Lauren

“That goes over there.” Hillary directs the sea of workers we hired to set up for the event. My stomach is in knots. Not only is it tied in knots, but it feels queasy as if I were tied to a roller coaster. It’s the morning of my gallery opening, and it doesn’t feel like how I thought it would. I thought I would be excited and elated but instead I feel panicked and on edge.

“Lauren, don’t you have a hair and makeup appointment,” Angela asks me knocking me from my thoughts.

“Yeah, but I thought I should be here helping out and being more hands-on…” I say mechanically.

“Hon, we’ve got this. Everything is going to go beautifully,” she reassures me with smile. The last two days have been a blur. I’ve thrown myself into work preparing everything for today, but what Collin said about integrating is at the forefront of my mind regardless of how much I try to ignore it. Something is different. Even Helen agrees though she won’t say much about it. The only thing that she did reveal was that Collin hasn’t exactly been his usual self. He seems more emotional, a little more human and it’s not bad, but I had grown to be comforted by his fair, unbiased nature. In the beginning, his motives were never for him, but for all of them as a whole. I’ve started to get the distinct feeling that this is no longer the case, and if that’s changed, I have to question everything that he’s said and done. With him being the most knowledgeable of them all, it’s a very scary place for him to be in if he’s not thinking clearly. I’m worried, and it’s not the kind that hits you at once when you think something bad is going to happen, but the silent kind that kills you in your sleep. The kind where people wonder why a perfectly healthy twenty-something-year-old suffered a stroke or heart attack.

“Lauren Scott.” I turn around toward the deep voice, and it’s accompanied with blond hair, swoon worthy eyes and a smile that had to have been aided by years of braces.

“You’re…” I trail off trying to place the familiar face.

“Ian Hudson,” he says extending his hand.

“Of course you are, I’m so sorry. Things are super hectic right now,” I apologize. This is the guy Hillary fawned over about his face, but his photography work is what is phenomenal.

“I’m so honored that you are allowing me to feature your work.” He’s beautiful but in a rugged sort of way, rough around the edges, no polish. Tall and broad, more like a mechanic than a photographer. He sort of looks like Thor, Hillary is going to love that. She has a huge crush on Chris Helmsworth, I can’t worry about what a messy triangle that could be.

Hopefully he’s married.

“No problem, it looks like it’s in good hands here,” he says with an easy shrug surveying the chaos.

“It will be, I promise. Everything will all come together tonight.”

“No worries. If Mike trusts you, I trust you.” He smiles warmly. It’s a smile I’m sure would cause butterflies to any other woman, but all I want to do is pass it off to someone else. Fantastic eyes and stomach-clenching smiles is why my brain is such a mess right now.

“Lauren, can you check on this and make sure that the playlist is okay? The DJ’s assistant wants your final approval,” Angela says as she hands me a list.

“I can see you’re busy. I just wanted to introduce myself since we were in the area. I’ll see you tonight,” he says with an easy unoffended smile.

“Thank you again. Yes, we’ll talk more tonight,” I say gluing my eyes on the list. When two hands cover my eyes, I try to hide a groan and plaster on a fake smile. I have so much work to do that right now, I wish I had a magic genie to grant me three wishes to make everything perfect if not just bearable. I turn around, and it’s Raven smiling widely at me. I fall into her big hug.

“I thought you weren’t coming in until later?” I ask her surprised.

“I wasn’t, but I figured you might need some help.” Her eyes survey me and her brows immediately knit together. “Are you okay?”

“Just nervous about tonight.” It’s a half-truth that I hope she accepts.

“Honey, I already see it coming together. It’s going to be a great night for you.”

“Raven, can you please make Lauren get out of here so she can get ready for tonight? We have this all under control,” Hillary says through clenched teeth.

“I really should get to my appointments,” I try to muster up some enthusiasm.

“Yes, you need to get out of here, I will step in, and whatever they need me to do I’m available."

“Okay. I’m going.” I grip the strap of my purse and maneuver my way through the sea of busy people working together to make my opening night perfect. When I reach outside, I let out a sigh of relief to get some alone time.

