Chapter 7 You Bastard!
691 Words
She felt a crushing, suffocating pain in her chest, so intense she could barely stand.
Those paintings... She had created them during the darkest period of her depression, when every brushstroke felt like dragging something out of blood, tears, and despair.
They were the only private outlet she had during the most unbearable years of her youth.
Later, Dominick told her they were proof of her growth. He promised he would keep them safe.
Apparently, this was what he meant by keeping them safe.
Charlotte drove straight to the gallery.
Dominick stood near the center of the exhibition hall, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He smiled easily as he spoke with the guests, warm and approachable, just like he always had.
But now, when Charlotte looked at that face, it felt completely unfamiliar.
"These paintings are mine!" she burst out, storming toward him. "I painted every single one of them! How dare you give it to her? How dare you?"
She grabbed the front of his suit, clutching his collar as anger shook her body.
Dominick stiffened almost imperceptibly.
He looked down at Charlotte's pale, devastated face, and something flickered briefly in his eyes.
But it disappeared quickly. "Evie has been struggling in the art world for years," he said quietly. "She's never had the chance. These paintings were just gathering dust anyway. At least this way they're being put to good use."
Charlotte forced her eyes wide, refusing to let a single tear fall.
'Put to good use. Such a casual phrase.'
Her agony, her blood, her tears, reduced to nothing but a stepping stone for her abuser to chase fame and fortune!
Evelyn swayed her hips as she sauntered over. Leaning close, she whispered so only Charlotte could hear, "Charlotte, your talent... Your life... Everything you have... They all belong to me now. These too. And what do you have left?"
Charlotte could give up Dominick, but not the paintings.
She was furious, her jaw tight, her fists clenched as she glared at him.
"Is this what you want, Dominick?"
"You think you can walk all over me to pave the way for her? Dream on!"
Dominick suddenly grabbed her wrist, his grip tightening. His voice dropped low, edged with warning.
"Charlotte! Stop this! Please! I'm begging you! Today is important to Evie! She's already pregnant! Just let it go!"
"Pregnant?"
She stared at him, her eyes cold and hollow.
"Stolen paintings are now her bragging rights? And a stolen husband becomes something she can proudly parade around? Dominick... Where is your conscience? You once forced her to apologize to me. Remember that? Where did that sense of justice go?"
Dominick flinched under the contempt in her eyes. When he spoke again, his tone turned harsh, reckless, desperate.
"Charlotte, listen. If you cause a scene today, if you ruin Evie's exhibition and embarrass her..." He paused before delivering the final, killing blow.
"I'll release that video. The one from high school. The video of you being assaulted."
Time seemed to stop.
Charlotte stared at him, unblinking.
For Evelyn, he was actually willing to go this far.
The very last, dying ember of hope in her heart extinguished with a quiet hiss.
Cold flooded her body until even the pain faded.
Then suddenly, she laughed.
"Dominick, you bastard!"
She turned away from him and walked toward the center of the gallery.
Evelyn's face drained of color.
"Dino! She's crazy!" she shrieked. "Stop her!"
But it was too late.
Charlotte stepped onto the stage. Under the stunned gaze of the media and the crowd, she picked up the microphone.
"Sorry for interrupting. I'll only take three minutes."
"The paintings displayed here today were not painted by Evelyn. They were painted by me."
Photos appeared on the large screen behind her, each one stamped with a time and date. In every photo, Charlotte could clearly be seen standing in front of the same paintings displayed in the exhibition.
Charlotte looked down at Evelyn's pale face, then at Dominick, who stood frozen like stone.
"These works," she said with ringing clarity, "were stolen by Evelyn with the help of my husband, Dominick."
- Writer
