Betrayal's Sting

The air in Chloe's studio was thick with the scent of turpentine and charcoal dust, a comforting aroma that usually settled her restless spirit. Tonight, however, it felt suffocating. She stared at the half-finished portrait on her easel – Logan Hayes, his usual stoic expression softened by an almost imperceptible vulnerability she’d managed to capture. It was a dangerous piece, too revealing, too much of *her* seeing *him*.

Her phone buzzed on the worn wooden table, making her jump. It was Liam, her oldest friend, the one person she’d told about Cee’s Art, the one person she thought understood the fragile balance of her life.

*“Chloe, we need to talk. Now. Meet me at the old boathouse.”*