The morning after landing the curatorial rights to Elena's collection show, Luna was up early, already organizing her exhibition workflow chart. Mia's living room looked like a creative storm—artist profiles scattered across the floor, layout sketches pinned with sticky notes, and the succulents on the windowsill still glistening with dew. The scene felt alive, vibrant—just like her own life finally breaking through the fog into light.
The doorbell rang unexpectedly.
Thinking it was Noah dropping off the art market analysis report he'd promised last night, Luna hurried to open the door. But what she saw froze her in place—standing there was Chloe.
She was draped in a sequined dress, clutching an Hermès bag, her makeup heavy and sharp, her eyes glittering with open provocation.
"Luna, long time no see," Chloe sang, flicking her wrist so the Patek Philippe on it caught the light. "Heard you're busy planning an exhibition? I just happened to be in L.A. for clients, thought I'd drop by."
Luna's brows knitted. She had no intention of letting Chloe in. Her voice was cold. "We're not close. There's nothing here for you to see. Leave. Now."
"Oh, don't be so harsh." Chloe brushed past her hand and strode straight into the living room. She scanned the space with a smirk. "Wow, Mia's place is tiny. Compared to that villa you had in Silicon Valley, this is… well, let's just say divorce hasn't treated you well."
Hearing the noise, Mia emerged from her bedroom. The moment she saw Chloe, she rushed to Luna's side. "What the hell are you doing here? Security just let you walk in? Get out—you're not welcome."
"I came in as Nova Tech's marketing director. The guard thought I was here to discuss a partnership." Chloe preened. "But let's be real, Luna—no rich-wife title, no job worth mentioning. Relying on friends to keep you afloat. What future do you really have?"
Luna drew a long, steady breath, forcing down her anger. "Whatever I do is none of your business. What do you actually want?"
"Nothing urgent." Chloe strolled to the coffee table, snatched up Luna's workflow chart, and skimmed it before snickering. "You think this will get you into the Getty Center? Elena would regret hiring you if she knew you skipped basic load-bearing calculations. Amateur hour."
Luna's stomach dropped. Load-bearing was a fundamental safety step. She hadn't finalized that section yet, focusing instead on artist selection. How did Chloe know? Unless Elena's team had a leak?
"How do you know I haven't done those calculations?" Luna demanded.
Chloe's smirk vanished. She leaned in close, lowering her voice. "Ethan's got a buddy on Elena's team. He already saw your plan. Says you're not cut out for this exhibition. He sent me to tell you—quit now before you embarrass yourself. Oh, and—if you give up your share of the assets, Ethan will 'graciously' get you a position at Nova Tech. Beats begging for scraps, doesn't it?"
"Tell Ethan I don't need his charity." Luna's tone was steel. "My exhibition will be judged by its results, not by you two. Leave, or I'm calling the cops."
Chloe, seeing she wouldn't budge, dropped the pretense. She tore Luna's workflow chart clean in half. "Don't get cocky. You think you'll rise again through curating? As long as Ethan and I are around, you won't have a place in San Francisco or L.A."
"You bitch, you tore her plan!" Mia lunged, trying to snatch back the shredded pages. They grappled, pulling at each other. Luna rushed forward to break them apart, but Chloe shoved her hard. She slammed against the corner wall, pain shooting up her elbow.
At that instant, the doorbell rang again. This time it was Noah.
The moment he saw the chaos—and the red welt on Luna's arm—he stormed in, planting himself between them. His voice thundered: "Leave. Now. Or I'll call the police and press charges for trespassing and assault."
Chloe's eyes flickered. She knew Noah's reputation—Wall Street VP, vast network, not someone to cross. Still, she forced a sneer. "This is between me and Luna. None of your business."
"Her business is my business." Noah pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over 911. "Last warning. Get out."
Realizing she'd pushed too far, Chloe glared daggers at Luna. "This isn't over," she spat before stomping out, heels clattering.
The door shut, and Luna's tears finally spilled. Not from pain—but from the suffocating injustice. All she wanted was to do her job, yet Ethan and Chloe wouldn't stop scheming to crush her.
Noah fetched the first-aid kit, gently treating her elbow. His voice softened. "Don't waste energy on her. She's scared you'll succeed—that's why she's lashing out."
Mia fumed at herself. "It's my fault for not watching the door. I'll tell the guard—she's banned from ever coming near here again."
Luna wiped her eyes, picked up the torn papers, and inhaled deeply. "It's fine. I've got backups on my computer. But if Ethan really has someone in Elena's team, we need to stay alert."
