The Artist Who Cheated Death

esday morning. It came just a week after her first solo exhibition, "R

stood in front of her largest canvas, a chaotic but beautiful swirl of color, she was smiling, but

c and random event on a rainy afternoon. But those who

ch mogul Mark Davis was finalized. Their split had been qu

g pop star, Sienna Brooks. Pictures of them together, looking comforta

and stiff-faced business associates of her ex-husband. Mark was th

Green, Ava' s mother. She wasn't looking at the casket, she was looking at Mark, her expression a mi

spoke of her immense talent, her unique vision, and the bright future that

t the life you live after you re

stood what she mean

pulled Mark aside, her

s ruin you. Think of the

the last time he had seen Ava, in the lawyer's office. She had been pale but composed. She slid the signed papers across the table

er voice steady and clear. It was

hat her last thought wasn't of him, or of Sienna, or of her mother.

cemetery. Mark stared out at the gray city, the image of Ava' s paint-stained hands burning in his min

of this. She knew only the screech of tires, a sudden, blinding flash of light, and

wasn't

thunder. It was a familiar sound, one she hadn' t heard in years. Her eyelids f

silk, cold against her skin. She knew these sheets. They were a wedding gift. A wedding gift from a lifetim

of cream and gold, trying to create a warmth that wasn't there. Everything was exactly as sh

aring back at her was Ava Green, but not the one who had died. This Ava was younger, her face less worn, the sadness

y, leather-bound thing Mark had insisted on. Her finger

e had gone ba

e world would see. Her art career hadn't even begun, it was just a secret hobby she indulged in when Mark was away o

was

a second

gs would be different. This time, she would not be a submissive wife. She would not

he would liv

licked open, and t