Page 28 of Beautiful Lies

Yesterday, there was sunshine, lilies, lush green grass, and a waterfall that caught the sunlight. Now, there's darkness and shadows on the surface of the silver waters with accents of red. It could be a Neo-Noir painting nestled in the heart of one of Tim Burton's worlds.

I’ll add it to the collection I'm putting together for my new portfolio.

I've been working on the portfolio since early last year, when I decided I was going to try for Broadway again. Or something of that caliber.

Years ago, when the studio burned down, all my finest pieces were destroyed. Pieces I knew would have landed me any artist’s job in a theater. Maybe not the dream job, but if I had them now, they would certainly get me something better than what I have.

It was my fault for leaving them there in the first place. But everyone did that. The theater was the kind of place that had a chilled atmosphere that sparked creativity.

Since I was part of the main design team, I was given free rein of their large, spacious studio. I used to live for going in and painting whenever I wanted. Night or day.

I don't have that luxury now, but I need to keep my dreams alive. For me.

More importantly, I need to ensure that I maintain some control over my life.

Going into this thing with Knox, I know I need money coming in. Real money.

I need to be able to take care of myself, and now that Mom won’t get the insurance payout, I’ll have to cover the bills my father used to handle. Which means something has to change.

I can’t stay at the theater forever on my meager salary, and I can’t keep helping out at the restaurant, either.

Once I finish a few more paintings, I’m going to apply at one of the Broadway theaters.

I’m actually going to do it. Take the plunge and stop talking myself out of it.

I’ve always had my heart set on the Lyceum. But honestly, working at any of them would be a dream. That’s me trying to be positive. Hopeful, even. Until then, I’ll work my ass off.

At least I won't have to pay rent anymore.

The thought gives me pause, and a slither of sadness curls in my stomach. My hand stills mid-stroke, and I look around my apartment.

I've lived here since I graduated college.

It's not the best apartment with its small, small space, cracks in the walls, barely-there windows, and that musty smell from downstairs seeping through the vent. But it's mine. My space. My place.

I could have stayed with my parents for a while. Their doors were always open to me, but I was eager to spread my wings, and they let me.

I'd always planned to buy a home once I could save for it, but just as I started, the theater burned down. I've had no choice since.

Now it feels like my choices have been taken from me, and I’ll be leaving my little sanctuary here sooner rather than later.

I read that Knox lives in the Hamptons.Of course, he does.

A person like me could only ever dream of going there, much less living there.

His entire family lives around that area, and they each have multimillion-dollar houses that were featured in some exclusive I found about the family. Even his eighteen-year-old sister has a summer cottage.

God, to be eighteen and already own property. How lucky.

It's all so grand and glorious, but I can't even muster the strength to be intrigued.

My phone buzzes with a text message on the table beside me. I set my paintbrush down and pick up the phone hoping it's not Knox or one of his people again.

I’m mildly surprised when I see the message is from Chad. My ex boyfriend.

I open it. It says:

Hey, there. Just checking on you.