Chapter 90

Sienna’s POV

The gallery buzzed with life, a kaleidoscope of color and sound that enveloped me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

The air was thick with the scent of fresh paint, champagne, and anticipation, blending into a symphony of triumph.

My first solo art exhibition since the world had tried to break me was not just a success—it was a resurrection.

The hum of conversations, the delicate clink of glasses, the soft jazz weaving through the crowd—it was chaos, but the good kind, the kind that felt like coming home.

People weren’t just admiring my work; they were feeling it, their whispers and gasps weaving a thread of connection that made my heart swell.

I stood in the center of the room, a quiet pride radiating from my chest, warming me like sunlight after a long winter. The walls told my story in strokes of paint and raw emotion.

To my left hung—The Echo of Goodbye: a series of canvases in fractured blues and grays, each shard of