I Painted His Masterpieces

I spent three years as Robert’s ghost artist, getting him accepted into Parsons and nominated for prestigious industry awards.

Everyone thought I was just a desperate hanger-on, untalented, yet foolishly trying to ride the coattails of a genius.

The day he received his award, he kicked me out of the studio in front of everyone, claiming my aesthetic was outdated and I was only fit to be a grunt for truly gifted women.

No one knew I endured all his insults and exploitation because his mother had paid off my father’s staggering eight-million-dollar high-interest loans.

The moment the debt was settled, I immediately resigned, blocked him, and left the country.

Three years later, I returned to the States as the Creative Director for Dior North America, overseeing the opening of its flagship store.

And he? He was stuck beyond the velvet ropes, not even cleared to enter.

During the opening ceremony, my gambling-addict parents burst in, causing a scene and accusing me on a live stream of being an “ungrateful daughter” and “sleeping my way to the top.”

Standing in the crowd, Robert learned the truth for the first time.

All those “masterpieces” he’d spent years boasting about?

Every single one had been painted by me.