Chapter 9: Always

Alexia burst into Elliot's study. Her green eyes blazing with anger. The absence of the HATE painting in her studio had shaken something deep in her, a loss she couldn't fully name.

Elliot looked up from his desk, calm and collected as usual.

"Alexia, I was expecting you."

"Where is it?"

"If you're referring to your painting—HATE—it's currently in a secure location."

"A secure location? You had no right to take it, Elliot. That painting is mine... it's personal. You can't just..."

"I didn't take it to steal it," he interrupted, "I took it because I saw what you refused to see, its power."

"Its power? What are you even talking about?"

"I took it to an art curator I trust. Someone with connections to the most exclusive galleries in the city. He took one look at it and said it's the kind of raw, emotional work collectors would fight over."

Alexia's anger simmered beneath her skin. "You did what?"

"I had it evaluated. And the curator offered to feature it in an upcoming exhibition. Not just that one piece, Alexia. He wants an entire series. Five, maybe seven pieces. All centered on the raw emotion you poured into HATE."

She stared at him, her mind racing to process his words. "You're telling me... you took my painting without permission, showed it to a stranger, and now you expect me to be... what? Grateful?"

"I expect you to see the opportunity. You've been fighting for exposure, for a chance to show the world what you can do. This is it, Alexia. This is your chance."

"And you thought taking my work, without asking, was the way to do that?"

"I thought taking action was the only way to get through to you," Elliot admitted, stepping closer. "You've been holding yourself back, refusing to take risks because of everything you've been through. I didn't do this to hurt you, I did it to help you."

Alexia stared at him. She wanted to stay angry, to yell, to demand he return the painting immediately. But the prospect of a gallery show.

"And what if I don't want to be part of this?"

"Then I'll pull the painting and cancel the whole thing. But Alexia, I think you know this is what you've been waiting for."

Alexia took a step back, her mind spun as she considered his words, her pride clashing against the raw truth she couldn't deny.

"And you think some stranger in a gallery is just going to... get it? Get why I painted it?" she said, her voice laced with skepticism.

"Not just some stranger," Elliot said firmly. "The kind of people who will see your work are the ones who can actually appreciate it. Understand it. These aren't hobbyists browsing a neighborhood art fair, Alexia. These are collectors, critics, people who can elevate your career to the level it deserves."

"And you just decided that for me? That I needed elevating? God, Elliot, do you even hear yourself?"

"I hear myself. Do you hear yourself? I'm not the enemy here, Alexia. I'm trying to show you what's possible."

"At what cost, Elliot? You think exposure is going to fix everything? You think seeing my work in some glossy gallery is going to erase the fact that you stole it from me?"

"I think seeing your work in a gallery will remind you of who you are. Of what you're capable of. You've spent so long being angry at me, at the world, that you've forgotten how to fight for yourself. That painting... it's your fight. And the world needs to see it."

"And what happens when this curator decides I'm just another one-hit wonder? That my anger is a gimmick?"

Elliot's gaze softened, his voice quieter now. "Then you prove them wrong. Because I've seen what you can do, Alexia. I've seen what you're capable of. And I know this isn't a gimmick. This is you."

She looked away, her fingers twitching at her sides. She hated how his words got under her skin, how they forced her to confront truths she wasn't ready to face.

"How long do I have to decide?" she whispered.

Elliot's lips curved into a faint, almost bittersweet smile. "You've got two weeks. The gallery opens next month, but they need the pieces by the end of the month to prepare. I'll leave it up to you. Completely."

"Don't expect me to thank you for this."

"I don't," he said simply.

Without another word, Alexia turned and left.

Alexia returned to her studio. The smell of turpentine greeted her, grounding her in the familiar chaos of her sanctuary. She sat on her stool, staring at the two pieces she'd been working on.

One was nearly done, and the second was more restrained, but no less powerful.

Her phone buzzed, breaking the silence. She glanced at the screen. Myra.

With a sigh, Alexia answered. "Hey."

"I just got your text. Elliot did what?"

"He took the HATE painting and showed it to a curator without telling me, now he's pushing me to create a series for some gallery exhibition."

"Oh, my God. Wait. Are we mad about this, or are we celebrating?"

"Mad."

"You don't sound mad. You sound... conflicted."

"I just... I don't know, Myra. It's an enormous opportunity, but I hate that he forced my hand. It's like he's always three steps ahead, pulling strings I didn't ask for."

"Okay, but let's not get lost in the drama. This isn't about Elliot. It's about you, Alexia. Your work. Your talent. Do you want people to see it?"

"Yes, but..."

"Then stop overthinking. This is your moment. Don't let your pride get in the way of something that could change your life."

Alexia stared at the canvas in front of her. The colors stared back at her like a challenge, daring her to step into the spotlight she'd always craved but never reached for.

"You think I can pull it off?"

"I know you can. And deep down, so do you."

As the call ended, Alexia sat in silence, and for the first time in a long while, the anger released. A piece of her soul rested.

 Elliot sat in his study, his eyes fixed on the crimson bracelet resting on his desk. The garnet shimmered faintly in the lamplight. Alexia, don't let your pride destroy this opportunity of a lifetime.

His phone buzzed. "Is it done?"

"Almost," said the man on the other end of the line. "The gallery is on board, but I need confirmation on the pieces. Are you sure she's ready for this?"

Elliot exhaled slowly. "She doesn't need to know everything. Just keep it. I'll handle her."

"And if she finds out?"

"She won't. Not yet."

"You're walking a fine line, Elliot. If this backfires..."

"I said I'll handle it," Elliot interrupted. "This is about her work, her future. Nothing else matters."

As the call ended, his gaze drifted to the painting on the far wall—the one Alexia had gifted him years ago, a painting of them before everything fell apart.

For her. It's always for her.