Chapter 5


    Chapter 5


    HAZEL


    (FIVE MONTHS AFTER DIVORCE)


    (SEATTLE)


    I rolled up my sleeves and gazed at the canvas before me, casting a nce at the paints sca tt ered on


    the floor. It was an unconventional choice to be in the drawing hall on a Saturday, while most students


    were enjoying the weekend with their families.


    I made a conscious effort to avoid idleness, as it left me with too much time to ponder the end of my


    marriage with Ravel. We had agreed to keep our divorce away from the prying eyes of the media, but


    somehow, someone had leaked the news, causing a frenzy on the inte.


    Fortunately, the focus seemed to be more on Ravel than on me. The information that was leaked made


    it appear as though I had cheated on him, rather than the other way around. Surprisingly, the papara


    zzi showed more interest in the betrayed husband, and to be honest, I didn’t mind. It granted me the


    privacy I desperately needed during this difficult time.


    Suddenly, the grand entrance door swung open, and a young man entered, his attention fixated on his


    phone. He strolled halfway into the hall,pletely oblivious to his surroundings, until he finally


    nced up and noticed me, causing him toe to an abrupt halt.


    His gaze shifted between me and the door, a hint of surprise evident on his face. “I didn’t expect to find


    anyone here today,” he muttered, slipping his phone into his pocket. His brows furrowed as he nced


    at the small paint buckets sca ttered on the floor. “Is this something you do regrly?”


    Engaging in small talk was thest thing I wanted at that moment. Without paying much attention to his


    question, I dipped my brush into the paint, observing as the bristles absorbed the vibrant color.


    “Perhaps you should focus on why you came here,” I replied, my voice tinged with a touch of


    indifference. Raising the brush, I made deliberate strokes on the nk canvas before me.


    He chuckled softly, acknowledging the truth in my words. Hastily, he made his way to the paint room,


    selecting a paint of his choice before settling down by the window. We continued our painting in aContent rights by N?velDr//ama.Org.


    headlines seemed to revolve around Ravel. It was hard to avoid, considering the extensive coverage of


    his exhibition that inundated the inte.


    Frustration welled up within me as I observed that Ravel was conspicuously alone in all the pictures. It


    seemed he had left his mistress at home, carefully avoiding any public scrutiny while the media


    continued to paint me as the unfaithful wife. I could almost guarantee that the moment I was captured


    in thepany of another man, Ravel would shamelessly parade his supposed lover for all to see.


    In my anger, I gripped the fork in my hand so tightly that it threatened to snap in two, but my attention


    was abruptly. diverted by an iing phone call from Elenor. Taking a deep breath, I released my grip


    on the fork and answered the call. “Elen?”


    “Hazel,” she greeted me cheerfully, her voice filled with warmth. “What’s up? I feel like it’s been ages


    since west talked.”


    Chuckling softly, I wiped away the bitter tears that had escaped and rolled down my cheeks while I had


    been fixated on Ravel’s picture. “We spoke justst night, Elenor,”


    “That’s practically a whole day,” she eximed in a dramatic manner. “But let’s not dwell on that.” The


    sudden shift in her tone caught my attention, causing me to lean forward in my seat. “How much longer


    do you have left in school?”


    “Seven months,” I replied, curiosity piqued. I had enrolled in an advanced art ss that required a year


    toplete, and I was currently five months into the program.


    “Well, I happened to meet someone during a work trip, and I believe he could be of great assistance to


    you once you open your own art gallery after finishing school.” The sound of a door closing reached my


    ears, momentarily interrupting our conversation before she continued. “I’ll forward his contact


    information to you. Give him a call and discuss your gallery ns with him.”


    While I appreciated her willingness to help, I couldn’t help but feel a strong desire to aplish this on


    my own. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Elen.”


    “Why?” she eximed, clearly taken aback by my response.


    “I’ve already made it clear that I won’t ept help from anyone associated with the Southwark family,” I


    reiterated firmly. I could hear her muttering a curse under her breath in response. “I’m sorry, Elen.”


    I was determined to prove myself and seed on my own merits. I swore to myself that my


    aplishments would not bear any trace of the Southwark name.


    D