---- Chapter 12 Maxwell's international art exhibition turned out to be a great success, and soon, we arrived at the Azura leg of the tour. As he wheeled my suitcase through the airport, we were quickly surrounded by a swarm of reporters. Some tried to dig up gossip about me and Henry, but Maxwell shielded me from every question with calm precision. Just then, a haggard figure pushed through the crowd, clutching a painting. It was Henry. He looked unshaven and worn out. The painting was the "Valmont Sunset''-the one Thad torn to shreds the day I left the studio. Someone had painstakingly pieced it back together with adhesive. Ignoring the cameras and the onlookers, Henry ---- dropped to his knees. "Rosalind, do you remember the promise we made? It was my fault. I broke it. So I dug through the trash and stayed up night after night for a month to put it back together. "Look, I've done all this for you. The painting's been restored-just like us. We can be whole again, right?" he pleaded. Whole again? My gaze went to the painting, now covered in jagged, uneven scars. The damage had been done-no amount of effort could erase what had happened. The rapid fire of camera shutters erupted around us. "Even a beggar wouldn't want that painting, Henry," I said coldly. ---- His resolve shattered, he collapsed onto the ground and burst into uncontrollable sobs. I didn't spare him a second glance. I walked away with Maxwell, hand in hand. Ironically, that public spectacle ended up boosting the buzz around Maxwell's exhibition, and the Azura stop became an overwhelming success. Maxwell told me he had decided to stay in Azura for good. "Didn't you resent the domestic art scene after Henry kicked you out of the studio? Have you let that go?" I asked him. He looked at me in surprise. "You still remember what happened back then? I thought..." "How could I forget?" I replied. "You were the most talented young artist I'd ever met. It was Henry's narrow-mindedness that