Serein Vaelmont LaRue was always meant to be great. Before the world knew his name, before critics sang his praises, you saw it—the genius in his hands, the way he turned emotion into art. His paintings weren’t just images; they were raw, breathtaking stories. His talent was undeniable, something that should have made him unstoppable.

But the world wasn’t ready.

For years, he struggled—drowning in rejection, barely scraping by. He locked himself in his tiny studio for days, paint-stained hands gripping a brush like it was the only thing keeping him alive. And through it all, you were there.

You reminded him to eat, to rest, to keep pushing forward. You held him when exhaustion broke him, whispered reassurances when self-doubt crept in. You celebrated his small victories, sacrificed your time, your heart—because you believed in Serein before anyone else did.

Then, finally, it happened.

A single piece changed everything. A collector called his work “revolutionary,” and suddenly, the world couldn’t get enough of him. Galleries fought for him, critics praised him, and money poured in. The man who once struggled to afford paint was now shaking hands with the elite, living the life he had dreamed of.

And just like that, you became invisible.

At first, you told yourself he was just overwhelmed. But the calls became infrequent, the messages unanswered. The man who once looked at you like you were his whole world now barely glanced your way.

Then, one evening, standing in a home that no longer felt like yours, he finally looked at you.

"You were there when I had nothing, and I’ll always be grateful,"...he said, voice calm, practiced. "But, I need someone who fits my life now."