Unrequited? A Lie Told-A Promise Broken

81. -Art-

-Art-

I want to fucking barf. I hate this so fucking much I think frantically as we pull up to the company.

Today is different than the others. Today's our coming out. In the past few days the city has imploded with news that a multibillionaire has left his fiancé who has recently given birth to his child for his gay mistress.

Ms. Tine has kept to her word and printed our version but the other media outlets aren't buying it. I guess the alternative is more interesting.

It's on the freaking news. I am the faceless home wrecker and very likely mistress as some of the media outlets have claimed.

I can just be grateful that they haven't pinpointed my identity fully enough to include pictures. I am filled to the brim with anxiety.

I look down at my ring it always gives me some comfort.

"No one can say you don't belong as long as I'm there. You are mine." Fiat says once again.

I lift my gaze to him and I can't help but smile at his strong silent confidence.

I'm his fiancé. I belong at his side I reiterate to myself as I take a deep calming breath.

"How do I look?" I ask him with a smile. Once again he dressed me. Today he presented a cream suit with a crisp red shirt beneath it.

If I wasn't so nervous I would be flexing cause I know I look good.

"Edible." He says with a wolfy grin.

"Ugh, freaking horn dog. Don't start."

"Start what? I can't admire my Art?"

"Admire as much as you want but keep your tongue in your mouth."

The driver opens the door and Fiat chuckles.

"I make no promises." He says with a wink before he steps out of the car. I can already hear the commotion of the reporters and press trying to make their way past the closures and security Fiat had obstructed to keep them at bay.

Dread fills me as I realize the moment I get out of the car they'll get their picture and finally put a face to me.

The door opens and I look up at Fiat panicked.

He reaches his hand to me, "Don't be scared baby. No one matters but us." He tells me and his completely relaxed disposition calms me.

I reach for his hand without thought. I step out of the car as the sounds and flashing of dozens of cameras go off around us.

I let Fiat lead me as I ignore the sour feeling in my tummy and the urge to duck and hide.

Security holds the chaos back but the reporters still call out to Fiat begging for interviews. I ignore it all as we walk towards the doors.

That is until I hear my name.

"Artist!"

I snap my head around searching the sea of faces trying to discern who said it.

My eyes lock with a man with a disgusting grin on his face.

"Artist! That's your given name isn't it? You're a photographer?." He shouts over every other sound but as he speaks the others quiet to listen to the exchange.

I don't say anything.

"You are 24 years of age. You co-own a media arts company with a man named LaBenz." He says and I blink.