The invitation arrived in a crisp white envelope, slid beneath Lena's office door.
There was no return address. Just gold-embossed letters:
"Reinhart Retrospective: A Night of Legacy and Vision."
She stared at the card, her fingers stiff around its edges.
The past, it seemed, didn't knock.
It announced itself — elegantly and unapologetically.
Emma walked in moments later, humming.
Lena quickly tucked the envelope beneath a folder.
"You okay?" Emma asked.
Lena forced a smile. "Just tired."
But her heart pounded.
Because that name — Reinhart — wasn't just a memory.
It was her beginning.
And her betrayal.
Alexander read the invitation that night, his jaw tight.
"Julian Reinhart," he said flatly. "He's back."
"He never really left," Lena replied. "He just stopped calling."
"He's hosting a show and wants you there? What's his angle?"
"He mentored me. Once. Before he tried to claim my designs as his own."
Alexander's voice dropped. "You're not going."
"I have to," she said quietly. "It's public now. My name is on the guest list. If I don't show, it looks like I'm running."
He didn't argue. He knew better than to tell Lena Hart what she couldn't do.
But when she left the room, he picked up the envelope again and stared at the lettering like it might catch fire.
He didn't trust Julian.
He never had.
The gallery was a brutalist marvel of glass and steel. Minimalist. Cold. And buzzing with the city's elite.
Lena stepped inside in a sleek black gown. Emma walked beside her — sharp, modern, and unmistakably herself.
Alexander flanked them both, one hand gently touching Lena's back, the other holding his composure like a blade.
The whispers started immediately.
"That's Lena Hart."
"Didn't she walk out on Reinhart?"
"Who's the girl?"
"Wolfe's with her? That's bold."
Lena kept walking.
Then she saw him.
Julian Reinhart. Silver hair, tailored suit, a smile like nothing had ever gone wrong.
He approached slowly. "Lena."
"Julian."
"You look… radiant."
"I'm not here for compliments."
He glanced at Emma. "And this is?"
"My daughter," Alexander said calmly. "And Lena's guest."
Julian didn't flinch. But his smile faltered for a second.
"Of course. Well — thank you for coming."
He led them deeper into the gallery. Framed sketches hung on clean white walls — lines, shadows, silhouettes Lena recognized like old ghosts.
Then she stopped.
Her name.
"'Skyline Divide' — concept by Lena Hart, under Reinhart Studio."
A lie.
He hadn't changed a thing.
Her vision. Her lines.
Still beneath his name.
Emma gasped softly. "That's yours."
Julian stepped beside them. "I credited you, Lena. Technically."
Lena's voice was low. "You stole it then. And you're still stealing now."
Julian's eyes flicked to the crowd. "Careful. We're among patrons."
"So let them hear," Alexander said. "Let them watch you lose."
Julian laughed — not cruelly, but cold. "You're not the girl I mentored anymore."
"No," Lena said. "I'm the woman who survived you."
Then she turned to the nearest reporter.
"Would you like a quote?" she said. "Because I'm about to rewrite the story."
By morning, the headline was everywhere:
"Lena Hart Reclaims Credit in Stunning Public Showdown — Julian Reinhart Discredited."
The article quoted Lena in full.
Emma's Instagram post had gone viral.
And Julian's press team had gone silent.
Alexander brought her coffee and kissed her forehead.
"I'm proud of you," he whispered.
Lena leaned into him, exhausted but free.
"I didn't do it for revenge," she said.
"I know."
"I did it so I could look forward again. Without ghosts."
Later, Lena found Emma in the studio sketching again.
"That night was wild," Emma said.
"It was necessary."
Emma hesitated, then looked up. "You're kind of fearless."
Lena smiled. "No. I'm just finally done being afraid."