhim.She’dbetrayedhim.

She’d made amistake.

The chaos in his mind became too much and he needed it out.

He stalked to the table left with the art supplies and not caring that there was no canvas or paper, he grabbed a brush and some paint and applied it directly onto the walls.

His heartbeat fluctuated as he saw things he disliked and things he loved. Brushstrokes in patterns and colours that weren’t planned or created for purchase or a gallery. They were for him.

That was what he’d been railing about when he’d shown Bella the gallery. He wasn’t mad at the art world – well, not entirely – for gatekeeping pieces of work. He was mad at himself for prioritising fame and wealth over his creativity. As if the decisions he’d made to pursue what he’d thought was his mother’s dreams had taken him one step after another away from the art he’d wanted to make.

You hide when things go wrong. You put your head in the sand, pretending that everything’s fine.

She’d known. She’d known and she’d tried to let him see it for himself.

Four hours later, he stood back and looked at the first thing he’d painted in almost eighteen months.

Her. He’d painted her.

25

The skilful leader subdues the enemy’s troops without any fighting.

THE ART OF WAR, SUN TZU

Bella drew the covers over her head the moment her phone sounded the message from the Just Desserts WhatsApp Group. She knew the girls were trying to keep her spirits up, making sure she was okay, but she just didn’t have the energy to pretend any more.

She’d taken a car home yesterday morning, after the girls had spent what was left of the night before with her. They’d waited on the sidewalk as her bags were loaded into the car, all pretending not to watch the street for any sign of Chase.

She’d even held her breath, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she’d earned a Hollywood happy ever after, where Chase was going to come running, yelling her name, and stopping her from leaving at the very last minute. But he hadn’t.

And she’d hated the fact that instead of being thankful her friends were waving her off, worry hidden behind supportive masks, she’d been desperately sad. She’d held it together through the long journey back to her parents’ house. She’d held it together as she’d promised them she was fine, before going to her room, locking the door and letting herself fall apart.

That had been eighteen hours ago.

Her phone beeped again and Bella tried not to cry, because she knew that it wasn’t Chase. That he’d never want to see her again and her lips wobbled, and her jaw ached and her eyes leaked tears she’d thought she’d exhausted by now. It hurt so damn much. So much, that it ached to take a breath.

A knock sounded on her door and she wanted to ignore that too.

She knew this routine. Her parents would leave her to it. They always did. Because they knew she’d fix it eventually. But she just wasn’t sure she could this time.

‘Coming in,’ her father warned before slowly opening the door.

Shocked, she threw the comforter over her head and did exactly what she’d accused Chase of doing: she hid.

She felt the bed dip from where he sat, just by her knees, and was torn between desperately wanting him to leave and wanting to hurl herself into his arms. But that was what Bea did. Bella wasn’t that daughter. She was the daughter who didn’t need things like that. And thinking it just made her want to cry again.

‘It’s a funny thing,’ her father said, voice muffled by the covers. ‘When you called so late the other night… I was almost happy.’

Bella blinked and risked peeking out from beneath the covers.

‘Happy?’ she couldn’t help but ask, scarcely believing that when she’d been so miserable he’d beenhappy.

‘No, not like that,’ he quickly corrected. ‘But I have waitedsolong for you to want to come home.’

Bella pushed up fully out from under the covers and sat against the headboard. ‘I think I’m still missing something,’ she confessed, anger beginning to well up from deep within where she’d barely ever looked. ‘Because it sounds like you think I always had a choice,’ she said, her chest aching from the fact that he didn’t see, didn’tknowhow hurt she’d been over the years.

It was as if everything that had happened with Chase, not the argument, not the hurt, butbeforethen; the way he’d encouraged her not to smooth things over, but to make waves. To stand her ground. To have the arguments. He’d been right. He’d been preparing her for this.

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