Van

★Vanessa's POV.★

“I think those guys are at your painting. They look... Interested?” Emma said as we stood beside a pastry stool. Stealing and eating the pastries of course.

"Are they?" I move my eyes towards the particular painting they were at. It wasn't Falling Forward, although that particular one got a lot of attraction, no one had purchased it yet. “They don't look so interested, but I'm going anyway.” I dropped my cupcake on the saucer and left Emma's sight. Hiding my paint streaked hands inside my blazer pocket. "Hi, I'm the owner of Van." Van, it was the name of the second painting of all five.

The two men and a woman all stared at me, but they didn't just stare. They sized me and I felt my throat constricting. "You are the owne r of this painting?" The lady asked and I nodded. “You are quite beautiful, didn't expect your taste to be like this.”

My smile fell, “Like what?” I asked.

“It's too chaotic. Gosh I hate red and black. This is... It's hideous and not something one would like to keep in their house.” One of the men said and I could tell I became very pale. They only shook their head and left.

It took so much willpower not to crumble like dust and bawl my eyes out. Emma must've notice because I heard footsteps come my way. "Emma."

“Oh, Vanessa.” She sighs, "Let's take a break, okay?"

And then we left the exhibition, going into one of the rooms where I cried on her shoulder while he reassured me. Maybe tonight wasn't my night. Any other day would be better, nit just tonight.

♣Sergie's Pov.♣

I find myself coming back to Vanessa's paintings, particularly, Falling Forward.

Falling Forward is a visceral eruption of color and emotion. The jagged streaks of crimson and gold seemed to clash violently at first glance, but the longer I stared, the more I saw their harmony—a dance of chaos and control.

The brushstrokes were bold, almost reckless, but there was an aching vulnerability beneath them. It was as if Vanessa had torn her soul open and poured it onto the canvas, each layer revealing another fragment of their story.

It wasn’t perfect, but that was its power. It spoke of struggle, of falling, and of the desperate, relentless hope to rise again. To me, it wasn’t just a painting—it was a mirror reflecting emotions I rarely allowed myself to feel.

"Mr Ivanov!" I turned to find Harold approaching me. He was the one who invited me as a sponsor. In fact , the whole exhibition was his idea. "Oh are you looking at that painting? It's been getting a lot of criticism, and attention too " He shrugged and a look from me shut his mouth.

"They do not have artistic minds if they find this painting hideous. How much is the artist selling it for?" I ask, taking my eyes back to the painting. I didn't find her anywhere, I wonder if she had left since no one had purchased any of her works, but I doubt.

“I guess Vanessa Miller should be selling it for one hundred and fifty dollars.” I raise a brow at the price mentioned.

It was cheap, too goddamn cheap for even an average new Yorker. I wonder why she should be selling such perfection for such an amount. "I'll get it for double the amount. Bill it to my card." I take one last look at my new painting and turn around but stop on the way, “And Harold?”

"Yes, Mr Ivanov?"

"Don't tell her it's me." I said before leaving the gallery in a whole.

★Vanessa's POV.★

“Gosh, you look terrible. You're in for some luck because I brought my makeup.” Emma Huff's out and rummages through her purse and she brings out some foundation and lip gloss.

“I have lipgloss, Emma.” I chuckle when she starts to dab the foundation foam in my face.

“We're not rubbing your plain lip gloss, Nessa, I have lip tint over here.”

After the whole escapades of getting me to look good, we leave the room in the art gallery. Midway, Emma gets a call from her fiancé and apologises as she leaves but not before promising to call me.

Feeling lonely, I sigh and make my way towards my painting but my eyes widens as Falling Forward isn't part of all five. I rove my eyes through the crowd, panicking and wondering if someone has stolen it. Though there's a doubt that someone might have stolen it, the securities here were tight so that isn't the problem.

Then does it mean what I think it does...?

"Vanessa Miller!" I turn to find Mr Harold. It took significant amount of begging for him to let me in this exhibition show, because according to him; ‘My paintings aren't all that.’

"Mr Harold. I can't seem to find my Falling forward painting. Can you send the security men to check if it has been stolen?"

He snorted and rolled his eyes. He is a married man at forty something, yet he behaves like a teenager. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his sassy behaviour. He should've been born a woman.

"Why do you think Falling Forward would've been stolen? It's not all that." And there he goes again.

"So... Someone purchased it?"

"Yes, Vanessa Miller, someone purchased it."