How Do Museums Authenticate A Duchamp Urinal?

My boyfriend said that art held no restrictions, so he used my provocative paintings to enter a competition. Amidst a row of classic ceramic figurines, I became famous. He shot to fame, landing in the top ten of trending searches, while I was humiliated by the entire internet and mocked as a “ceramic influencer.” When I confronted him, he looked at me with disappointment. “They don’t understand art, and neither do you? I thought you would support my work, but I didn’t expect you to stir trouble! You’re so immature!”

The day my father was diagnosed with liver cancer, I took out the cash gift I had received from my wedding to cover the emergency costs. The bank teller counted the amount multiple times. At that moment, I learned that out of the twenty thousand dollars cash gift Peter Grant’s family had given me a year ago, eighteen thousand dollars were counterfeit. I went home with the fake money to demand an explanation. My mother-in-law, Deborah, stepped on my father’s picture and called him a worthless man who deserved to die. Peter refused to divorce me. He demanded that I pay back the twenty thousand dollars in cash before he would agree to the divorce. When I refused, he started a live stream. He held up my undergarments for tens of thousands of viewers to see. “Look at what my wife is wearing. Is she trying to save her dad, or is she trying to seduce him? “We’ve been married for a whole year, and she hasn’t even given me a single child. Now she wants a divorce? This is marriage fraud. She scammed us out of the cash gift!” The comments section hurled insults at me. Someone threw dung on our front porch. Someone even edited my family’s faces onto old-fashioned funeral portraits and posted them online. The whole internet said my family deserved to die. What they did not know was that when that money was put into the safe, the whole thing had been caught on camera. The security seals on the cash bundles were covered in Peter’s family’s fingerprints. They also did not know that I had picked up the wrong medical report. The one with cancer was not my father. It was actually Deborah. Later, Peter knelt on the floor begging me to give him some money to save his mother. I kicked his hand away and said coldly, “I still have your counterfeit eighteen thousand dollars. I’ll give it all back to you. Is that enough to cremate your mother?”

To save money for a house, I had been living a frugal life with my boyfriend, Desmond Wood. When Desmond received a twenty-thousand-dollar bonus, he bought me a branded bag. I was delighted, but I felt that he did not need to spend so much on me. Hence, I brought the receipt and the bag to the shop for a refund. The shopkeeper told me that my bag was fake. However, the receipt was real.

René Huang is a French-Chinese Painter who lives in France. He lives alone there when his parents are living in China. He is famous, rich, and handsome. Everything in his life was perfect until finally, unexpected events started happening in his life. He painted some paintings in his sleep, and there was a secret behind them. He wanted to find out the secret, and when he became a guest lecturer in an art university, he met a student who was related to the paintings. Their relationship was not good at first, but when they were investigating the paintings together, the romance started blooming. Note: This novel is inspired by my fanfiction that was posted on another platform. The idea and the story are mines. No plagiarism. Cover by MichelleLeeee

I die in the basement after being burned by acid. My family doesn't recognize me, and they don't call the cops. My mother picks up the scalpel that hasn't been used in years and debones me. My father excitedly mixes my skeleton with concrete and turns me into an exquisite statue. My sister uses the sculpture she's made out of my flesh and portrays herself as a genius sculptor whom everyone admires. Later, the sculpture is shattered, revealing half a broken finger inside. That's when everyone panics.

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.”