Episode 11
1132 Words
CONFESSIONS ON CANVAS
Ava’s phone rang just after 3 a.m.
She didn’t answer it—not right away. But she saw the name flash across the screen, glowing in the dark like a haunting: Natalie.
Luca stirred beside her. “Everything okay?”
Ava whispered, “Yeah. Go back to sleep.”
But her chest was tight, heartbeat hammering with the kind of dread that didn’t come from nightmares—it came from truth trying to claw its way out.
She slipped into the living room, phone pressed to her ear.
Natalie’s voice was shaky. “He found out where I live.”
Ava’s stomach dropped. “Did he do anything?”
“No. Just… showed up. Said he wanted to talk. Said he was ‘sorry if I misunderstood him.’ That he forgives me.”
Ava inhaled sharply. “Did you call the cops?”
“I will. I just—I panicked. I froze.”
Ava didn’t hesitate. “You can stay here. My couch. Hell, my bed.”
Natalie paused. Then, softly: “Thanks, Ava. You don’t even know me.”
“I do,” Ava said. “More than you think.”
By morning, Natalie was curled up under a blanket, Sasha had already pulled legal favors for a restraining order, and Ember was halfway through a digital lockdown on Cole’s accounts.
“This is war now,” Ember muttered. “And I’ve got receipts.”
Luca showed up with bagels and espresso, kissed Ava like it was his daily religion, and offered to install security cameras.
Ava nodded gratefully, but something in her mind was still reeling.
Cole’s desperation was a ticking bomb.
But Ava wasn’t afraid.
She was just tired of playing defense.
Later that day, she opened a new canvas.
Big. Blank. Stark.
She picked up her brush, dipped it in red, and painted the first jagged streak like a wound ripped wide open.
Then came black. Then violet. Then gold.
Each stroke a confession.
Each color a reclaiming.
The piece had no title—only feeling. Anger. Freedom. Grief.
Healing.
When she finally stepped back, chest heaving, her hands were shaking.
Luca walked in quietly, eyes sweeping the canvas. He didn’t speak for a long time.
Then: “That’s the most beautiful rage I’ve ever seen.”
Ava let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “It’s not done.”
“Neither are you.”
Natalie left two days later with a new place and her head a little higher. She and Ava hugged tightly.
“You gave me more than space,” Natalie whispered. “You gave me courage.”
Ava smiled. “Just promise me you’ll use it.”
Natalie smirked. “You kidding? I already signed up for boxing classes and submitted an op-ed to Femme Fierce.”
Ava grinned. “Now that’s the glow-up I like to see.”
But even with things moving forward, a small part of Ava couldn’t stop replaying the moment Cole showed up.
Not because she feared him. No.
Because she feared what he might still have.
The secrets Ava hadn’t uncovered yet.
That night, she sat on her balcony, scrolling through old pictures on her hard drive. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was chasing closure. Or maybe it was intuition.
Then she found it.
A folder labeled NYE Trip. From two years ago. A trip she barely remembered anymore—one she hadn’t wanted to go on but got guilted into.
Inside: dozens of photos. Her, Cole, some of his friends.
But one name caught her eye—Delilah.
Cole’s old “work friend.”
She clicked.
A short video played.
Delilah and Cole. Drunk. Laughing.
Cole’s arm wrapped around her.
Then he kissed her.
Hard.
The timestamp was two days before Ava’s birthday. He’d told her he was sick that night.
Ava sat still. Ice bloomed in her chest.
This wasn’t just about emotional abuse.
It was layers of betrayal. Years deep.
She should’ve deleted it.
Instead, she emailed it to herself.
Then opened a new project file titled:
"Pretty Lies."
The next day, Ava had coffee with Luca at his bar before it opened.
She told him everything. The email. The video. The fear.
He didn’t flinch.
Instead, he said, “Do you want to ruin him?”
Ava blinked. “What?”
Luca leaned in, voice low. “Not hypothetically. Not emotionally. Actually. End his career. Burn his image to the ground. Because I know people who can help.”
Ava stared at him.
She hadn’t expected that.
But then she saw it—the fire behind his golden-boy eyes. The darkness he rarely showed.
The protector beneath the flirt.
“I don’t want revenge,” she said softly. “I want truth. I want it so loud he can’t hide from it anymore.”
Luca nodded. “Then we’ll make sure it echoes.”
The next week was a blur.
Ava met with a lawyer who specialized in emotional abuse cases. She shared evidence. Patterns. Statements.
Natalie agreed to testify—anonymously, if needed.
Sasha drafted a formal statement for the gallery’s press release.
And Ember?
She found the motherload.
An old NDA Cole made someone sign.
Turns out, it wasn’t his first scandal.
He’d silenced someone before.
Ava decided to paint it.
A series.
Four canvases.
Each named after a piece of emotional warfare:
“Gaslight.”
“Love Bomb.”
“Silence.”
“Survivor.”
They’d hang in the gallery. No caption. Just raw truth.
She added a quote to the wall beside them:
“He told me I was hard to love. I believed him. Until I realized I was just too much for someone who preferred women with no fire.”
The exhibit launched with a line around the block.
Inside, the air buzzed with emotion.
People whispered. Cried. Raged.
Women hugged each other.
Men stood quiet, shaken.
And Ava?
She stood in the center. Calm. Rooted. Radiant.
This wasn’t about Cole anymore.
It was about every woman who’d been told she was too much, too broken, too loud.
Ava had become their mirror.
And she was finally whole.
That night, as the exhibit closed and the gallery dimmed, Luca walked up behind her.
He didn’t say anything. Just wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her.
She leaned into him. Tired. Relieved.
He whispered, “So what’s next?”
Ava smiled.
“I think I’m ready to tell my story. All of it. In my own words.”
“A book?”
“Maybe. Or a blog. Something real. Something raw.”
Luca kissed her shoulder. “You’ll set the world on fire, Ava.”
She turned to him, eyes soft.
“No. I’ll set it free.”
- Writer
