The morning light in Portland didn’t filter through my apartment window so much as it bled through, gray and stubborn, casting long shadows across a living room that suddenly felt entirely too small.

I shoved my way through the press of people, abandoning my spot in the corner, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. I reached Lily’s side just as Noah and Julian stopped a few feet away.

"Noah," Lily said, her voice remarkably steady despite the clear panic in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Noah looked at his sister, his expression a toxic mix of hurt, anger, and misguided righteousness. "I’m here to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life, Lil. You think you built all of this on your own? You think this gallery, this success—it’s yours?"

The surrounding crowd began to quiet down, heads turning, whispers rippling through the fashionable crowd like wildfire. Flashbulbs from a lingering reporter’s camera suddenly went off, capturing the exact second our lives imploded publicly.

"What are you talking about, Noah?" I stepped forward, inserting myself between him and Lily. "Lower your voice. Everyone is watching."

"Stay out of this, Ethan!" Noah snarled, his eyes fixed on me with pure venom. Then he turned his attention back to Lily, gesturing broadly to Julian Vance. "Ask him. Ask Julian how this gallery was actually financed."

Julian stepped forward, adjusting his expensive silk tie with a sickeningly polite smile. He pulled a crisp, folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and held it up like a trophy.

"It’s simple, really," Julian announced, loud enough for half the gallery to hear. "Lily’s initial bank loan was denied six months ago. She didn't have the credit history. So, I stepped in as a silent, anonymous investor, funneling fifty thousand dollars into her account under the table—conditional, of course, upon her signing an exclusive representation contract with my firm. A contract she conveniently threw away when she decided to run off with your lovely friend here."