ped, monosyllabic answers, my gaze distant, fixed on a future he wasn't a part of. He seemed unsettled by my n

" he said one morning, breaking the tense silence over bre

funeral? Without me?" His words were lik

arted to smooth my hair, his touch sending shivers of revulsion down my spine. "I wanted to spare you the details, darling. You've been through so

asked, pulling away from his touch. "M

arnet. For both of us. I'll drive you there myself. We'll present a united front for the p

g felt wrong. Deeply wrong. But what choice

n was already waiting by the car, a sleek black sedan. He opened the door for me,

t heading towards the cemetery. My heart began to pound. "Br

e busy street. Aimee. Her face, enlarged to almost grotesque proportions, dominated the city block. Below her, splashed in bold letters, were the words: "Aimee Wells: The Artist Unv

is wasn't a funeral.

ere, prominently displayed in the center of the banner, was a painting. A painting of a broken, weeping woman, her face obscured by shadow, ho

my voice raw with disbelief and b

nts you to be here. For support. For validation. It's good for her career. And for ours, in a roundabout way." Hi

lled in my eyes, hot and stinging, blurring the grotesque image of myself on the banner.

I won't. I can't." I fumbled with the

ce was low, menacing. "You will walk in there, and you will smile. For Aimee. For me." He dragged me

hushed whispers, the clinking of champagne glasses. The air was thick with perfume

elegant silver of Brennan' s suit. They were a perfect, sickening match. She floated

ced by a tender embrace for Aimee. "My love," he murmured

"Garnet! So glad you could make it. Brennan told me you wouldn't m

e from the flashing lights, from the hungry eyes of the press. He would have held my hand, his pre

dbreaking work?" "Is it true you were the inspiration for these... intensely personal pieces?" "How does it feel to

lared, his voice smooth, practiced for the cameras. "We are all incredibly proud of her talent." He smiled, a p

ary art." Aimee, meanwhile, nestled further into his side, her proprietorial hand subtly tucked into his arm, her eyes darting to

s and whispered conjectures. The room spun. The humiliation wa

cluster of curious onlookers, my hands shaking. I grabbed Brennan' s ar

A flicker of something dangerous ignited in their depths. "Garnet

catching on the plush carpet, and I fell, my injured hand scraping against the floor. A

low and furious. "This is Aimee's moment! Her

m. "Oh, Garnet, are you alright? Brennan, darling, be gentle. She didn't mean it." She leaned in

Brennan, her eyes glistening. "She's just so jea

st to his earlier violence towards me. He glared down at me, his face a mask of disgus

d. I looked up at him, my vision blurred. "Is this what I am to you, Brennan?" I whispere

Let me go." My plea was not for him to love me, but for him to simply acknowledge my human