Chapter Twenty-Five

Present

I did something unusual today. For my first day at the community center, I decided to ditch the billionaire’s wife look. And chose to dig out my old clothes to dress for the occasion.

A different kind of feeling envelops me as I slowly face the floor length mirror.

I swallow thickly as I take in my reflection in the mirror. In that reflection, I see the girl I used to be. Clad in sky-blue cami crop top and high-waisted jeans, it feels like a step back in time, a return to a version of myself that was more genuine and less burdened.

As I shrug into the white tie-front shirt, a strange sense of nostalgia washes over me, like I’m stepping back into the life of the twenty-year-old I once was. I knot the ends of the shirt at the front, then gather my long curls, pulling them into a high ponytail.

I resemble the girl from the past. I stare at the face that looks familiar, yet a world apart. I may look like her but I’m not the same anymore. I’m much stronger and wiser.

I climbed a mountain I thought I never could. I stood against Damian and demanded freedom. Though I might not be completely free, but I would. Today is a first step toward it.

Glancing at my reflection one last time, I make a vow of setting her free one day.

Vicky came with me to the community center, as I expected since she’s basically my personal bodyguard. The center is a simple building with a warm, inviting look, tucked away in a quiet spot. Large windows let in plenty of natural light, giving it a cozy feel.

Standing at the entrance, I feel a flutter of nerves and my palms grow clammy. Through the glass, I catch glimpses of people inside, immersed in conversation and activity. It only heightens my anxiety.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” Vicky asks. She is wearing one of her dark suits. Her short hair slicked back and a Bluetooth headset in her ear. Her hazel eyes appear alert as she scans my face.

“Yes. Just nervous.” I force a smile.

She visibly relaxes. “We can wait here for a few minutes. You don’t have to go in right away.”

I smile. “Thanks.” Then try to take a few long breaths. Vicky stares the entire time. Curious, I ask, “Would you report Damian about this?”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

“But I am fine.”

“Nevertheless, Mr. Montgomery prefers to stay informed about every aspect.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Are you supposed to report every time I use the bathroom too?”

Her expression remains serious as she responds, “If it’s necessary for your safety, ma’am, I won’t hesitate to report it.”

Well, this conversation has officially killed my nerves. Now, I’m just plain pissed. Not at Vicky. She is just doing her job. I’m angry with my dear husband. He didn’t bother to call me last night and expects every minute updates about me.

Anyway, I’m not going to overthink about him. “I’m feeling better now. Let’s go.”

I hesitate for a moment before pushing the glass door open. The faint smell of fresh paint hits me first, followed by the quiet buzz of voices inside. The studio feels alive yet serene, with easels scattered in one corner, their canvases streaked with bold, colorful strokes.

Soft instrumental music plays in the background.

A petite middle-aged woman with a warm smile approaches us. She extends a hand. “Welcome! You must be River. I’m Laura, the organizer of our art therapy initiative.”

I take her offered hand, finding an instant comfort in Laura’s genuine demeanor. “Nice to meet you. This is Vicky, my bodyguard. Thank you for having us. This place is incredible.”

Laura’s eyes light up. “Thank you! We believe in the healing power of art. It’s a safe space for individuals to express themselves, confront their emotions, and find solace. We’re thrilled to have your support.”

As we walk through the studio, Laura shares the stories behind the artwork hanging on the walls.

The pieces, created by the individuals who frequent this space, are a profound reflection of their emotions and experiences. The walls display a diverse range of art, each telling a unique tale.

Some paintings are filled with raw emotions—deep reds and blacks slashed across the canvas like a cry for help. The chaotic lines scream anger and frustration, but there’s something freeing about them too, like the artist was letting it all out.

Then there are the softer pieces. Gentle pastels and smooth strokes feel calm, almost like a breath of fresh air. They tell a different story—one of healing, of finding peace through art, and slowly putting the pieces back together.

I can’t help but be moved by the depth of emotion captured in all of the works.

We reach a cozy corner where a group of people, from different age groups, are focused on their art. Laura gestures toward them. “This is where the magic happens. Today’s session is an open studio day. Participants work on their individual projects.”

As I confess my lack of experience in volunteering, I sense anxiety taking over once again. Laura looks at me kindly and it gives me courage to admit that despite numerous online courses, I’ve never worked a day in my life. My face warms as I await her judgment, but instead, she offers a reassuring smile, “You have nothing to worry about, River,” Laura says. “Here, you don’t need any specific skill to volunteer. What matters most is your intention to help. You can circulate, offer support, or simply engage in conversation. Everyone’s contribution is valued, and your presence alone can make a difference.”

