Page 162 of Beautiful Lies

A haunted dreamscape.

And maybe a tale of the night my life split in two.

André steps closer, hands behind his back, chin lifted just enough to show he’s in deep artistic-analysis mode. But the wide smile on his face says everything.

“This one,” he says quietly, “is special.”

I swallow, almost afraid to breathe. “Really?”

“Oh, yes.” He nods with vigor. “I was most eager to see it. The picture I was sent was good, but now that I see the brushstrokes and the emotion… it’s sensational.”

A shiver of excitement runs down my spine. That’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever received. “Thank you so much. I’m so glad you think so.”

“Absolutely. This piece is not merely art. It feels like a doorway. You step close and feel… something pulling at you.” He moves forward, almost reverently, as if the painting might breathe. “The composition is bold. The texture is fearless. And the atmosphere…” He exhales softly, like the truth is settling in his chest. “It’s the work of someone who isn’t just painting a scene but a state of being. A moment suspended between terror and longing.”

Wow. He’s spot on. “That’s exactly what I was going for.” Because that’s how I felt.

He points to the streaks of iridescent red I layered into the sky. “These,” he murmurs, “are extraordinary. Most artists shy away from mixing cold fear with warm hope, but you blend them. Seamlessly. As if you understand that beauty and horror sometimes live in the same heartbeat.”

“That’s the essence of my style. I like to explore the deepest point of beauty and taint it with a kiss of darkness.”

André looks even more impressed with me. “Isla, you have the kind of raw creative talent that I’ve only ever come across a few times in my life. I would absolutely love you on my design team.”

My heart stops, and my breath stills. “I…you want… me?”

He smiles warmly, the kind of smile you only give when you’re absolutely certain of your decision. “Yes,” he says simply. “Your work has soul. I want that on my stage.”

My knees nearly buckle. “Oh my God. I actually have the job?”

He laughs heartily. “If you want it.”

“I want it. I do.” I say the words like I’m making a vow. “Thank you so, so much. This is such an amazing opportunity.”

“For me, too.” His smile brightens. “As you know, I don’t hold conventional interviews.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“I’m happy your husband got in touch with me. I’m glad I got to snap you up before any other theater.”

This feels like a dream. Him talking about snappingmeup?

I feel like pinching myself. But I know this is real. No dream has ever felt this amazing.

“I’m so honored.”

“Welcome aboard, Isla Vale.” He extends a hand. “Come to the theatre on Monday. We have a production meeting at six. We can discuss contract details then.”

“Thank you.” I place my trembling hand in his, and he gives a gentle, reassuring shake.

“See you next week.”

I nod and head outside on shaky legs.

Tears of joy burn the backs of my eyes, and my heart lodges in my throat.

I’ve dreamed of this moment my entire life.

All that time I spent in the back of the restaurant sketching my designs. All that time I spent fighting with my parents so I could pursue my dreams. All the inspiration my grandparents gave me. The learning. The growing. Everything life threw at me—good and bad.