“Penny for your thoughts?” I’m surprised when I look up and see Dexter Jr. sitting inside a matte black Rolls Royce.

“Hi,” I say trying to keep the iciness out of my voice. He and I have been on the edge of cordial for awhile. We haven’t been friendly since I found out he lied to me about Cal.

“You’re a little early for the party.” I assumed that he and Helen were coming, but I am surprised to see him here so early. Looking at Dexter reminds me of the secrets and lies that have been tethered to my life.

“Where are you heading? Would you like a ride?” he asks, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

“No thanks.” I turn and begin to walk away from him.

“I think we should talk Lauren,” he calls after me, the smugness erased from his tone.

“What on earth would we have to talk about?”

“Your husband.”

“Right… what would you tell me that Helen hasn’t?” I dare him.

“Helen is bound by certain ethical restrictions. I am not.”

I bite my lip. What could possibly go wrong from talking to Dexter? It’s not like this situation could get any worse. His driver comes around and opens the door for me before I’m even able to touch the handle.

“Thank you.” I get in and he closes the door behind me. I take in the softness of the leather, the decadence of the finishes—this car whispers wealth.

“First time in a Rolls?” he asks, and the awe must be written all over my face.

“So what do you want to talk about?” I ignore his question and get straight to the point.

“I know I was never exactly forthcoming with you, but please know, it was never because of who you are but because of who I am, and what was asked of me.”

“Did you know that he was your brother?” I ask bluntly. His answer to this question will let me know if this is a waste of my time and if he’s only here to ease his own conscience or if he is ready to be more honest with me.

“Not at first. But I am a Crestfield and the lengths my father encouraged me to go made me begin to wonder.”

“When did you find out?” I ask him as he pours himself a glass of brown liquid.

“Right before your wedding.” He brings the glass to his lips.

I let out a deep breath. “Why am I here, Dexter? You must have something important to tell me.”

“Has Cal talked to you about that night?”

“What night?” I ask confused.

“The night when he went to visit his relative from long ago.”

“No. After everything happened he was really broken up about it, and then Collin took over.”

His face sets into one of deep thought. “Actually no. Cal came back briefly a few days ago. I thought he was Chris, and he may have said something about it, but I was too intoxicated to remember what or if it happened at all.” I admit. “Why? Is it something important?” I ask him curiously.

“It could be very important,” he says more to himself than me. “I couldn’t be helpful to you initially because Cal had sworn me to secrecy,” he begins. “Now I’m not bound by that promise. One of my pharmacists disclosed that Collin requested Naltrexonel and Xanax,” he explains, and I feel my face scrunch up.

“I’m sorry, what is that?”

“Naltrexonel is usually given to those who are trying to overcome a drug addiction, but we found that it suppresses emotional urges, and combined with Xanax—”

“He doesn’t want to feel anything?” I ask him confused.

“As you know, switching occurs due to triggers. Collin usually doesn’t respond to those things because he’s the one who isn’t supposed to be affected by that, but things seem to have changed. Xanax can have different side effects including impaired memory. We think by him mixing them he believes─”

“He believes what?”

“We think that he may be trying to create a permanent block, similar to what we were once developing for Cal,” he explains, and my heart has started to race.

“But Collin’s supposed to be…” I let out a long sigh. “I made him this way,” I say feeling guilt gripping my entire body.

“No, he is who he is. If anything you’re what’s keeping them together.”

I don’t believe it though. “So what do I do? What do we do?” I am hoping that someone will give me the answer to all of this.

“If you confront him about it, he’ll explain. Or admit his intentions and if need be—we have him committed.”

“I’m sorry, what?” I ask in shock.

“He can’t self-prescribe medication, Lauren. It’s dangerous, and we’re not aware of how it would affect him.” He states plainly. “Helen and I will be at your party tonight. If you notice anything strange or out of the ordinary—if he seems to be a danger to himself or anyone else—we’ll have to act tonight. I hate to tell you this on your big night,” he says sounding genuine.

“No, it’s fine. I would rather know than be left in the dark.”

“Where were you heading?” he asks.

