One year with a grumpy billionaire

VIVIAN

I stood in front of my art piece, Anticipation taking the best of me.

The gallery was filled with people,their hushed conversations and murmurs kept seeming into my ears

Today is one of the best day of my life..if not the best. ,I've never felt so fulfilled, happy and filled with so much life. This art piece is my life,my work of three months. I've dedicated my time and my heart into making it

I gazed at my installation- a canvas of torn fabric,broken chains and splattered paint. I felt so proud and vulnerable. This was my declaration of independence,my refusal to be bound by the chains of conformity.

The crowd began to disperse,and a group of art critics and collectors gathered around my installation,their keen eyes assessing each details of the piece

My anxiety grew up. I knew this was the moment,the moment I've been waiting for my whole life. My chance to make a name for myself,a name that is not Everhart.

The fist person that stepped forward was James.

He's a popular critics,well known for his scathing and taunting reviews.

I once was present in a gathering where he criticize a lady's work beyond imagination. Tears filled the lady's face that day and I felt so bad for her.

"And who is the rebellious mind behind this... unconventional piece?"

His voice jilted me out of my reverie

I took a deep breath and introduced myself,my voice steady.

"I'm Vivian. This installation represents the struggle to break free from societal expectations and forge one's own part "

Oscar raised an eyebrow,his interest piqued.

"Ambitious." He mused

"I see elements of abstract expressionism but the message feels.. personal. Tell me Vivian,what inspired..this?"

My gaze drifted to my art piece and then to him.

"I felt inspired to make this piece,it screams freedom. Freedom for anyone whose life feels suffocated by people's expectations."

The room fell silent, the only sound the soft hum of the gallery's music.

James nodded thoughtfully, his expression softening.

"I see. Well, Vivian, you've certainly made a statement. I look forward to seeing more of your work in the future."

As the crowd dispersed, a flurry of business cards and compliments enveloped me. My art had resonated with strangers, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly seen.

For a brief, shining moment, I forgot that the word happiness isn't meant for me. I could feel alive and happy for a moment and something must definitely squeeze its way in to ruin it.

As I scanned the crowd, my eyes fell on a familiar figure at the back of the gallery - my father, Fred.

His disapproving gaze was obvious,snuffing out the spark of joy that had been burning inside me.

My heart sank, my stomach twisting into knots. I never expected him to be here.

I had lied to him about going to the gym, and now I was caught red-handed. I watched in dread as he walked out of the room, and I followed suit immediately,

I had been so careful,so meticulous in keeping the art exhibition a secret from him, knowing fully well the backlash I would face if he found out.

His words echoed in my mind,a painful reminder of the countless times he had belittled my artistic pursuits.

He had once destroyed my sketchbook and pains dismissing them as a waste of time, insisting that I focus on something more "real" and practical like taking over his company

But to me,art was more than a hobby - it was my passion, my lifeline and one thing that made me feel truly alive.

I got to the parking lot and watched as his car disappeared into the night