Erving immediately let go of me and strode toward her. He placed a hand on her arm and said with concern, “Why are you dressed so lightly? Aren’t you cold?”
“Not at all,” she replied sweetly. “You picked this dress for me. I’d wear it even if it snowed.”
As she spoke, her eyes flicked toward my pale face, and a smirk tugged at her lips.
I stood frozen, pain spreading quietly through my chest.
Years ago, when I wore an off-shoulder dress to my first film festival, Erving had glared from the audience. Afterward, he wrapped me in his coat and carried me to the car, scolding, “You’re never wearing something that revealing again.”
Back then, his eyes were full of me. Now, they saw no one but Anya.
Before I could even process that cruel contrast, reporters swarmed around me, microphones nearly brushing my face.
“Mandy, your mother hasn’t been buried yet, but you came to Anya’s art exhibit. Are you confirming you were the model for her painting?”
“Mandy, seeing how much Mr. Pollock favors Anya, does this mean your position as his wife is at risk?”
“Did you volunteer to pose nude for her? Are you really as… open as the rumors say?”
Their shameless questions cut into me like salt poured over a wound.
I opened my mouth to say I’d been tricked here. But before I could, Erving grabbed my wrist.
He pulled me closer, addressing the press with calm detachment. “It’s just family support. Please don’t overinterpret it. Mandy has just suffered a loss; her emotions are unstable. Let’s keep the focus on the exhibition.”
Then he released me and turned away, greeting businessmen with that polite smile of his. His arm slid naturally around Anya’s shoulders as he introduced, “This is Anya Heffernan, one of the most gifted young painters I’ve ever met.”
The crowd around them erupted with compliments. Anya leaned shyly into Erving, looking every bit like his wife.
I was left standing there, looking the most awkward person in the room.
Some people pointed at me and gossiped, their mocking laughter sharp in my ears.
Finally, I couldn’t bear it anymore. I strode forward, grabbed Erving’s sleeve, and hissed, “Erving, that’s enough! You tricked me here to make a fool of me—is this fun for you? I’m leaving!”
In an instant, his smile froze. When he turned to me, his eyes were already cold.
He shook off my hand violently. I stumbled backward, slamming into a display rack. I gasped as pain shot through me.