Chapter 9 Miss, Do You Need Help?
Vera's POV
My Malibu beach apartment welcomed me like an old friend. I'd purchased it before my marriage, a small sanctuary that was truly mine. It had been rented out these past three years, but now the tenant had moved on, and it waited for me—almost as if it had known I would eventually return.
I spent hours cleaning, arranging my belongings, and reacquainting myself with the space. The sound of waves crashing against the shore drifted through the open windows, a soothing soundtrack to my first day of freedom.
Just after eight in the evening, my phone began buzzing incessantly. Idris. I rejected the calls and blocked his number. Within minutes, calls from an unknown number appeared on my screen. I reluctantly answered.
"What do you think you're doing, letting Raven into my house?" Idris demanded without preamble, his voice tight with anger.
I sighed, setting down the picture frame I'd been dusting. "She came by herself, Idris. I didn't invite her."
There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his tone had softened slightly. "Oh." Another pause. "I'm hungry. Come back and make dinner."
The audacity of his request left me momentarily speechless. "Idris, listen carefully," I finally replied, my patience wearing thin. "We're divorced. Your problems are no longer my concern."
The firmness in my voice surprised even me. Throughout our entire marriage, I would have immediately capitulated to whatever Idris wanted. I'd spent years walking on eggshells, afraid to contradict him. There were times I'd rehearsed simple requests in my head for hours before daring to speak them aloud.
And here I was now, barely hours after signing our divorce papers, directly refusing him without a second thought.
I ended the call and blocked the new number as well, shaking my head at his inability to understand that our relationship was truly over.
As I arranged my studio space, I realized I was missing essential supplies—paint and canvas. I needed to reach out to Ally Scott, my closest friend and the owner of an art gallery in Los Angeles.
"Vera!" Ally's excited voice came through the phone. "Where have you been hiding? I've been trying to reach you for days!"
"It's been a complicated week," I admitted. "Can we meet tomorrow? I need some art supplies, and I have news."
"Of course. Meet me at the gallery around noon?"
The LA Art Gallery was Ally's pride and joy, a sleek modern space showcasing contemporary artists. As I walked through the doors, Ally rushed over to embrace me.
"The reclusive V.G. emerges from her castle!" she teased, referring to my pseudonym as an oil painter. Few people knew that Vera Green, the ex-wife of Idris Ashford, was also V.G., whose paintings commanded hundreds of thousands at auction. My work had first gained recognition when I was just eighteen—a painting that sold for $5 million, catapulting me into the art world's spotlight, though I'd chosen to maintain my anonymity.
After leading me to her office, Ally poured us each a glass of wine despite the early hour. "So, what's this news? You look... different. Lighter somehow."
"I divorced Idris," I said simply.
Wine sloshed over the rim of her glass. "You what? When? How? Details, woman!"
As I recounted the events of the past few days, Ally's expressions ranged from shock to satisfaction to outright glee.
"That bastard," she muttered. "Always so temperamental and arrogant. I've heard rumors about his affairs, you know."
I nodded slowly. "He wasn't always like this."
I traced the rim of my wineglass, memories surfacing. Before we got married, he was actually sweet and well-behaved, despite his love for drinking and racing cars. He changed after our wedding. I suppose being forced to break up with the woman you love to marry someone you don't would change anyone. My selfishness ruined him, in a way. The divorce was probably good for both of us. He could pursue his happiness now.
Ally studied me for a long moment, then set down her glass decisively. "We're celebrating tonight. I'm taking you out."
"Celebrating what?"
"Your freedom, of course!" She grinned. "Come on, I'm taking you to a bar. You need to relax. Dress to impress. You're a single woman now, Vera."
I felt out of place in the crowded the bar, uncomfortable with the pulsing music and the press of bodies. I'd chosen a white lace slip dress that Ally had once insisted I buy—"for when you finally decide to live a little."
The appreciative glances from men around the room made me fidget with the delicate straps.
Ally, already at home in the environment, waved off several men who approached our table with drink offers. "Not interested," she told each one firmly. Then she squeezed my hand. "I'll be back in a few minutes—spotted someone I know on the dance floor."
Before I could protest, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving me alone at our small table. I sipped my cocktail slowly, watching Ally as she effortlessly joined a man on the dance floor, moving with practiced ease to the rhythm.
This was Ally's world, not mine. I'd never been to a bar before tonight. Idris had always preferred exclusive clubs or private events where paparazzi could capture his presence at the "right" places.
As I watched Ally dance, I began to feel strangely lightheaded. The lights seemed to blur, and the room tilted slightly. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision, when a tall, handsome man appeared beside me.
"Miss, do you need help?" he asked, his voice deep and concerned.
