Chapter 3: What Are You Afraid Of

Maya's POV

"No. This won't work."

Julian's voice is calm, but I can hear the edge underneath.

Day five. We're standing in front of the design specs for "The Space Between," an installation made of shattered mirrors.

"Why not?" I keep my voice level. "Riley Chen's work won at Venice last year."

"I know what it won." He doesn't look at me. "I'm saying no because it's too personal."

"Personal?" I frown. "Julian, art is supposed to be personal. That's the whole point."

"Exactly why we can't use it." He turns to face me. "This installation, people stand in the center and see themselves broken. Then when two people stand in specific spots, the mirrors align and show one complete image. Alone you're fragments, together you're whole."

"Right," I say. "It explores fragmentation and connection."

"Don't give me the art school explanation." His jaw tightens. "Maya, why this piece? Out of everything available, why pick this one?"

He said my name.

My heart kicks.

"It fits the theme," I say. "Tech and art, breaking and rebuilding."

"Stop lying."

"I'm not."

"You picked it because it's about us." His voice drops low. "Didn't you?"

The room goes still.

"God, you're arrogant." I hear myself saying. "Not everything is about you."

"No?" He almost laughs. "Then what about your 'Fractures' show? All that breaking and mending, those cracks stitched with gold? You think I don't see what that means?"

"It's art."

"It's an accusation." He steps closer. "You're telling everyone that someone hurt you, broke you, and now you're trying to put yourself back together."

"So what if I am?" Heat floods my chest. "I have a right to express that."

"But you never just say it!" His voice rises. "That's what you always do. Hide behind art, behind your professional mask. You never deal with anything directly!"

"Deal with what?" I'm almost yelling now. "Deal with watching you comfort your ex at that performance? Deal with you being gentle with her when you never were with me?"

"She told me she was getting married!" Julian shouts. "She cried because she thought I'd be devastated, thought I'd try to stop her. I didn't! Because I didn't give a damn!"

I go completely still.

"What?"

"Chloe told me that night she got engaged to her dance partner in Europe. Some choreographer." His voice shakes. "She felt guilty about it. Thought we were supposed to end up together. But all I felt was relieved."

My throat closes up.

"Relieved," he keeps going, "because I could finally stop faking it. Stop pretending her being back meant anything, that I still had feelings. But you asked for a divorce before I could explain any of it."

"Then why didn't you come after me?" My voice cracks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you were so goddamn calm!" His eyes are red. "You said 'terminate the contract' like we were closing a bad deal. I thought our marriage was just business to you."

"I wasn't calm." The words barely make it out. "I was falling apart."

Julian stares.

"That night," I continue, "it took everything I had to look collected. I've been trained since I was fifteen to hide what I feel. That's what Vances do. Gallery heirs don't cry in front of art. Don't lose control in front of clients. Don't let anyone see you weak."

Tears slide down my face.

"So I came home, took off that dress, washed off my makeup, and stood there saying those words like I was reading from a script. But inside," my voice breaks, "I was dying."

His expression collapses.

"Maya."

"After you agreed to the divorce, I went to the bedroom. Saw that abstract painting on the wall, the one I made you hang. And I realized that was probably the only time in our entire marriage you actually gave in for me."

"It wasn't the only time." His voice is barely audible. "I gave in constantly. You just never noticed."

"Because you never told me."

"Because I don't know how." He closes his eyes. "I'm useless at this. Words, feelings, all of it. I only understand data and logic. I thought doing things would be enough. It wasn't."

"I'm done for today." Julian grabs his coat. "I need to go."

He's out the door before I can respond.

It slams shut behind him.

Sophia appears from the storage room looking stunned. "You brought up Chloe."

"Yeah." I drop into a chair. "That was stupid."

She touches my shoulder. "Maybe you both needed to finally talk about it."

"Doesn't matter now."

She sighs and picks up her bag. "Don't stay too late. Lock up."

After she leaves, the gallery goes quiet.

I sit there in the dark, staring at those design specs.

Julian was right. I did pick this piece because of us.

Alone, broken. Together, whole.

But what happens when those two people already split? When they can't find that spot anymore?

Two in the morning, my phone buzzes. Security alert. Breach detected.

I'm in my car before I fully process it.

When I push through the gallery door, every light is blazing.

"The Space Between" is standing in the middle of the floor. Not the design mock-up. The actual installation, fully built. Mirrors, lights, the entire structure.

Julian's in the center, surrounded by tools and torn packing materials.

He looks up when I come in. His eyes are swollen and red.

"You were right," he says. His voice sounds wrecked. "I've been terrified."

I can't move from the doorway.

"Terrified to admit I never loved Chloe." He swallows hard. "That I've always loved you."

The tears come fast.

"But I don't know how to tell you that," his voice shakes. "Same way I don't understand art. I only know numbers and systems and work. So I thought maybe I could learn."

He gestures at the installation around him.

"Learn how to stand in the right place. How to make something whole with you."

He looks straight at me, completely exposed. "But if you don't want to try teaching me, I understand. I've messed this up too many times."

What am I supposed to say?

Turn around? Walk away? Protect myself?

But my feet are already moving.

I step into the installation and find one of those specific positions.

In the mirrors around me, my reflection shatters into dozens of pieces. Each fragment shows my tear-stained face from a different angle.

"The other spot's over there," I say quietly. "You coming?"

Something shifts in his eyes. Hope, maybe.

He moves slowly to the second position.

When he steps into place, everything changes.

The mirror fragments suddenly line up, reflecting both of us as one complete image.

Standing together.

Captured perfectly in broken glass made whole.

We both stare at ourselves.

Neither of us breaks the silence.