Steal My Art Enjoy Your Prison Cell, Ex-Husband

The gallery my husband and I ran survived solely on my paintings. I had always created my art anonymously. No one knew that the mysterious artist behind those viral masterpieces was actually me. Until Arthur Sterling, the billionaire patriarch of Seattle's elite Sterling family, fell in love with my work and offered a fortune to have me reveal my identity at a solo exhibition. But on the day of the exhibition, my husband held me back and let Chloe, our gallery intern, take the stage to steal my identity. Instead of getting angry, I smiled. Chloe was nothing but a copycat who only knew how to trace master studies. She didn’t have a single drop of original talent or style. I shrugged at the two of them, completely unfazed. "Fine. Let's see if you two actually have what it takes to handle this crazy stroke of fortune." Arthur Sterling loved collecting art. Whether it was historic masterpieces, famous contemporary works, or wild, imaginative pieces by young artists, he appreciated them all. Recently, the internet had been buzzing with rumors that the elder Sterling was offering a massive reward to find an anonymous painter. I didn't even know about it until my husband, Julian, ran up to me with his phone, practically vibrating with excitement. "Clara, look! The painting Arthur Sterling posted on his social media—isn't that your 'Whispers of Autumn' from a few years ago?" I glanced at the screen. It was indeed one of my old pieces. Julian and I had been married for five years. We ran an art gallery together, but business had been terrible lately. My anonymous paintings were the only things keeping us afloat. I had produced a lot of work over the years, always staying behind the scenes. Nobody knew I was the mind behind the brush. As my pieces gained popularity, more and more people became curious about my real identity. "Babe, our gallery has been struggling so much, and our bills are piling up. This is our golden ticket!" Julian kept urging me to go public. To be honest, I had thought about doing a face reveal and hosting my own solo exhibition. It was a lifelong dream of mine. I wasn’t trying to be aloof or pretentious. I had only chosen anonymity in the beginning because I didn't want the spotlight. It didn't take long for Arthur Sterling to trace the painting back to our gallery. He immediately invested a massive sum of money to fund my solo exhibition. I was deeply touched and knew how rare of an opportunity this was. After some discussion, my grand debut exhibition was scheduled for next Saturday. I prepared anxiously, pulling all-nighters for a week to create several new pieces as a special gift for my fans. The night before the exhibition, Julian didn't come home until very late. Right before I went to sleep, I got a call from him. "Clara, Arthur isn't feeling well. They’ve postponed the exhibition by a day. You should take this chance to get some good rest!" I didn't doubt him. Arthur was elderly and the sole investor of the show, so a short delay seemed perfectly reasonable. But by noon the next day, Julian still hadn't come home. A nagging sense of anxiety settled deep in my chest. I decided to drive down to the gallery, only to find the street outside completely blocked by crowds. There were members of the Sterling family, news reporters, magazine journalists, and countless fans. It was bizarre. I was the artist, and I hadn't even arrived, so why was everyone already here? I pushed through the crowd to look at the center stage. There stood Chloe, our fake-innocent gallery intern, wearing a chic Chanel-style tweed dress. She was chatting and laughing with Arthur Sterling, her face glowing with triumph. For a second, my mind went completely blank. But then, reality set in. Just as I was about to walk toward the stage, Julian materialized out of nowhere, grabbed my arm, and dragged me out of the crowd. "Clara, what are you doing here? I thought I told you—" Julian's face was a mask of panic and embarrassment, his eyes darting around guiltily. "Am I not supposed to be here? But looking at this, it seems I really chose the wrong time to show up!" I crossed my arms, waiting for a logical explanation. "Clara, you've always hated the spotlight, right? There are so many people here today, you would've been so uncomfortable. I just had Chloe stand in for you." "Besides, you already have me. You don't need all this fame. Chloe is still young and needs this kind of break. In the end, it’s all for our gallery anyway." It was laughable. Julian was so desperate to push his little side-chick into my spotlight that he didn't even care how ridiculous he sounded. "Is that so? So that's your excuse for identity theft? This is fraud, Julian. Do you have any idea how many people you're scamming?" Julian frowned at me, looking annoyed as if I was the one throwing a childish tantrum. "Why do you have to put it so harshly? Chloe is doing you a favor! You