The Phoenix Secret

Chapter 4: A Rising Star.

Windhaven was painted in warm tones by the sun's golden rays as it dropped low over the seaside town. Elena stood in front of her most recent painting, a stormy seascape full of life and passion, inside her little studio. A fragment of her journey—pain, hope, and resiliency—was conveyed by each brushstroke.

Comforting constants were the sound of seagulls outside the window and the smell of paint. Today, however, felt different. There was a silent expectation in the air.

Her concentration was disrupted by her phone buzzing on the table. The sight of an unknown number made her heart skip a beat, so she wiped her hands on a handkerchief and took it up.

"Hello?"

"Hayes, Elena?" The line was filled with a clear, businesslike voice.

"This is her, indeed."

Alice Harper is my name. I'm calling from the Monette Gallery in New York on behalf of Elizabeth Monette. Ms. Monette is very pleased with your work, which we have been following. She wants to include you in a future exhibition of up-and-coming artists.

Elena clutched the phone as she froze. "New York?"

Indeed. We would be delighted to incorporate your works in the event, which is set for next month. When Ms. Monette saw your collection at Windhaven's exhibition, she directly asked you to become involved.

Elena's throat became constricted. She managed to say, "I'm honored." "But I need some time to think about it."

"Obviously," Alice answered with ease. I'll send you the information via email. Kindly notify us within a week. Ms. Hayes, we hope to see you there.

Elena stared at the phone as the conversation ended. New York. Five years ago, she had run away from this metropolis. She wasn't sure whether she was prepared to confront a land full of darkness and ghosts.

Days went by in a fog of uncertainty. Elena kept repeating the call over and over in her head. Her dreams of acceptance, acknowledgment, and the ability to prove herself to herself and the world were all fulfilled by this opportunity.

But there was a price for it. Even if only briefly, returning to New York meant entering Victor's world once again. Was she willing to take the chance?

She turned to see Adrian seated on the floor, scrawling frantically on a piece of paper. His penetrating blue eyes, which resembled Victor's, were fixed on her.

"Look, Mommy!" He displayed his sketch, a rough but charming portrait of their tiny family.

Elena grinned, love and determination filling her heart. Piece by piece, she had constructed this existence for him. Was wanting more selfish?

She recalled her confidante and mentor, Evelyn Mercer. She had always been urged by Evelyn to stop hiding from the world and to embrace her talents.

Evelyn had previously said, "Elena, you're not just surviving." "You're turning chaos into beauty." It's a gift.

Elena made her choice that night.

There was a lot going on in the weeks before the show. Elena meticulously packed her greatest works, each of which reflected her travels, for transportation. Adrian questioned her about the enormous city while observing her with interest.

As she wrapped a canvas carefully one day, he said, "Will there be lots of people?"

She smiled and answered, "Yes, dear." "A large number of people."

"And large structures?"

"Very large structures."

"Are they going to enjoy your paintings?"

Elena stopped and brushed a flyaway hair off his forehead. "I hope so."

She was struggling with waves of anxiousness as the day of their departure drew near. What if she was recognized by someone? What if Victor found out about her existence somehow?

"No," she said in a low voice. "He won't."

Using her married name, Elena Hayes, rather than Blackwood, and avoiding specifics about herself in any contact, she had taken every care. However, the idea persisted, eating away at her determination.

***

Although lengthy, the journey to New York was uneventful. Her worries were briefly calmed by Adrian's wide-eyed awe at the sights of the busy metropolis.

Their hotel room had a view of the shimmering skyline and was simple but pleasant. While Adrian played with his toys on the bed, Elena spent the evening discussing last-minute arrangements with the organizer of the gallery.

The next morning, she saw the clean, contemporary exterior of the Monette Gallery while standing outside. Her hands shook a little as she fiddled with her portfolio bag's strap.

"Is this the location, Mommy?" Adrian gripped her hand and asked.

She answered, "Yes, sweetheart," in a calm voice despite the internal raging.

Warmly greeting them, Elizabeth Monette exuded easy power in her fitted suit and silver-streaked hair.

She held out her hand and said, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Hayes."

Despite her nervousness, Elena shook it firmly. "Thank you, Ms. Monette, for this chance. To me, it meant the world.

Elizabeth's eyes became softer. "My darling, your art speaks for itself. I have no doubt that it will leave a lasting effect.

Elena was filled with pride as they passed the exhibition and saw her paintings next to those of well-known painters. Staff members who stopped to remark expressed respect for her paintings because of their striking colors and unfiltered feelings.

One of your assistants said, "Your seascapes are amazing." "They look so... alive."

Elena's heart was pounding, yet she smiled. Despite the overwhelming amount of adulation, a little voice in her head said, *You belong here.*

***

Elena was standing in front of a mirror in the hotel room that night, brushing the material of her understated but sophisticated black dress. The babysitter she had hired was watching after Adrian, who was sound sleeping in the next room.

To calm herself for the gala, she inhaled deeply. After years of concealment, here was her opportunity to shine.

However, she was about to leave when she heard a tap on the door.

With a dozen possible outcomes racing through her head, her heart leaped.

"Hayes, Elena?" The voice on the other end was muffled.

She frowned as she opened the door and saw an envelope in the hands of a courier.

He handed it over and walked away down the corridor, saying, "This was left for you at the gallery."

Elena gazed at the envelope with her name written in an unknown hand across the front. She ripped it open with shaking fingers and took out one piece of paper.

Although the message was short, it made her feel quite cold:

Greetings from New York again.

As she read the sentences again, her thoughts whirling, her blood went cold. This was sent by whom? How were they aware of her presence?

The room's walls seemed to enclose her as her respiration became more rapid.

She had never realized how near the past she had worked so hard to avoid was.