3 Years Later
1823 Words
Chapter 1
3 Years Later
Lia
I thought about ocean blue eyes, more than I cared to admit.
I painted them every chance I got. Each piece was a reflection of the man I could never truly have.
It was my little secret, something I clung to over the years. A quiet outlet for the emotions I couldn’t speak aloud, the longing I couldn’t erase. But more than that, it was my way of holding on to the truth, the bitter reality I had forced myself to accept.
Those blue eyes were mesmerizing, breathtaking even. But they didn’t belong to a hero, to someone who could offer safety or love. No, they belonged to the devil himself. And I had fallen for him anyway.
I had to stop, I scolded myself. I couldn’t do this again and not today.
This was an important day as it was, and I couldn’t think of him.
I looked around the room, taking in the carefully arranged lights angled toward the walls. They cast a soft glow across the expansive space, drawing attention to the various pieces of art for sale. Each wall told a story, a mosaic of emotions captured in color and form.
And then there was my wall. My very own display of paintings, a collection of pieces that held fragments of my soul. Hidden among them, tucked inconspicuously between the others, was the most sacred painting of all—the one I’d poured my shattered heart into.
I had painted it through tears, each brushstroke fueled by the raw ache of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams. It was a pair of eyes, stormy and intense, painted in furious shades of blue. Not the calm, endless ocean I had once adored, but a tempest—a reflection of the anger, the heartbreak, and the love I could never have.
Angry blue eyes.
The most honest piece I’d ever created. And no one else would ever know its truth.
I needed to part with that piece today. I needed to move on, and I had promised myself that I would never see those blue eyes again. I would never paint those eyes again. I was going to part with my addiction, once and for all.
“Hello beautiful people!” Abby practically yelled as she walked into the art gallery.
People turned and looked at her, but she couldn’t care less about it.
I smiled at my friend. “Abby, I’m glad you made it.”
Abby hugged me. “Of course I was going to make it to your first show! Are you kidding me, I would have thrown my costar down a flight of stairs to make it here on time, babe,”
I arched an eyebrow at her.
“Okay, I wanted to throw him down the stairs anyway.” She exclaimed.
Abby and I had met at Berkeley while I was pursuing my master’s in fine arts. She had dreams of becoming an actress and was biding her time, waiting for her big break. I never doubted it would come. With her striking platinum blonde, bombshell-curled hair and piercing green eyes, she had the kind of beauty that made people stop and stare. Add to that her tall, lean frame—like something out of a fashion editorial—and it was clear she wouldn’t have to wait long.
And I was right.
Not long after we met, she landed a supporting role in a film, and from there, her career took off like wildfire. Over the three years I’d known her, Abby had done nothing but climb higher, each success adding another layer to her already glowing aura.
She was destined for stardom, and even back then, it had been impossible to imagine her as anything less.
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
She sighed. “He’s just a bit handsy.”
“Have you told anyone?” I asked concerned.
She waved her hand. “Please, I don’t need anyone else to handle my problems for me. I’m taking care of it.”
I nodded, knowing what she was capable of.
"How's the event going?" Abby asked, her green eyes sweeping across the crowded room. "There are a lot of people here."
"It's going really well," I replied, glancing around. "The turnout is even better than Savannah expected."
Abby smiled knowingly. "Savannah has a habit of underestimating herself," she said, her tone warm and affectionate as she spoke about our mutual friend.
I nodded, unable to disagree. Savannah had poured her heart into making this event a success, and even though she doubted herself, it was clear her hard work had paid off.
“Do you have any offers on your work?” She asked.
I shook my head.
“Well, it’s still so early! I bet your wall is going to be sold out by the end of the night.” She stated.
“It’s my first show, I don’t expect anything.” I told her. I was nervous enough as it was, not hearing a negative comment would do for the night.
“Come on! Show me your wall. I want to see the paintings you chose!” She said excitedly.
Abby grabbed my wrist and pulled, her movement quick and insistent.
I winced, letting out an involuntary sound.
Her grip loosened immediately, and she looked at me with that piercing gaze I had come to know all too well—the one that said she wasn’t going to let this go.
