Chapter 2

2 I was reading over the contract this artist had sent when a voice message popped up from Chloe. She cooed, "I'm so sorry, Ashley. Liam insisted on coming to my house to take care of me. I feel so bad that I'm messing up the exhibition schedule. You can't be mad at him, okay?" It was clear as day what she was trying to do. Tired of it, I zoomed in on Chloe's new profile pic. It showed her swollen, red face, cupped by a pair of big hands with a smattering of paint on them. Those hands were very familiar, they were Liam’s. He really did care about her. I closed the picture and changed my own profile pic from our wedding photo to a bird taking flight. It was the last day of the city art exhibit, and I was stuck in the back dealing with last-minute things. By the time I went to get a group photo, Liam already had his arm around Chloe in the center spot. The reporters were gushing, “You two are so cute! Seven years of marriage and you’re still so in love.” “Mrs. Walker looks so young! And she manages the studio and planned the exhibition. She’s a beauty and a brains!” They both heard the praise, but neither bothered to correct them. It wasn't until Chloe saw me that her eyes teared up and she dropped to her knees. “Ashley, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t get a chance to explain. All of Liam’s success is because of you. I’d never take credit for that.” The sudden move made things awkward. The only sound was the clicking of cameras. Liam moved in front of Chloe. “Ashley, do you have to be so aggressive?" he said. "Chloe did a lot for this exhibition. It's normal for me to bring her out and help her get her name out there.” He lowered his voice. "It's a public place, don’t make a scene.” I wouldn’t cause a scene, not anymore. I smiled, helped Chloe up, and introduced her to the media. This whole charade eventually ended. The interview was over, and I was on my phone, booking my plane ticket. Liam snatched my phone. “What are you doing? Booking an overseas ticket? How come I don't know about this?” He asked three questions in a row, brow furrowed, and voice shocked. “When did I schedule a show in Paris? Why didn't you tell me?” I didn’t think he'd react this way. Maybe my recent behavior finally got his attention. Liam looked panicked. "What are you planning?" he demanded, grabbing my hand. Before I could explain, a scream came from the back. Liam dropped my phone and rushed off. I calmly picked up my phone, hit 'purchase,' then followed him. The place was a mess, frames were shattered everywhere, and Chloe was on the floor, blood pouring from a gash on her wrist. "Waaah, Liam, my hand is hurt. What if I can’t draw anymore?” “Ashley made me come back here to organize these. I didn’t think these frames would fall. I was so careful! Did I do something wrong?” Liam cradled her hand, eyes red. Then he whirled around at me. "Ashley, is it not enough? You don’t have to do this!" “Chloe is my assistant, she just handles my things. What was she doing doing this hard work? All those years of your crap at dinner parties, I’ve tolerated it. Are you that low that you’re trying to hurt people now?” Ignoring all the looks, I tried to explain. “I didn't ask her to come here! I was up front just now…” Liam cut me off. “Of course, you didn’t have to! This is your domain, you get anyone you want to handle it.” “Now, you’re going to apologize to Chloe, or I’m calling the cops!” I laughed bitterly, about to agree with him and call the cops. Chloe threw herself at Liam, stopping him from calling the cops. Liam hissed, "Chloe won’t let me call them, fine, but I won’t forgive you!" He grabbed a nearby painting, throwing it at my feet. The wooden frame nearly crushed my toes, sharp edges digging into my skin. Blood started seeping out. “This is for Chloe! And listen up, everyone! From now on, no one listens to Ashley in this studio. If anyone follows her orders, get out. Ashley, when you've thought about what you've done and apologized to Chloe, then come back to the studio!” Liam picked Chloe up, and bumped right past me, not even looking back. I stood there, and tears spilled out onto the broken frame. It was the painting he’d spent three months on when he proposed. Our dream — to go to Paris and watch the sunset. The love he’d once shown me was a long-forgotten thing, his promises shattered by his own hands. I took the canvas from the frame, tore it into 48 pieces, and threw it in the trash.