Ex wife Revenge on Ex husband

The gallery lights hummed softly as Clara Hart finalized the details of the *Ephemeral Echoes* exhibit, a fractured mirror sculpture, casting jagged reflections throughout the minimalist white gallery. Her heels clicked a sharp rhythm against the polished floor, precise and on time, just like the revenge she had spent five years planning to exact. “Clara, the caterers have arrived. Also, the *Herald* wants a quote for tomorrow's piece.” Marco hovered near the door, tablet in hand. “Tell them that I’ll call after the event.” Clara’s voice was honey-coated steel. She never accepted interviews anymore. A chime echoed in the wide space as the front door opened. An elegant woman swept in, her scarlet pantsuit sharp enough to cut glass: Vivian Locke. Richard’s latest fiancée. The heiress whose family had funded his AI startup. “Ms. Hart,” Vivian purred, extending a hand. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Your gallery is much talked about.” Clara shook it, purposely ignoring the accelerated heartbeat. “Ms. Locke. I didn’t think you would visit the gallery before the opening.” “Curiosity,” Vivian’s gaze lingering on the mirror sculpture. “Your works… they feel *familiar*. Like I have seen them before. Maybe in another life.” Clara’s throat constricted. *Familiar.* Elena Marlow's old installations used to exist in Richard’s mansion. But Clara Hart's portfolio was cleared of any baggage from her past. “The beauty of art is universal,” Clara said lightly. “Would you care for me to show you the auction pieces?” Vivian bent forward, her Chanel No. 5 clashing with the sterile atmosphere of the gallery. “You know, my fiancé’s ex-wife was an artist as well. Such a tragic tale. Drowned five years ago. Or so they say.” The air became frostier. Clara dug her nails into the palms of her hands. “I hadn’t heard.” “Strangely, her body was never found.” Vivian tilted her head. “You share her eyes. Stormy gray. Unforgettable.” Clara laughed; it was a brittle sound. “I shall take that as a compliment.” A beat passed. Vivian’s smile sharpened. “You should. But do be wary. Mirrors” she nodded to the sculpture, “tend to reveal much more than what we intend.” As soon as the door shut behind Vivian, Clara's phone vibrated. Unknown number. Unknown: Hello, Elena. The fractured glass of the sculpture caught her reflection-Clara Hart's composed facade splitting and dissolving into nothing but a ghost of Elena Marlow.