Chapter 4

I stood in front of the mirror, my fingers tracing the fabric of the black dress.

This dress had been hanging in my closet for two years, but I never had the mood to wear it for myself like tonight.

Tonight was different. I was dressing up for myself, not for a potential glance from Mason, but for Blake—the one who truly saw my artistic talent.

"You can do this, Harper." I told my reflection, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.

The Meridian Gallery in Denver's art district glowed with soft warm light, the air filled with the mingled scents of wine and artistic atmosphere.

I walked into the exhibition hall in my heels, immediately struck by the visual impact of Blake's work. His photography was full of emotional tension and authentic texture.

"Harper?" Blake's voice came from behind me, and I turned to see amazement in his eyes. "You... you look beautiful."

I felt my cheeks flush. "Thank you for inviting me. Your work is impressive."

"Come, I want to introduce you to some people." Blake's hand touched my back gently, guiding me toward a group of discussing artists. "Everyone, this is Harper Cross, a brilliant tattoo artist."

A middle-aged artist with a goatee turned to me, his eyes full of interest. "Tattoo art? I've always thought it's one of the most underestimated art forms."

"Harper's work is full of vitality," Blake continued the introduction, "she can transform her clients' soul stories into eternal art."

These professional artists began asking about my creative philosophy, discussing the techniques and meaning of tattoo art. A warmth I'd never felt before rose in my chest.

"Have you considered creating on traditional canvas?" a female sculptor asked.

"Actually, I've been thinking about applying for the National Art Fair."

Blake's eyes lit up. "That's wonderful. I could photograph your work professionally, create a portfolio."

I felt an unprecedented sense of being valued. Finally, someone saw the real me.

Just as I was immersed in the artists' recognition, familiar laughter came from the exhibition entrance.

Mason appeared at the door in a neat navy suit, with Avery on his arm. She wore a light pink dress, looking like the perfect doctor's wife.

"Harper!" Mason walked toward me with that habitual casual smile. "Didn't expect to see you here too."

Avery's blue eyes lingered on me for a few seconds, with a certain scrutinizing quality. "Harper, good to see you again."

I smiled back.

Mason looked around, showing polite interest in the displayed photography. "Blake's work is quite interesting."

"Harper's tattoo designs are also very interesting," one artist said.

Mason's gaze swept over Avery, then glanced at the well-dressed artists around us. A flicker of unease crossed his face before he cleared his throat. "Oh, tattoos are just... a rebellious hobby for young people."

For the first time in ten years, I had gained recognition in a professional art environment, and he so easily dismissed it as a "rebellious hobby."

Blake stood beside me. "Art has no hierarchy. Harper's work has more soul and skill than many so-called mainstream arts."

Mason obviously didn't expect someone to directly contradict him. "I was just saying—"

"I know exactly what you're saying." Blake's gaze was sharp as a knife, "But you're wrong. Harper is one of the most talented artists I've ever met. If you're really her friend, you should be proud of her talent, not belittle her work in front of her."

The conversations around us gradually stopped, everyone watching this unexpected confrontation.

"Blake, let's go." I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Thank you all for tonight's exchange."

Blake nodded, putting his arm around my shoulder as we headed for the door. Walking past Mason, I didn't look back, but could feel his shocked gaze.

At one in the morning, we sat in a 24-hour café in the art district. Only us and a night owl buried in writing were in the shop, with jazz music flowing softly in the background.

"Sorry for ruining your exhibition." I held the warm coffee cup, my voice slightly hoarse.

"You didn't ruin anything." Blake reached over to cover my hand, "That guy was the problem."

I smiled bitterly. "He never truly sees me, even in my proudest moments. Tonight, the recognition from those artists... I've waited so long to feel like this."

"Harper, you need to know something." Blake's eyes became serious, "Some people get so used to your goodness that they forget to cherish it. But I see the real you, not the on-call friend in his eyes, but an independent, talented, worthy-of-respect artist."

Tears began to blur my vision. "I feel like I wasted ten years."

"Not wasted. Those experiences shaped who you are now, gave your art depth." Blake handed me a tissue, "But now it's time to live for yourself."

I looked up at him, seeing something in his eyes I'd never seen in Mason's—respect, appreciation, and... love?

"Thank you for protecting me tonight." I said softly.

"I'll always protect you." His answer was simple and firm.

We continued talking until the first rays of dawn appeared on the horizon. Blake shared his experience of being hurt by the commercialized art world in New York, and I told him about ten years of being ignored. We found common ground, two artists seeking authentic expression in our respective fields.

As we prepared to leave the café, my phone chimed with a text notification.

A message from Avery: "We need to talk alone."

I stared at the screen. Blake noticed the change in my expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Avery wants to see me."