Emma's gallery opening was small but meaningful.
The paintings on the walls were hers real paintings this time, not commissioned work for people who didn't care. Dark pieces. Honest pieces. Works that showed the cost of everything she'd been through.
She stood in the corner, watching people move through the space, and tried not to think about Damien.
Six months. It had been six months since she left the manor. Six months of rebuilding. Of therapy. Of learning who she was without a contract or a brother or a man who loved her but couldn't figure out how to be with her.
She'd used the money from the contract to rent a small apartment and open this gallery space. The remaining funds from the ten million were locked away a safety net she'd probably never use but needed to exist.
Tyler had