“Home.” The little voice in my head says my life is going to hell in a hand basket.

* * *

When I get home and open the door, I’m surprised to hear children playing. I’m even more stunned when I see Mr. and Mrs. Scott sitting on our couch watching television and a little blonde girl playing with Caylen and her toys.

“Hi Lauren,” he says, and the biggest headache of my life joins my already nauseous stomach.

“Hi, you’re pretty,” the little girl giggles, and when my senses kick back in, I realize that this must be Willa seeing as she looks just like Lisa.

“Thank you, so are you.” I give her a forced smile. Mr. Scott’s eyes land on mine, and I see such a huge difference from when I saw him last. His eyes are bright and full of life, his beard and hair trimmed and no longer wild. He doesn’t look like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, or like a man who unleashed a terrible secret on his family. He looks happy, and a part of me is glad, while the other part is wondering what he is doing here.

“Chris wanted me to come,” he explains reading my expression.

“Chris wanted you to come?”

“He called me last night, and said he wanted us to be here for your opening.” They both look at me bewildered. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Last night?” I ask confused.

“Yes, is everything okay?” Mrs. Scott approaches me looking concerned.

“No. Chris hasn’t been here for about four days…”

“What do you mean, Lauren?” Mrs. Scott asks.

“Hey sweetie, would you like to see all the cool stuff Caylen has in her room?” I ask Willa, and she smiles and nods.

“Come on Caylen,” she says happily before taking off and Caylen bobbles behind her.

I sit down and begin to explain to them what’s happened—with Cal taking over from Chris and not telling me and Collin, and the new myriad of issues and possible medication abuse—and when I’m done tears are flowing down my face, and Mrs. Scott is rocking me in her arms.

“Oh honey, you’ve been dealing with all of this yourself?”

“We’ve got to do something. This is something we should be handling not the Crestfields,” Mr. Scott says, that old tone of authority back in his voice.

“I should cancel the show.” I grab my phone to call Hillary.

“No. No, you shouldn’t. You’ve worked so hard for this. Your deserve this.” Mrs. Scott squeezes my hand giving me a soft smile.

“We will all have to watch him. Someone will be here with you around the clock,” Mr. Scott says. “We’ll also tell Aidan to help out.”

“I just don’t understand why Collin would tell you to come here. Do you think it could have been Chris briefly?” I ask more to myself than them.

“I was shocked, to say the least,” Mr. Scott looks down guiltily. “I had such high hopes that things were about to change.”

“Have you seen him today?” I ask Mrs. Scott.

“He kissed me on the cheek while I was making breakfast and said he had to get to work. I should have known it wasn’t him when he didn’t steal any food.” She lets out a joyless laugh.

He always leaves before I wake up. Actually each of them do.

“Lauren, you should go get some rest before your big night. You look so tired,” Mrs. Scott says worriedly, and I realize I completely forgot about my hair and makeup appointment.

“I’m going to look like a zombie tonight—a stressed out zombie.” I laugh to keep from crying.

“No, it’s going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine,” Mrs. Scott reassures me taking me by the arm. “It’s one o’clock now. Go lie down until three and when you wake up, I’ll have everything you need to get ready here. I promise,” Mrs. Scott sounds so confident and sure that I immediately feel better.

When I hit the bed, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sleep with so many thoughts running through my head, but somehow my eyelids feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds and sleep hits me like a truck.

“Hey, sleepy head. Time to wake up.” I open my eyes to see Hillary and Angela sitting beside me.

“What time is it?” I feel groggy and could sleep a thousand more hours.

“Time for you to hit the shower so we can make you glamorous.” Hillary grins with her five-pound beauty box at her side and a Red Bull outstretched to me while Angela waves her blow-dryer and flat irons at me.

“You guys are the best,” I say feeling myself tear up.

“Get all your crying out now because once I put your mascara and lashes on, I’ll have to kill you if tears wet them.”

I gulp down my Red Bull in between showering and putting on lotion and when I’m done Angela starts on my hair.

“Did I tell you I met my next one night stand?” Hillary asks, eying the size of her butt in my full-length mirror.

