Trina Robinson stood in the dimly lit gallery, her gaze fixed on Ava Jerome—the woman she'd once admired, the mentor who'd guided her through the world of art. But now, that admiration had curdled into something else—something bitter and disillusioned.
"Ava," Trina said, her voice steady but laced with accusation, "we need to talk."
Ava glanced up from the canvas she was working on, her eyes guarded. "Trina, what's this about?"
Trina stepped closer, her fists clenched. "Don't play innocent. You know exactly what this is about. Kristina—her fall, the baby she lost. It's all on you."
Ava's face paled. "Trina, I—"
"—don't," Trina interrupted. "I saw you, Ava. I saw you closing those curtains, distancing yourself from Kristina's pain. You're not just an art dealer; you're a human being. And what you did was unforgivable."
Ava's jaw tightened. "It wasn't intentional. I never wanted—"
"—to hurt anyone?" Trina finished. "Well, you did. Kristina lost her baby, Ava. She's shattered. And you're responsible."
Ava's eyes flickered with guilt. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."
"But it did," Trina said. "And that's not all. The placebos you switched for Sonny's bipolar meds? How could you? He trusted you."
Ava looked away. "I was desperate. I thought—"
"—that you could manipulate him," Trina snapped. "You've lost my respect, Ava. You've lost everyone's respect."
Ava's shoulders sagged. "Trina, I—"
"—don't," Trina said again. "I thought you were better than this. But you're just like the rest of them—playing games, hurting people."
Ava's eyes filled with regret. "Trina, I—"
"—don't," Trina repeated, her voice breaking. "I'm leaving, Ava. I can't be part of this anymore. I won't."
And with that, Trina turned and walked away. She left the gallery, the scent of oil paint and betrayal clinging to her skin. Outside, the rain fell, washing away the remnants of her admiration for Ava Jerome.
Gio Palmieri, her childhood friend, waited by the car. His eyes were soft, understanding. "Ready to go back home, Trina?"
Trina nodded. "Yeah. Let's go home."
As they drove away from Port Charles, Trina glanced back one last time. Ava stood in the gallery window, her face etched with regret. But it was too late. The trust was shattered—the mentorship severed.
Trina would find solace in her art, in the colors and shapes that spoke to her soul. And maybe, just maybe, she'd learn to trust again—this time, with someone who deserved it.
But Ava Jerome? She was nothing more than a canvas of broken promises—a masterpiece of betrayal.