always bragged about wanting a quiet life, right? Now you get to stay behind the scenes, so what are you mad about?" "You're just a housewife now. Just help me run the gallery. Why do you need to show off? Leave the spotlight to the younger generation!" "Chloe is young, beautiful, and fits the exact image the public wants. A young, gorgeous prodigy makes for a much better story." Hearing my husband of five years say these words sent a cold shiver down my spine. But it didn't matter anymore. I was completely done with him. "Sure. Let's see how she plans to keep up the act."Seeing that I wasn't backing down, Julian grew angry. "Clara, do you have to ruin this now? What are you going to do, march in there and tell everyone you painted it?" "How are we supposed to keep the gallery open after that? How is Chloe supposed to survive in this industry?" I hadn't even said another word, and Julian was already losing his mind. It was pathetic. For five years, Julian and I had poured our blood, sweat, and tears into this gallery. In this artistic space where creativity met hidden greed, I, the true co-owner, was suddenly reduced to a mere bystander, silently watching everything crumble. My name no longer mattered. What mattered was that I once thought I had a perfect marriage. This gallery had witnessed our love story, and now, it was witnessing how our marriage was breaking piece by piece. When Chloe first arrived, she was just an insignificant intern. She had dropped out of a community college art program and came straight to our studio. I hadn't wanted to hire her. She always showed up dressed to the nines, wearing heavy makeup and trendy outfits, but her actual skills never improved. She constantly spoke with subtle, flirtatious undertones. That fake-innocent, submissive act of hers reminded me of those manipulative starlets who used drama to get ahead. She knew exactly how to play men, using her soft, suggestive voice to wrap them around her finger. And Julian was completely defenseless against her "charm." He began finding every excuse to stay late at the gallery, discussing paintings with Chloe, and even personally teaching her how to copy master studies. I couldn't understand what was so complicated about basic copying that required his personal, hands-on guidance. But now, I understood perfectly. Since they were bold enough to pull off identity theft, whatever they did before wasn't surprising at all. Inside, Chloe finally seemed to finish dealing with the reporters. Lifting the skirt of her dress, she came skipping out toward us. "Julian, babe! There are so many people in there. I'm completely parched!" Chloe acted as if I weren't even standing there, throwing herself into Julian's arms. Julian looked absolutely delighted. "Thanks for your hard work, Chloe. I'll take you out to a fancy dinner to celebrate once this is over, okay?" Watching them play their parts, they looked more like a married couple than Julian and I ever did. Suddenly, Chloe "noticed" me, her eyes widening in mock surprise. "Oh, Clara! You're here! You're not mad at me, are you? I didn't mean to take your place without asking..." "I really didn't want to do it at first. I get so nervous in front of cameras! But Julian said it would be much better if I was the face of the brand." "Clara, please don't be mad. If you want to yell at anyone, yell at me. Don't blame Julian. He's been working so hard lately, we need to be understanding." Julian immediately comforted her, looking at her with pure adoration. "Don't worry, Chloe. You're just too sweet and always let people walk all over you. I've already talked to her. You have nothing to worry about." I watched their little performance, my heart entirely numb. "Fine. Since you both love playing pretend so much, have at it." "From this day on, I have absolutely nothing to do with this gallery or my past paintings. It's all on you now, Chloe." Chloe was just a copycat who only knew how to trace. She had no real talent and could never replicate my creative spirit or style. I shrugged at them, a cold smile playing on my lips. "I can't wait to see if you actually have what it takes to handle this crazy stroke of fortune."I packed up my personal belongings and walked out of the gallery. The night was dark, and the yellow glow of the streetlights stretched my shadow long against the pavement. Thinking back to the years I spent with Julian, my heart was a tangled mess of emotions. During college, we bonded over art. He was the muse in my paintings, and I was the soul in his sketches. Back then, we had endless dreams for the future, working and fighting side-by-side. After graduation, we didn't look for comfortable corporate jobs. Instead, we decided to open our own gallery. That road was much harder than we ever imagined. Lack of funding, zero connections, brutal competition... every obstacle felt like a mountain crushing us. But we never gave up. Julian worked sales during the