“Grow up Hil,” Angela playfully scolds her.

“Oh no if you saw him you wouldn’t say that. He’s so hot, and he’s an artist. He’s so broody and looking for a release.” She falls back on my bed and pulls up his picture on the phone. She shows it to Angie.

“Yeah, he’s cute but why does he have to be a one night stand?” Angie asks and Hillary smacks her lips.

“It’s an expression,” Hillary says defensively.

“What about Aidan?” I thought they seemed to be getting closer, so I am surprised that Hillary is looking at other guys, actually I’m not.

“Ugh, we’re not together. We’re just having fun and until he says otherwise, I am on the market,” she giggles. “What about you and Mikey,” Hillary teases Angela, and she smiles bashfully.

“We are hanging out,” Angela says while wrapping my hair around the curling wand.

“Hanging out or having fun?” Hillary says dramatically.

I close my eyes and take in the moment, remembering the days where we’d help each other get ready for dates, and had sleepovers after boys broke our hearts. Well, what I thought was heartbreak then. Nothing compares to what I’ve felt with Cal. The lows are to the bottom pits of the earth, but the highs are like the most coveted spot in heaven.

“Thank you for being here,” I tell them. Angie kisses my cheek and Hillary tosses a pillow at me.

“Watch the hair!” Angela scolds her. For a small moment in time my mind isn’t on all that’s happened between me and my husband—the lies, secrets and hidden agendas—it’s just on me hanging out with my girls before one of the most exciting nights of my life.

* * *

Collin

“Here is your suit for tonight and the files you requested.” She hangs up the suit on my door and then sets the folder on my desk.

“Jennifer, what are these?” I ask looking up at my assistant and going back to the files in my hand.

“You asked for them, sir.” She smiles awkwardly at me. She’s pretty in the old-school movie star way—not thin as a rail but shapely, big doe eyes, and full lips—but I question if that was one of the sole factors of her getting this job.

“I asked you?” I reiterate. I notice her gulp.

“Yes, this morning.” She crosses her hands in front of her, the half-smile disappearing. I pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s the second time I’ve lost time, little moments stolen from me like taunts. First was the paper taped to my computer monitor that said “your time is running out,” and now this.

“What are these exactly?” I flip through what looks like personal documents, electricity bills, and a birth certificate.

“They were delivered by courier Mr. Crestfield,” her voice is wavering, and she’s nervous or uncomfortable, but it’s me that should be. When my eyes land on the name, I drop the file from my hands. It’s Clayton Rice’s life on my desk.

“Cal.” I mutter.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Nothing Jennifer. Will I see you at my wife’s opening tonight?” I change the subject, and her smile widens.

“Yes. We’re all very excited. I’ve never been to a gallery opening before.”

“Good,” I tell her, and she nods before leaving and shutting the door behind her.

I pull out the bottle of pills from my drawer and eye them. The combination I took earlier was wrong. It only made me tired and more susceptible to transitioning. I should up the count of the Naltrexonel. I pick up the phone.

“Jennifer, can you page Keelan Fexler?” He’s one of the chemists I’ve been working with. I take the file Cal ordered earlier and toss it in the shredder. I check the time and see I have about two hours before I need to head to the gallery, so I hop in the shower and change into my suit, and realize that Fexler still hasn’t made his way up here. I grab the phone.

“Jennifer, did you have Fexler paged?” I ask feeling the veins in my head begin to throb.

“Yes, but…”

“But what?” My patience is becoming thinner and thinner, and the line goes dead. I pick up the phone to call back but get a busy signal. I stand up and head to the door and Dexter Crestfield Sr. walks through.

“Collin…” He’s wearing a menacing smile. “My son,” he adds with condescension.

I smile back.

“Your brother revoked your privileges to our chemist and pharmacy staff,” he explains. He looks me up and down and gives me an approving nod.

“Excellent choice for Lauren’s gallery opening.” He smiles like a game show host. He walks past me and sits behind my desk. “I’m a little concerned, Collin.” He leans back in my chair.

“Concerned about what?”

“That you don’t have things under control.”

“I have everything under control. Granted, there have been some small mishaps,” I admit.

