Page 35 of Broken Destiny

“Hmm… alright,” I said. “I’ll do it. It’s just an hour’s drive from here anyway.”

“Great. Thanks so much, and continue having a good time,” Sophia replied before ending the call.

“All good?” Greg asked, glancing over at me.

“Yes,” I answered, slipping my phone back into my pocket as we continued walking. “Just have a meeting on Monday in the?—”

I stopped abruptly, my words dying in my throat.

My eyes locked onto something in the window of the gallery we had just passed. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and opened them again, convinced my mind was playing tricks on me.

But the image remained.

My hand moved instinctively to cover my mouth.

“Oh my God,” Greg whispered beside me. “I guess you didn’t imagine her after all.”

A painting of Nyah hung inside the gallery.

It was a vibrant, striking portrait that captured her with breathtaking precision. She looked radiant—beautiful in a way that felt untouched by time, as though the years that had passed meant nothing at all.

An eternal beauty.

Her face was turned slightly to the side, her shoulder angledgracefully, her hair left loose around her. Her eyes held a softness that felt intimate, personal, almost as if she were looking directly at the artist with trust and affection.

The painting carried something deeper than simple artistry… it carried love… connection… intimacy. The kind of closeness that only existed between two people who truly knew each other.

My stomach hardened.

Nyah had always been fiercely protective and private about her life. She rarely allowed photographs of herself, and she avoided social media completely. She guarded her personal world. Yet this portrait revealed a moment that felt deeply private and sacred.

A sharp pressure built beneath my ribs.

Another man had seen her like that. Another man had stood close enough to capture her expression, to witness that softness in her eyes—the same softness she once reserved for me. Someone who was possibly in love with her. Someone she could be in love with. The idea burned inside my chest, consuming me.

My eyes darted to the bottom corner of the painting, searching for the artist’s signature.

I found it.

The name was faint and difficult to read, but it was there.

My jaw clenched so tightly that pain shot through my temples. My breathing grew faster and coarser.

“I’m going to talk to the gallery owner,” I said, my voice firm.

Before Greg could respond or try to stop me, I stepped forward and reached for the door handle.

It didn’t budge.

Locked.

My eyes moved quickly to the sign posted beside the entrance.

Closed on weekends.

A string of curses formed silently in my mind.

I wasn’t prepared to walk away… not now, not after coming this close. I wouldn’t lose her again because of something as simple as timing.