Revenge in Bloom

Palette of Plan

Amelia didn’t believe in fate. If anything, she believed in control—something she’d lost the moment Sarah had stolen her work and flaunted it as her own. The memory of her name being stripped from the centerpiece of Sarah’s upcoming exhibit churned in her mind, sharp and relentless.

But control could be regained. Carefully. Deliberately.

She stared at her laptop, the glow of the screen illuminating her dim studio. Sarah’s exhibit announcement was still open in one tab:

Sarah Calloway’s Solo Exhibition: Emotions Reimagined.

The centerpiece image stared back at her, mocking her. Amelia’s own work, her own pain, reduced to a hollow marketing tool for Sarah’s ambitions.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she clicked on another tab—a search result she’d pulled up earlier that evening.

Jacob “Jake” Morgan.

She’d found him online after their encounter at the bar. He wasn’t exactly hard to track down—his name popped up in articles and forums tied to underground art scenes, whispers of edgy, controversial work that had gotten him blacklisted from a few galleries. A muralist with a reputation for pushing boundaries—and occasionally breaking them.

Jake wasn’t someone you invited into polite company. He wasn’t polished or predictable. But that’s what made him perfect.

Amelia leaned back, staring at the faint outline of her plan sketched in her notebook. She didn’t need Jake to know he was helping her. She just needed to steer him in the right direction.

The next evening, Amelia found Jake at the same bar, perched on a stool near the back, his beer already half-empty. He looked up as she approached, his dark eyes flicking over her with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

“Twice in one week,” he said, leaning back. “Starting to think you might like me.”

Amelia rolled her eyes, sliding onto the stool beside him. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Jake smirked, but his gaze lingered on her, sharp and assessing. “So, what’s the deal? You here to paint, or you just like slumming it?”

“Neither.” Amelia met his gaze, her expression carefully neutral. “There’s a gallery opening tomorrow night. Thought you might be interested.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, his smirk fading slightly. “A gallery? Not exactly my scene.”

“Because they kicked you out of one?” she asked, her tone light but pointed.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, but there was no real anger in them—just a flicker of something darker. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

“Maybe,” Amelia said, shrugging. “Or maybe you’re just predictable.”

Jake let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, I’ll bite. Why are you inviting me?”

Amelia tilted her head, as if considering the question. “Let’s just say I think you’d appreciate the... energy of the place. The artist’s work is bold, emotional. A little messy.”

Jake studied her for a long moment, his gaze unsettlingly direct. “And what’s in it for you?”

“Maybe I just like good company,” she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

Jake didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged, draining the last of his beer. “Fine. I’ll check it out. But if it’s boring, I’m blaming you.”