Without hesitation, Cohen bought the painting for millions, demanding it be placed at the center of the exhibit. He spared no expense, bringing in the best domestic team and introducing me to the top curators, saying my work deserved nothing less than perfection.
I poured six months of my life into this exhibit, each design born from the sketches I had drawn myself. Every scene reflected endless hours of discussion and revision with the curatorial team, all carefully crafted with my vision in mind.
But now, instead of my painting being the centerpiece, there stood a photograph, a photo of Cohen and Imogen together.
It stood out against the exhibit’s soft, harmonious atmosphere like a jarring note in a symphony. The image captured them surfing on the beach, the sea breeze lifting their hair, the sunlight casting a golden glow on their faces. Imogen smiled with effortless grace while Cohen stood behind her, his gaze filled with unmistakable affection.
At that moment, Cohen stood beside Imogen, and the two of them were a picture of perfection.