Divorced and Evolving: The Art Maven's Revenge on Ex

Liam, accustomed to Ava's usual gentle and composed demeanor, found himself intrigued when he saw her in such a flustered state for the first time. She looked like a startled kitten, eyes wide and movements frantic. A mischievous smile curled on his lips—he decided to tease her.

"Did you know? Last night, you crawled into my arms all on your own. I even told you, 'Give me some space!' But you just wouldn't let go." He chuckled, his tone filled with amusement.

Ava's ears instantly turned crimson—an unmistakable sign of her embarrassment. "Impossible! That… that's absolutely impossible!" she stammered, her eyes filled with disbelief.

Liam's smile deepened, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Oh, it's the absolute truth. Next time, I'll record it so you can't deny it." He grinned, a sly glint in his eyes.

Overwhelmed with shame and frustration, Ava spun around abruptly, hastily grabbing a shirt from the nightstand and throwing it on. Her fingers were so stiff that she didn't even notice she had buttoned it up wrong.

Liam watched her slender figure fumble with her clothes, his thoughts drifting back to the previous night. She had tossed and turned in her sleep, her face contorted in fear, curled up into a tight ball, trembling slightly as if trapped in a nightmare. Instinctively, he had pulled her into his embrace, gently patting her back, his deep, husky voice soothing her. But then, in her sleep, she had murmured, "Ethan…"

The name hit Liam like a punch to the gut.

Countless nights, he had heard that name. An existence impossible to ignore, someone occupying a special place in her heart. He had sent people to investigate this "Ethan," but the search was like looking for a needle in a haystack—every lead was a dead end. The last time he had casually asked Ava about it, she had fallen silent, refusing even to meet his gaze. That silence had filled him with rage—and a sense of powerlessness.

He knew all too well that once the truth came to light, it might be even harder to accept than silence.

His smile vanished instantly, his expression darkening. Slowly, he picked up his watch and fastened it around his wrist, his movements deliberate and restrained. "I'll be working late at the office tonight. Can you cover for me with Grandma?" His tone was light, but a trace of something unspoken lingered beneath his words.

Ava's hands, still fumbling with the buttons, froze.

She knew exactly where he was really going—the hospital, to be with Sophia.

A wave of humiliation surged through her. She bit down hard on her lip, holding back the tears threatening to spill over. A suffocating pain spread through her chest, as if a thousand needles were piercing her heart. It took her a long time to find her voice again, her words barely above a whisper. "I'll talk to Grandma about the divorce. I'm sorry for troubling you."

Liam looked at her, his gaze unreadable. "I'm sorry, too." His voice was softer this time, but the air between them remained heavy with unspoken weight.

After breakfast, a driver took Ava to the art gallery. The day's work unfolded as usual, filled with the busy, meticulous process of artwork authentication.

Until dusk, when her phone suddenly vibrated.

It was the driver.

"Ma'am, I ran into a bit of trouble. Some drunk guy crashed into my car! I have to stay here and wait for the police. Can you get a cab home yourself?" His voice was urgent.

"No problem. I'll get home on my own." Ava tried to keep her voice calm.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out of the gallery, walking down Fifth Avenue. The neon lights flickered as the city came alive for the night, pedestrians bustling past her.

But as she turned into a quieter alley, her heart sank.

Two men blocked her path.

The taller, leaner man took a step forward. "You're Ava, right? Come with us." His tone left no room for argument.

Ava's eyes darted between them, her instincts screaming danger. They both wore sunglasses—odd, considering it was already dark—and carried a musty smell that made her step back instinctively.

"Where to?" She kept her voice as steady as possible.

The tall man's expression softened slightly. "We have a painting in serious need of restoration. Heard you're an expert in this field. Name your price, we won't make things difficult for you."

Ava exhaled a small breath of relief. "If it's a restoration job, you can bring the painting to the gallery. That's the proper process."

The bald man scowled impatiently. "No time for that. You're coming with us. Now."

Ava didn't hesitate—she turned and bolted.

