Chapter 2

Watching Serena’s figure recede and blur into the distance, I was suddenly reminded of how we first met.

It was love at first sight for me with Serena. That day, she burst into my world, clutching an oil painting. She was like a little sun, orbiting around me, begging me again and again to help her paint. She always loved tugging on my arm, swaying playfully. “Julian Vance is going to be a great painter!”

“And I’ll become the best curator, put on the biggest exhibitions for you, and make the whole world know your name!”

But later, she never put on a single exhibition for me, nor did she ever make anyone know my name.

My phone buzzed. I casually tapped it open. It was an invitation from Jasper Reed.

*“Jasper Reed – The Maestro’s Exclusive Exhibition invites you to attend.”*

But my gaze was fixed on the host’s name below: Serena Walsh.

*“Serena just insisted on holding an exhibition to welcome me back to the country. I could never say no to her, so I finally agreed. It’s in three days. Hope you can make it, don’t just keep cooping yourself up at home.”*

Every line reeked of him flaunting his “childhood friend” status. As if he and Serena were destined, a match made in heaven. And I, Julian Vance, was nothing but a third wheel who took advantage while he was abroad recuperating. Just Serena’s little diversion when she was bored.

Five years together, and she’d never hosted a single exhibition for me, yet she actively insisted on hosting one for Jasper. The very thing I’d desperately pursued was effortlessly within someone else’s grasp.

Ha, utterly ridiculous.

I curled my lips, my fingers moving to type a reply. *“Will be there on time.”*

He claims to be The Maestro, huh? I’d like to see how he manages to exhibit *my* masterpieces.

My gaze dropped further. A message from my online friend, Taylor. *“Got any new art recently? Dying to see some master works!”*

These past few years, dating Serena, most of my energy went into managing her studio. I’d barely touch a brush every few months, sometimes half a year. Paintings were a rarity, just two or three a year, pitifully few. Taylor was someone I met online when I posted some sketches. We’d talked for three years. When I was stuck at home, I’d often chat with him, sharing my artwork. My troubled mood eased, if only for a moment.

Just then, the studio phone rang. I slid to answer.

“Mr. Vance, Ms. Walsh wants you to come to the studio tomorrow and clear out your office.”

A mix of annoyance and confusion drove me to ask, “Why?”

The person on the other end paused for a few seconds. “Ms. Walsh said she needs to clear out your office to make it Jasper Reed’s studio.”