“I don’t do mishaps, Collin. I’m too old for them now. I like results, and I do not like mistakes or miscalculations. They bore me, irritate me, and I’m not someone you want to do either of those things to.” His hard face cracks into a smile.

“There hasn’t been a miscalculation or mistake seeing as I’m the one here. There is a reason for that, and if you help keep me here, you won’t have anything to fear.”

He sits up halfway in my chair.

“You remind me so much of your mother. Out of all of your comrades, you remind me of her the most,” he says with a sinister smile, and I clench my teeth.

“She was so beautiful. She could have easily gone to Hollywood or New York and made a fortune off her face alone. The second I laid eyes on her I knew she had to be mine and I just hoped that the brain she had matched the body.” He chuckles.

“Are you done,” I ask him pointedly. His smile fades into a flat hard line.

“You’ll sit. Right now.” His tone doesn’t go above a whisper but would make a lesser man flinch. He points to the chair in front of my desk. I press my lips together and adjust my suit before sitting. As long as I get what I want at the end of the conversation, I can appease him. He can pay for this later.

“You know I didn’t realize something was off with her until… well, I won’t get into the vulgar details with you. That would be tasteless.” He snickers and his eyes survey my face waiting for a reaction. “She seemed to be fine with us seeing each other when time allowed, and she understood being arm candy, but then a part of her didn’t, and then you came along.”

“As much as these tales of your youth are probably worthy of a best seller, I have somewhere to be,” I remind him.

“You know I think I have misled you, Collin. I may have given you the distinct impression that I owe you something—that you are in control—when in fact, it is the very opposite.”

I can’t help but laugh at that.

“Having you committed would be too simple,” he says casually.

I let out a disbelieving laugh.

“If I felt that you were any danger to yourself and Helen agreed with me…” he trails off.

“You’re not talking to Christopher, Dexter. You’d have to have more than that.”

“Impatient, just like Isabella.” He shakes his head.

“You have been coercing my staff to give you medication. You threatened one before slamming their head into a metal counter,” he says, and I feel my heartbeat speed up.

“I didn’t do that,” I retort, and he smirks.

“Really… are you sure? Because I don’t think you remember as much as you should…” he trails off and stands from my chair and walks to the window.

“Let’s say you didn’t. You don’t think I could persuade one, two, or three of my employees to agree to state otherwise? That I don’t have judges in my pocket?” He turns toward me, wearing a grin. “You are documented as suffering time loss and blackouts. Which means that you are not aware of all that you do. You don’t think that I couldn’t have Helen agree with how I see your condition?” He laughs.

“Having you committed would be generous, Collin. It would be better than you getting into one of those luxury vehicles you love so much and the brakes giving out. A strange man cornering you in an alley with a gun to swipe that fifteen thousand dollar watch off your wrist and his finger slips and pulls the trigger.”

My throat is tight, and my body feels heavy, my thoughts become hazy.

“You see this game that I play with those who think they’re smarter—a step ahead of me. I let them think that they’re a step away from a checkmate and then… I knock the board over.” He leans down in front of me, so we’re face-to-face.

“You’re lucky that you’re blood. Don’t feel so down on yourself. Better men than you have lost to me, and will continue to. Your own brother has his game that he thinks will put him on top but he will lose as well and the world will continue to spin. You don’t get this far in life with what I have and what I’ve built by not having your finger on the pulse of every area that you need to. I’ve learned to see the big picture. Young men like yourself only see a small cutout.”

He touches my cheek like how a father would a loving son.

“You know I really loved your mother… she just…she didn’t understand her place—couldn’t accept it—even after all of my convincing.” He lets out a short sigh. “Oh well. That’s all in the past right, my boy?” He pats me on the back before making his way to the door.

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have a present for you.” I turn toward him and he tosses me a pill vial. I fumble before catching it, and he leaves out of my office . It looks like he was never here, but his presence is everywhere, infecting the air, infecting me. I quickly close the door then I’m frozen. Stuck in place. I try to think but I can’t because all I hear is sinister laughing. I quickly open the bottle and pop four pills.

