Chapter 5 - The Art GalleryThe bell above the door of Vance & Co. Fine Art chimed softly as Claire pushed it open. The gallery was quiet, smelling faintly of fresh paint, polished hardwood, and expensive eucalyptus diffuser oil. Large abstract canvases hung on the stark white walls, their chaotic splashes of red and black mirroring the storm raging inside Claire’s head.
At the front desk sat Elena Vance. She looked immaculate as always, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek chignon, wearing a tailored charcoal blazer. When she looked up and saw Claire standing in the doorway, her professional smile flickered for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Claire to catch it.
“Claire?” Elena stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “Oh, wow. It’s been ages! What brings you into the gallery today? Are you looking for a piece for the new house?”
Claire didn’t move. She walked slowly toward the front desk, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished floor. She kept her hands buried deep in the pockets of her trench coat to hide the fact that they were shaking.
“Hello, Elena,” Claire said, her voice eerily calm. “It has been a long time. Not since... what, mutual friend’s wedding two years ago?”
“Right, right,” Elena nodded, though her eyes were darting nervously toward the back office door. “Time flies, doesn't it? How are things? How’s... how’s Jason?”
“Jason is great,” Claire said, tilting her head slightly, watching every micro-expression on Elena’s face. “In fact, he talks about art a lot lately. He spends a lot of evenings downtown. I was wondering... has he been by here lately?”
Elena’s face tightened. The forced warmth vanished, replaced by a guarded, defensive mask. “No. I mean, he came by once or twice months ago to look at a landscape piece for your anniversary, but I haven't seen him since.”
“Really?” Claire raised an eyebrow. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and slid it across the glass surface of the front desk. On the screen was the high-resolution photo of the mountain cabin—specifically zooming in on the patio table where the car keys with the Vance & Co. keychain lay resting next to a coffee mug bearing Elena’s initials.
Elena stared at the screen. The color drained from her face so fast it looked as though someone had pulled a plug in her veins.
“That’s a very distinctive keychain, Elena,” Claire said softly, leaning over the counter so her face was just inches from the other woman’s. “And that cabin belongs to your family up in Vermont, doesn't it? My husband told me he was in Chicago for a corporate merger three months ago. But according to these keys, he was spending four days in your family’s mountain retreat.”
Elena opened her mouth, but no words came out. She swallowed hard, her eyes welling with sudden, panicky tears.
“Claire... I can explain—”
“No, you can’t,” Claire cut her off, her voice like shards of ice. “Just like Brooke couldn't explain. Just like Jason couldn't explain. How many of us are there, Elena? Three? Four? Do you all have group chats where you share notes on the imaginary man you’re dating?”
“We didn't know!” Elena sobbed, gripping the edge of the desk. “He told me you two separated years ago! He said you were living in separate bedrooms, that you stayed together only on paper for the sake of appearances, and that you had already given him permission to move on!”
Claire let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “Everyone had permission to move on except me. I was the only one kept in the dark, dutifully packing his lunch, washing his shirts, and asking him how his day at the office was.”
Before Elena could stammer out another excuse, the back office door swung open with a sharp click.
A tall, elegant woman stepped out, wearing an apron splattered with oil paint, holding a cup of tea. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the crying Elena and the cold, unyielding figure of Claire standing across the desk.
“Elena, what’s going on out here?” the woman asked, frowning. “Is everything—oh.”
Claire turned her head to look at the newcomer. She didn't recognize her face from any wedding album or family gathering, but there was something familiar about the way she carried herself.
“And who are you?” Claire asked, her voice dangerously quiet.
May you like
The woman looked at Elena, then back at Claire, her expression turning from confusion to absolute horror. “I’m Maya,” she whispered. “I’m Jason’s... partner.”
Claire closed her eyes for a brief second, feeling a dark, heavy wave of irony wash over her. Not a double life. Not even a triple life. It was an empire of lies, meticulously partitioned so that no single woman ever saw the whole map.
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