But the bald man was faster. Within seconds, he grabbed her wrist, yanking her back. "You're not getting away," he muttered darkly, dragging her toward a black SUV idling at the alley's entrance.

The moment the car door slammed shut, the tall man snatched her phone away.

"Call your family. Tell them you're going on a trip with friends for a few days. We don't want unnecessary trouble." He held the phone out to her.

Ava's first instinct was to dial Liam's number, but the thought of him possibly being with Sophia at this very moment made her heart clench. Swallowing hard, she called her mother instead.

"Mom, I'm going on a trip with some friends for a few days. Don't forget to take your diabetes medication, okay? Love you." She deliberately emphasized the word "diabetes."

Her mother wasn't diabetic. Hopefully, she'd catch on.

The moment she hung up, the tall man powered off the phone and pocketed it. Then he pulled out a black cloth and blindfolded her.

The drive was long.

By the time they stopped, Ava was led into an old apartment building, forced up three flights of stairs, and shoved into a room.

When the blindfold was removed, she blinked against the dim yellow glow of a table lamp.

The room was sparse—a bed, a small bathroom, and in the center, a heavy safe.

The tall man stepped forward and spun the combination lock. With a click, the safe door swung open, revealing a rolled-up painting inside.

As it unfurled before her, Ava's eyes widened.

It was a classic piece of American realism, its colors faded, the canvas torn in several places, even missing chunks in some areas. But she recognized the artist's style immediately—John Singer Sargent, a master of 19th-century portraiture.

If restored, the painting's value would easily reach millions.

No wonder they had gone to such lengths to force her into doing this.

"How long will it take to fix?" The tall man's eyes gleamed with something dangerous.

Ava examined the damage closely before responding calmly, "The canvas is in critical condition. At least two weeks."

"Fine." He handed her a piece of paper. "Write down everything you need."

Ava quickly listed the required materials—canvas, pigments, solvents, restoration tools—and handed it back. "Once I have these, I can start."

The men left, locking the door behind them.

Ava glanced out the window. In the distance, hills stretched into the night, their silhouettes punctuated by scattered lights.

She had been taken far from the city.

Her stomach protested—she hadn't eaten all day. After rummaging through a drawer, she found a packet of instant noodles, forcing down a few bites with some water.

As the night deepened, the cold seeped in. She curled up on the bed, but sleep wouldn't come.

Would Liam even notice she was missing?

She doubted it. He was probably too busy with Sophia…

That thought cut her deeper than she expected.

She turned over, staring into the darkness, waiting.

Somehow, she had to escape.

She tried turning the doorknob, but the door remained firmly locked. She scanned the room, finding nothing that could be used to pry it open. Walking to the window, she looked down. The three-story height made escape dangerous, and in the yard below, a fierce black guard dog was tethered. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to stay calm. Hopefully, her mother would understand her distress signal and call the police as soon as possible. 

For the next three days, she focused on restoring the oil painting, carefully cleaning the stains and slowly bringing the artwork back to life. But her anxiety grew—every night, she could hear footsteps pacing outside the door, making her feel on edge. 

In the early hours of the fourth day, just as she closed her eyes, a sudden bout of barking and hurried footsteps jolted her awake. 

The door was flung open. The tall man rushed in and grabbed her wrist. "Move!" The bald man swiftly rolled up the painting, and they bolted toward the exit. 

But just as they reached the doorway, a group of people blocked their path. 

Leading them was Liam. His gaze was ice-cold, filled with fury and menace, while behind him, several police officers stood with their guns aimed. 

A glimmer of disbelief flashed in Ava's eyes. "Liam?" Her voice trembled. 

"It's me." His voice was low and firm. 

The tall man panicked, pulling out a knife and pressing it against Ava's neck. "Back off! Or I'll kill her!" 

"Drop your guns! Everyone, step back!" Liam roared, his eyes burning with barely contained fear. 

The officers slowly lowered their weapons, the air thick with tension. 

The tall man dragged Ava toward the window. "Jump with me!" 

Ava shook her head in despair. "It's too high—I can't…" 

At that moment, a gunshot suddenly rang out, piercing the night with a chilling scream—