I offer Laura a grateful smile before letting my gaze wander around the room. My smile fades a little. I want to help, but the idea of jumping into conversations with strangers feels overwhelming. Maybe easing into it would make things better.

“Um, Laura,” I begin, hesitating, “I don’t want to sound like a snob, but... would it be possible for me to take on a task that doesn’t require too much interaction today? I haven't been very social lately, and honestly, I'm a little nervous about diving into conversations right away.”

“Of course! We want you to feel comfortable and find your pace here. How about we start with something more behind-the-scenes, like organizing art supplies or setting up the space? You can take your time to get familiar with everything, and when you’re ready, we can explore more interactive roles.”

A wave of relief washes over me and my tense shoulders visibly ease as I offer Laura a sincere smile. “Thank you so much, Laura. That sounds perfect. I appreciate your understanding.”

“Oh, hush now,” Laura replies, waving away my thanks with a soft chuckle. “Head to the second floor. We’re organizing a special event this week, and there are a few new volunteers who joined to help. They are currently busy coordinating the details and setting up. Matt is leading the efforts, overseeing the preparations. It’s a fantastic opportunity for you to jump right in.”

“All right,” I smile and start toward the stairs. When Vicky falls into step beside me, I give her a sidelong glance. “You’re coming with me?”

“Of course, Mrs. Montgomery.”

I grimace. “Can you please not… call me that. Not here at least.”

“May I ask why?”

“Because I don’t want them to treat me differently. That name carries a certain weight, and I’d rather people know me for who I am, not because of my husband. I’m sure many are already aware of who I am, but addressing me as Mrs. Montgomery tends to put up walls. I’m not here as Damian’s wife; I’m here as River. So, if you could, let’s stick with that.”

She hesitates before saying, “All right. Your wish is my command. Your comfort and security are my top priorities, Mrs—”

I raise my eyebrows.

“River.” She completes and I give her my brightest smile. She attempts a smile in return, a bit awkward, but it’s enough.

Together, we ascend the staircase. Upon reaching the second floor, I spot the group of people seated on the other side of the room.

Swiftly, I find a seat toward the back, hoping to blend into the background. I shoot a subtle glance at Vicky, silently willing her to sit next to me when she remains standing by my side, attracting unwanted attention.

When she doesn’t budge, I scowl then tug her down beside me. As she begins to argue, I raise a finger to my lips, demanding her to stay mute. Just then a deep male voice resonates through the room, “Congrats, you’ve got yourself an event organizer who somehow managed to lose his phone while it was literally in his hands.”

A ripple of laughter follows, and I turn to see the man whose voice seems a bit familiar. My eyes widen. He is the same man from the charity gala. The one I caught staring at me.

He walks onto the raised podium, smiling at his audience. In a perfect blend of casual and polished style, he effortlessly dons a well-fitted light gray sweater paired with dark jeans. His dark hair is slightly tousled. The shadow of stubble on his jawline only sharpens his already striking features.

He frowns, then pats his jeans pocket before retrieving something out. “Oh, I should add magician to my resume now.” He holds up the phone, making everyone laugh again.

A girl who looks about my age lets out a dreamy sigh beside me, clearly charmed as he keeps cracking jokes. I turn to Vicky and am stunned when I find her smiling, her cheeks pink. When she catches my stare, she clears her throat.

A chuckle escapes me, and I shake my head in mild amusement. There’s no denying his impact on the opposite gender. Even my no-nonsense bodyguard is smitten.

Finding him here of all places is a bit odd, I won’t lie. But the plus point is, he didn’t notice me. Even if he did, he can barely recognize me in this casual outfit. In the gala, I looked older in that expensive evening gown and a face full of makeup. Now, I look like an ordinary twenty-two-year-old girl.

Working alongside Matt would be just fine. So I relax back in my seat and listen to him joke about Laura practically blackmailing him into organizing the event. “So,” he begins, a mischievous smile lighting up his face, “how many of you got pulled in by Laura’s sweet-talking?”

The group breaks into laughter. Matt shakes his head, grinning. “I swear, all I said was that I had some free time. Next thing I know, she’s got me running the whole ‘Art and Wellness Festival.’ Classic Laura, right?”

More laughter ensues and I find myself smiling along. “Well, jokes aside. I’m honored to be chosen for this,” he says soberly and when people laugh, he narrows his eyes, smiling. “You don’t believe me?” he says, letting his eyes roam across the room. Then, his gaze settles on me. I was smiling, but it falters under the weight of his attention. His smile widens, and my face heats up instantly.