"What happened to your wrist?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with suspicion.
I cradled my arm protectively against my chest. "It's nothing, Abby, really."
She narrowed her eyes, her tone sharpening. "I doubt that. Did that asshole do it?" she whispered furiously.
I shook my head quickly, hoping to shut this down before it spiraled. "Abby, no. I just hurt it while making dinner last night."
"Show me," she demanded.
"There’s no need," I said, trying to brush it off.
Abby’s patience snapped. "Lia, show me your wrist."
I shook my head again, but Abby wasn’t the type to take no for an answer. She reached out and gently took my hand, inspecting it despite my protests.
Her eyes widened, fury lighting them up. "It’s burned! You have a massive burn on your wrist. That bastard!"
"Abby, be quiet!" I hissed, glancing nervously around. "I told you he didn’t do anything. It happened while I was cooking dinner last night."
"That’s bullshit, and you know it."
"It’s not!" I insisted, my voice trembling. "It’s a tiny burn. It’ll heal in a few days. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Abbs."
She was quiet for a moment, but her expression was dark, her mind clearly working through what to say next. When she finally spoke, her voice was low but heavy with meaning.
"I love you, Cordelia Montgomery, but something in your head is f****d up if you think your relationship with Oliver is normal or healthy. You deserve better, but I know you’re not going to listen. Your past has messed you up, and nothing I say right now is going to change that. But just remember—I’m here for you."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
I wanted to cry. She was treating me like I was some battered woman, as though my life had spiraled into a dark place I refused to acknowledge. But she didn’t understand. She couldn’t.
Aren’t you though?
No. No I wasn’t.
Everything was fine. It was perfect, just the way it should be. I had a man who loved me and a life that I could live without being surrounded by my past.
“Fine. Show me your paintings, babe.” Abby relented.
We walked over to the wall of paintings I had selected for the night. I refused to look at the painting in the top right corner, but Abby didn’t miss it.
“You didn’t!”
“I did and I do not want to talk about it Abby.”
My friend didn’t even look at me as she scanned the rest of the paintings.
She was silent but her silence was speaking volumes.
I walked away from her before she said anything else and looked around the room. The place was filling up fast and I was starting to notice the red stickers by the artwork that had been sold.
I had no hopes that someone would want to purchase any of mine. Savannah was the owner of the boutique art gallery and had insisted on featuring a wall for my work. But I knew better.
Oliver had reminded her of that before he left with his friends for a night out, instead of coming here with me.
“Do not come crying to me when not a single painting is sold. Just because your friend gave you a wall to hanging your paintings on and expose yourself like that, it doesn’t make you anything.”
He was right. But I was happy to do anything for Abby and Savannah. They had saved me when I had moved to Berkley, barely functioning and crying all day and night. And now the three of us lived together in LA. I could never repay my friends for everything they had done for me. They were angels.
“Lia! I have amazing news!” Savannah exclaimed, running up to me.
Savannah was a petite powerhouse, barely grazing 5 feet tall, but her presence was anything but small. Her short, straight hair framed her delicate face, and her amber eyes sparkled with a warmth.
She had a curvy figure, the kind that reminded you of a classic pinup doll—timelessly beautiful, with an effortless allure she didn’t even seem to realize she possessed. Most of the time, Savannah was blissfully unaware of just how stunning she truly was, and somehow, that only made her more captivating.
Before I could reply to my friend she said, “Someone bought all your paintings!”
My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“Yup! Your painting sold to one person, and they really loved … the … Angry Blue Eyes painting.”
My mind was trying to make sense of what she was saying but why would anyone want my painting and especially that one.
“Here, come meet the buyer.” She said, pulling me behind her.
I didn’t even have a chance to register the pain searing through my wrist and up my arm as she pulled me. My mind was trying to process the information Savannah had thrown at it.
“Mr. Kavanagh, this is th artist, Cordelia Montgomery.”
Kavanagh…
My brain was short-circuiting as I tried to piece everything together.
But it went silent when I saw the man standing before me.
Angry blue eyes.
Aiden Kavanagh.
The man who had broken me.
- Writer
