I Stopped Loving Him When He Let Me Bleed Out novel Chapter 102

Sienna stared at the screen and typed a few words.

"When is it?"

"Next week! I already bought the tickets! Two tickets! If you don't go, it's going to be a total waste!"

Sienna thought about it. She happened to have a few days of vacation saved up.

She could take them all at once.

She needed to get away from here, away from this place that was suffocating her.

"Alright. I'll go with you."

Lily replied with a string of exclamation points and a barrage of heart emojis.

Sienna placed her phone face down on the desk and leaned back in her chair.

In the darkness, she kept her eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Her mind played the same scene on an endless loop.

York throwing himself into Finn's arms, calling him Daddy.

Finn crouching down and embracing him.

The way he had looked at her—panicked, desperate to explain, begging.

He had said, "He's not," but then what?

It was all excuses. Lies.

Was she really that easy to fool?

Time and time again, they just wouldn't let her go!

-

The Zane Retrospective.

The exhibition hall was massive, and the lighting was meticulously designed. Each painting was illuminated by an independent spotlight, lit like modern altars waiting to be worshipped.

Paxton Zane was the most talked-about young artist in recent years. His artistic style was wild, and his personality was even wilder.

Insiders called him a genius; outsiders called him a lunatic.

He didn't care what anyone said. He only painted what he wanted to paint.

From the moment they walked in, Lily was practically vibrating with excitement, tugging on Sienna's arm and struggling to keep her voice down.

"Look, look! That one! It's that one! I've stared at it online eight hundred times, but the real thing is a million times better than a photo!"

Sienna stumbled slightly from the tug and offered a helpless smile.

"Are you Sienna Sterling?"

The exhibition hall abruptly fell silent.

Several people nearby turned their heads to look at them.

Sienna's eyes settled on the face of the artist named Paxton.

She was certain she had never met this man in her life.

Could he be a former patient?

But she was sharp enough to sense that his tone was hostile, his eyes brimming with malice.

Her purse strap slipped off her shoulder. She reached up to catch it, standing a little taller, neither submissive nor arrogant.

Her gaze lingered on his face, cool and detached, as if she were looking at an irrelevant stranger.

"Do I know you?"

Paxton strode toward her, every step radiating explosive tension.

He stopped right in front of her, a full head taller, glaring down at her with pure disgust.

"Of course. Aren't you the woman who steals other women's husbands?"