Noah nodded. "I know Getty Center's operations director. I'll talk to him today. And about the load-bearing issue—I'll line up an engineer to run the calculations for free. We'll make sure everything is flawless."
"Thank you, Noah." Warmth swelled in her chest. "Every time I hit a wall, you're there."
"That's what I'm here for." His gaze lingered on her, tender but resolute. "You'll never stand alone."
That afternoon, Noah met with the Getty director. Meanwhile, Luna reprinted her workflow and messaged Elena's assistant about the supposed "friend." The reply came quickly: Yes, there's a logistics guy who went to college with Ethan. But he only handles cleaning, nowhere near the curatorial core. No need to worry.
The tension in Luna's chest eased slightly, but she kept her guard up. Chloe and Ethan showing up meant they wouldn't stop.
By evening, Noah returned with good news. "The Getty director promised to watch that staffer closely. And the engineer's scheduled to run calculations tomorrow. We'll make sure the setup meets every safety standard."
"That's incredible!" Relief flooded Luna's face. "With your help, I finally feel grounded."
"There's more." Noah pulled out a folder. "I registered the trademark Luna Art Studio for you and had a lawyer draft the incorporation papers. Once Elena's exhibition wraps, you'll be ready to launch."
Luna's fingers trembled as she held the design—minimalist lines intertwined with motifs from Monet's Water Lilies. Her heart swelled. "Noah… how did you know I wanted a studio?"
"You mentioned it once to Mia. I remembered." He smiled. "I also found a 1,600-square-foot office in San Francisco's art district—great view, good rent. When you're ready, you should check it out."
Luna couldn't hold back anymore. She threw her arms around him. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."
He hugged her gently, patting her back. "You don't need to thank me. You're too talented not to soar."
The next day, the engineer confirmed Luna's layout not only met Getty's safety codes but exceeded them. "Your plan's solid and thoughtful," he said with a smile. "Elena picked the right curator."
Relief washed through Luna. She sent the report to Elena's assistant, who replied almost instantly: Elena is thrilled. She can't wait to see your vision come to life.
But the trouble wasn't over.
That night, in an art-world group chat, an anonymous message exploded: "Luna Chen plagiarized curatorial plans in New York and got fired by Sotheby's. Now she's trying to scam Elena. Beware!"
Others piled on: "I heard that too. She has no talent—just rode into wealth by marrying up. Now she's divorced and desperate."
Luna's whole body shook with rage. She knew instantly—Chloe and Ethan. Their plan was to ruin her reputation and scare Elena off.
Mia fired back in the chat: "Bullshit! I was with Luna in New York—there was no plagiarism, and she quit Sotheby's to move here. Whoever's spreading this, show your face if you dare!"
But the trolls stayed hidden, the rumor spreading faster. Luna knew denial wasn't enough. She needed proof.
She immediately contacted her old professor and former Sotheby's colleagues, asking them to vouch for her. Within hours, they sent statements confirming she left voluntarily and never plagiarized.
Meanwhile, Noah tapped his media contacts. They tracked the anonymous posts back to an IP address in a San Francisco internet café—right in line with Chloe's movements.
Luna bundled the evidence—statements, IP screenshots, and her past curatorial work—and sent it all to Elena. Within minutes, Elena replied: "I believe you, Luna. I've seen plenty of lies like this. Tomorrow I'll release a public statement supporting you. Don't worry."
The next morning, Elena's declaration went live: "Luna Chen is the sole curator of my private collection exhibition. I fully recognize her professional ability and vision. Any rumors otherwise are malicious slander. Legal action will follow."
Attached were Luna's credentials and records. The art world rallied around her, reposting in support. The rumor-mongers fell silent.
Tears welled in Luna's eyes as she messaged Elena: "Thank you for your trust. I'll give this exhibition everything I have."
Elena replied warmly: "No thanks needed. Talent like yours deserves to shine."
That afternoon, David, her lawyer, called. "Ethan's filed his financial disclosure. He tried hiding stocks and funds and claimed the villa was premarital property."
"But we've got Jack's testimony and Emma's files. The court won't buy it," he added. "I've requested full bank and brokerage records. Also—the court date is set for the 15th of next month. Get ready to testify."
"I will," Luna said firmly.
After hanging up, she stood at the window, bathed in the glow of a Los Angeles sunset. Chloe's provocation, the smear campaign—they hadn't broken her. They'd only sharpened her resolve.
With Mia, Noah, and Elena by her side, she knew no one could stop her now.
She pulled up the Luna Art Studio logo on her phone. A smile tugged at her lips as she whispered to herself:
"Keep going, Luna. This journey's just getting started."