day, and stayed up all night with me while I painted. Our love grew stronger during those dark days. Eventually, our hard work paid off. The gallery gained a reputation, even attracting the attention of famous art critics. Even though I painted anonymously, watching customers stop in front of my work, their eyes filled with genuine admiration, gave me an indescribable sense of pride. But Chloe had turned all of our sacrifices into nothing but a joke. I went back to our apartment and sat on the sofa, letting my mind wander. I knew crying wouldn't solve anything. It would only make me look weak. So, I wouldn't shed a single tear. I wanted to watch them crash and burn under the weight of their own lies. I opened my phone. On Snapchat, Chloe had already posted a photo of her posing with Arthur Sterling. The Sterling family held absolute power in Seattle's high society. Arthur's stamp of approval was the ultimate honor for any artist. Yet, looking at the picture, I didn't feel a single ounce of anxiety. Because I knew Chloe only got this far because of her sweet talk and manipulative charm. But she had no real skill. Her technique was mediocre, and her talent was non-existent. She could never replicate the soul of my art. I took a deep breath and began packing my bags. This apartment, once filled with warmth and laughter, now felt freezing cold and foreign. Every object held a memory, but now, those memories felt like sharp knives piercing my chest. I gently touched the familiar furniture, saying goodbye to a chapter of my life. The clothes in the closet, the books on the shelves, the painting we had worked on together that hung on the living room wall... I touched it gently, a bitter taste in my mouth. This painting was once the proof of our love. Now, it was just a relic of a broken marriage. I pulled out my suitcase and neatly folded my clothes inside. I was wrapping up my thoughts when the front door clicked open.Julian and Chloe walked in together. Their figures looked blurry under the dim hallway light, and they carried a heavy stench of alcohol. The smell was sharp and familiar, reminding me of the countless nights Julian and I had shared. But tonight, that smell was proof of their betrayal. I was the outsider in my own home. "I took Chloe to her celebration dinner. She had a little too much to drink, and it’s too late for a young girl to go home alone, so I brought her back." I didn't care. I didn't even look up. What did it have to do with me? Julian looked at my packed suitcase with drunken eyes, a dismissive smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, come on. Are you seriously still throwing a fit? I already told you, you hate the spotlight anyway. Chloe is just helping you." "Stop being dramatic. We're about to be filthy rich. How about I take you on a trip? You've always wanted to go to Europe, right?" He actually thought I was just throwing a temper tantrum. He thought that if he gave me a few sweet words, I would cave like I always did. But he was wrong. This time, I was leaving for good. "What are you even doing? You're completely overreacting!" Julian's tone turned arrogant and annoyed. I gave him a cold look, silent and expressionless. Chloe stood beside him, a triumphant smirk on her face, her eyes filled with silent mockery. She was enjoying her victory, fully believing she had replaced me in Julian's life. "Let's get a divorce," I said quietly, my voice steady and firm. Saying those words felt like releasing a heavy weight I had been carrying for years. Julian froze, then let out a harsh laugh. "Divorce? Are you out of your mind?" His tone was filled with disgust and anger. He thought I was just bluffing to get his attention. "Are you serious? Over something this stupid? You are being so incredibly childish!" I didn't argue. I simply pulled out the signed divorce papers I had prepared and slid them across the table. Seeing the papers, Chloe's eyes instantly welled up with fake tears. "Clara, are you really that mad at me? It's all my fault! Please don't be mad, don't leave Julian because of me!" Julian snapped, his patience entirely gone. "Why can't you be sweet and understanding like Chloe for once?" I sneered. "Then sign the papers, divorce me, and go marry someone as 'understanding' as Chloe." He glared at me, snatched the pen, and barely glanced at the document before scribbling his signature in a fit of rage. In that moment, I knew our marriage was officially dead. Without another look, I grabbed my suitcase, turned around, and walked out of the apartment we once shared. Chloe had a victorious smile plastered on her face, but right then, her phone rang. She picked it up, and in an instant, the color drained from her face. Her hands began to shake violently. "Julian... what do we do?" "Arthur Sterling wants to host a live painting showcase for me... I have to paint live in front of the critics! I... I don't know how!" The real show was about to begin.