* * *

Lauren

He’s not here yet. In the midst of all the exciting chaos my thoughts are on him, and they shouldn’t be. Everything is going to be fine. Tonight is about enjoying this night, my accomplishments—something I’ve worked so hard to bring together. Well, that’s what Raven has told me since the minute I walked in my pale face hidden beneath foundation, concealer and highlighting powder. Hillary did an amazing job. My face looks like those girls on Instagram—flawless. My hair is effortlessly chic after Angie created perfect loose waves. The black dress I’m wearing seems especially made for me—hugging and hiding all of the right places. Tonight the gallery is packed. The music fills the air as people admire each painting. Cameras are flashing as a few newspaper reporters are here. The crowd is a mix of the young, vibrant, and the sophisticated, which I attribute to my artist’s social media followers and the strings that Dexter pulled for more traditional press. I’m dreaming, and it’s perfect except my leading man is missing.

“Smile honey, you look like you just swallowed a condom,” Hillary whispers in my ear. “There are so many people dying to meet you—make your rounds and thank everyone for coming and upsell your artists work. I’ve sold five and I’m killing you,” she says tightly into my ear. She takes my arm and we make our way around the room. I’m surprised at how good Hillary is at this. She’s charismatic—reserved with the women and the right hint of flirtatious with the men. She’s knowledgeable of each piece and who the artist is. She’s done her homework and stepped up in ways I didn’t imagine she would when I hired her because she was in between jobs. In the moments I was falling apart, she was pulling things together.

“Ian, Lauren and I just wanted to thank you for the turn out you pulled in tonight. I’ve asked several people about how they heard of the event, and they’ve all said they follow you.” Hillary gives him an award winning smile, and he smiles back modestly.

“Your work is amazing and one of my favorites,” I tell him honestly. His latest works are photographs of abandoned buildings, but the way he captures them, they speak to people—men and women of all different ages. I’m guessing it’s why he has over a million followers on Instagram.

“I may have brought some people here, but your work is what everyone is talking about.” He laughs.

“My work?”

“It’s brave to reveal something so incredibly personal. You could see the pain, the loneliness, the fear, and the joy from it.” The noise around me is drowned out, my heart beats hard in my chest, and it feels like the world has slowed down. I look at Hillary who has a nervous grin plastered on her face.

“Hillary, you didn’t.” I gulp down my multiplying nerves.

“It’s such an amazing piece, Lauren.” She pleads urgently, gripping my hands. Ian looks between us, sensing some tension. My thoughts are clumsily trying to form words, but the words aren’t making it out of my mouth. I scan the room to see where she put it, but I don't see it.

What did she name it? What was the description with it? I haven’t even shown him the piece yet, and now it’s out for all of these people to see. I walk away from Hillary and make my way through the gallery. I didn’t see it during my initial walk through. It’s almost six feet and I wouldn’t just miss it.

“Honey, it’s amazing. You did such a fantastic job.” Raven stops me. She looks beautiful, her hair is shorter than it used to be and cut into a stylish bob. She is wearing a dark grey oversized sweater and black skirt, but I can’t even voice a compliment out loud to her because my mind is on one thing—finding the painting, hoping that maybe no one noticed it, and praying that my name isn’t associated with it. Maybe she just mentioned it casually to Ian while flirting, and he’s just being nice.

“Have you seen a piece by me?” I ask nervously.

“That’s what I’m talking about. It’s the talk of the night. I didn’t think that you would be so open with what’s happening but…” Her words fall on deaf ears.

“Upstairs, it has to be upstairs,” I mutter to myself before moving through the myriad of people holding champagne flutes and engulfed in their own conversations. My heart starts to beat out of my chest when I see it. It’s in its own section with over a dozen people surrounding it. The caption near it says—

Shattered Pieces by Lauren Scott

My heart stops.

“What do you think it means?” I hear a man’s voice say.

“Who cares he’s hot,” a woman’s voice adds.

“It’s the same guy, isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“No, they all look so different.”

“Of course it’s the same guy.”

“Triplets you think?”

“Maybe she has three lovers.”

