My Artist Boyfriend Painted Me Without Clothes

On the day of Zephyr’s art exhibition, I saw people stand around a portrait of myself.

My cheeks were flushed, and I was bare.

My posture was the one we used in bed last week for fun. Zephyr even got the mole on my chest right.

As people stared at me mockingly, I demanded, “Why did you do this to me?”

He was unbothered. “It’s not as if I asked you to sleep with someone else.”

But he did let people see how I looked when I was having an intimate moment with my own boyfriend!

“It’s just a painting. Why are you being so petty?”

I was stunned by the mockery in Zephyr’s gaze. Then, I called my assistant. “I’m attending the international art festival as the organizer.”

My assistant, Patrin Xenia, was shocked. “Dew, didn’t you say that you didn’t want your boyfriend to know? Why did you change your mind?”

To spare Zephyr’s pride, I attended the competition and art exhibition as a normal visitor. No one knew that I was the organizer.

On that day, I was supposed to attend the adjudicators’ gathering at the international art festival so that I could support Zephyr during future competitions.

But Zephyr had told me that he wanted me to see his work today and be the sole viewer of his art, so I changed my plans.

I drew in a deep breath and said in forced relaxation, “I need to clean up some trash.”

Patrin remained silent for a long while before she said, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow on time.”

I knew she must think I was doing this because I was being a lovesick fool again.

After I made my call, I saw the visitors still staring at the painting.

I felt my skin crawl. My heart hurt as if I was being stabbed multiple times.

When I turned around, I saw Zephyr standing in a corner with his assistant, Nancy Kingston. They were criticizing my body.

“She’s a bit out of shape, isn’t she? That posture also looks weird.”

Zephyr smiled nonchalantly and gave Nancy a doting look. “She’s no longer young. Her figure is not as great as before.”

Like a masochist, I listened to the two talk as if they were the only ones in the world.

Nancy asked, “Will Dew be angry if you showed such an intimate side of her in the art exhibition?”

Zephyr scoffed and squeezed down on Nancy’s fingers before massaging them. “With you around, I don’t care whether Dew is angry.

“Besides, she’s no longer young. What else is she supposed to do for me aside from letting me draw her?”

When I heard what Zephyr said, I felt my blood freeze over, and I was dumbfounded.

No longer young? Out of shape?

I was just twenty-seven years old, and I worked out regularly. I kept myself in good shape.

How could they talk about my body like it was disgusting?

As they continued talking, they started