Few heads turn my way, probably wanting to see who caught his attention. The scrutiny makes me sink deeper into the seat.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he finally takes his blue eyes off me. “We’ve got an incredible day planned, and I’m counting on each one of you to make it happen.” Everyone remains silent as he explains the event. “First up, Iris and Ben, our art therapists, will turn this place into an art gallery. We’re talking about showcasing the beautiful creations from our therapy sessions.”

“Now, here’s the main part,” he declares, his tone capturing everyone’s attention. “The heart of our event is the mural project in the afternoon,” Matt announces. “Laura came up with this brilliant idea. Each of you will have the chance to contribute.”

Several questions are thrown his way and he tackles them all with ease. “As for how it’ll happen,” he continues, addressing the logistics, “we’ll have different stations set up, each representing a theme we cherish in our community. Whether it’s family, friendship, or personal growth—everyone will find a station that resonates with them.”

His gaze sweeps across the room, ensuring that everyone is on board. “Iris and Ben will be at the heart of it, guiding us through the process. But remember, this is a collaborative effort. Don’t worry if you’re not a seasoned artist like me.” Everyone laughs again. “Just kidding. This mural is about the essence of our community, and each contribution, no matter how small, is invaluable.”

Laura decides to join us then. She goes to the podium and hugs Matt before facing us. “Hey, guys. First of all, I’d like to thank Matt for doing this for us.”

“They know you blackmailed me, Laura.” He interjects making her laugh.

“Apart from being one of the benefactors, Matt is the founder of a global nonprofit organization. Despite overseeing large-scale projects worldwide, he still finds time to help whenever I ask. And never once complains about it.”

Matt mouths to us, I do .

We chuckle but focus when Laura begins talking about the project. “As we wrap up the festival, we’ll have a celebratory unveiling of our completed mural. And here’s the beauty of it—this mural isn’t just for the event. It’ll find its permanent home on the lobby wall of our new branch.”

The room buzzes with excitement. Everyone jumps up, inquiring about the role they would play in the initiative.

I stand as well but stay behind with Vicky. I watch her watch Matt as he talks to the women surrounding him.

“You wanna join them?” I tease and she jerks her head to the side.

“No, ma’am.”

When I scowl at her, she corrects herself, “River.”

I observe her hazel eyes widening, and as I turn to follow her gaze, I spot Matt approaching us with ease, casually engaging in conversation with others on his way to where we’re standing.

“You,” he remarks with a knowing smile. Then, extending his smile to Vicky as he acknowledges her presence.

Laura walks over. “Matt, have you met River?” she asks, gesturing toward me.

“A name as captivating as the person it belongs to. Pleasure to officially meet you, River.” He extends his hand.

Laura raises an eyebrow, puzzled by his comment. Desperate to get the introductions over with, I take his hand, “Nice to meet you too…?”

“Matthew Lane, but just call me Matt.”

“Got it.” I give Vicky’s arm a gentle tug, guiding her forward. “This is Vicky,” I say, introducing her—not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because I need to take the spotlight off myself.

She clears her throat. “It’s Victoria, actually.” My head snaps her way. “River’s personal bodyguard.”

Matt grins, his eyes twinkling with intrigue. “Well, River, looks like you've got yourself a stunning bodyguard.” He nods at Vicky with a smile, clearly impressed.

She flushes and tucks her hair.

I bite my lower lip to suppress a smile. She is so into him. It’s actually entertaining to watch them interact.

I’m still staring at her pink face when a gentle nudge on my arm draws my attention. Glancing upward, I find Matt extending his phone toward me. “Type in your number,” he instructs.

“Uh…”

“Since you’re going to work on this project with us, we’ll need to stay in touch. You are, right?”

“I… uh, yes. Yes, I am.”

He motions at the phone once more.

“Right.” My fingers shake as I put in my phone number. It’s all right. It’s just for volunteering—nothing more, nothing less. Yet, it makes me feel guilty.

I don’t just type my name. I add, Mrs. River Montgomery . He might’ve seen me with Damian at the gala, but he could’ve easily mistaken me for his date, not his wife. I’m taken, and it’s only right I make that known.

I hand the phone back. He finishes his conversation with Laura, then glances down at the screen. His eyes linger for a moment as he reads the name I saved, and I catch the flicker of realization crossing his face. His gaze lifts to meet mine, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Mrs. River Montgomery?” he says, his tone carrying a hint of understanding—and something else. Maybe disappointment? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the shift in his expression is clear.

I offer him a smile. “Yes.”

Matt nods, a mix of respect and acceptance in his gaze. “Got it, Mrs. Montgomery.”

“You can still call me River, you know.”

There’s a moment of pause, and his eyes soften with a small, appreciative smile. “River it is, then.”