The voices eventually all meld together, except one.

“What is this?” His voice brings everything to a screeching halt. My heart has fallen over on itself, and I turn to look at him nervously. His eyes are wide, his stare hard on the picture. I gulp down my nerves. His presence causes silence amongst the onlookers, and I’m not sure if it’s because they recognize it’s him from the painting or his aura alone causes no questions to be asked, only actions to be taken. It makes me want to crawl in myself and hide. He looks amazing—dressed in an impeccable black suit, not a hair out of place, but something seems off. His face is like stone, relaxed, but his movements are quick and rushed as he walks towards the piece and looks around at the small crowd of people surrounding it. He stalks toward me, grabs my arm, his grip deadlocked on me.

“How could you do this?” His voice is hoarse and desperate.

“I-I didn’t mean for it to be on display like this...” I tell him quickly.

“Do you know what can happen if people find out about this?” he asks, his grip tightening even more.

“You’re hurting me, Collin.” I attempt to snatch my arm away.

“There’s a reason we see one doctor, a reason that this has to stay under wraps.” His teeth are gritted, and he pulls me closer to his chest. His eyes are locked on mine and there is fire behind them. I feel myself shaking. I’ve felt many things for this man in the years that I’ve known him—anger, joy, love, disappointment, desire, but fear has never been one of the emotions until now.

“He can destroy us,” he snarls, before pushing me away. My mouth falls open in shock and confusion. This has to be the medication! Onlookers are watching us confused, and with worried and perplexed expressions, unsure if they should intervene.

“Who are you talking about Collin? What is wrong with you?” I beg him. He looks at me frustrated and as if I’m an annoyance.

He walks over to my piece and attempts to pull it down.

“Collin, stop it!” I try to grab his shoulder, but he shoves me away so hard I stumble in my heels.

“Hey, why don’t you calm down,” one of the onlookers says. He’s about Collin’s height and build and I’m afraid of how this will end with the state Collin is in.

“This doesn’t pertain to you,” Collin growls continuing his attempt to rip the canvas off the wall. The onlooker looks over at me in pity.

“Just leave him alone please,” I tell him. Another guy shakes his head in disbelief or anger and approaches him.

“Hey buddy, calm down.” He grabs his shoulder, and I watch as Collin’s fist flies into the guy’s face so hard he keels over.

“Collin!” I scream. But he doesn’t even glance my way. He’s thrown the guy into the painting and is now on top of him punching him in the face.

“Oh my God, Collin stop!” I scream. I try to pull him off of him but he shoves me so hard I hit the floor.

“Hey!” I sit up to see two men—one being Ian—pulling Collin off of the poor guy. A few women help me up. Collin struggles in their arms and manages to tear his arm from the one guy and elbows Ian in the face.

“Fuck!” Ian yells covering his eye. The other guy grabs Collin, and Ian snatches off his jacket and squares up his shoulders as if he’s a professional fighter.

“Come on, asshole!” He taunts Collin, then charges at him like a raging bull. Collin attempts to grab Ian by the waist to throw him, but Ian lands several punches in his stomach. Tears are falling from my eyes. I take off my shoes and run to get help when I see Aidan tearing through the crowd.

I’m so glad to see him I can faint. He rushes to the fight but grabs Ian assuming incorrectly that he’s the initiator.

“It’s Collin. Stop Collin, Aidan!” I shout. Aidan looks up a split second confused, and Ian hits him in the jaw while Collin tries to hit both of them. Security has rushed upstairs and is grabbing everyone associated with the fight.

“What the hell is going on?!” Hillary screams, her eyes wide. Less than a moment later, everyone is beside me asking me what’s happened—the Scotts, Dexter and Helen, Raven and Angela—but I can’t answer. I’m shaking as I look over at Collin being restrained, his eyes vacant, and it makes my insides go cold and tears trail down my face. I look at the piece I worked so hard on—something that to other people would seem strange or extraordinary—was precious and beautiful to me. My painting was similar to a diary entry of the past three years of my life. Now gone, destroyed, and trampled on. My opening night should have been amazing, but life just doesn’t seem to want that for me.