THE MISTRESS CONTRACT

CHAPTER 7: THE EXHIBITION GALA

Some opportunities come disguised as blessings, and others come as bullets. Tonight, Ivy wasn’t sure which one she had walked into.

Mr. J’s mind was foggy as he coughed weakly. His vision was blurry, the air was saturated with black smoke. His seat belt had locked tight across his chest, pinning him upside down. The airbag covered a major part of his face, which made it hard for him to breathe.

“Ay!” he growled, his head throbbing with pain as he stretched forth his hand to the upside-down dashboard. He succeeded in opening it and took out a pen knife. He punched the airbag, it deflated, and he cut off the seat belt. He was about to make a move when he heard his phone ringing. He touched his pocket. “f**k! My phone must have fallen off,” he muttered miserably.

He listened carefully to where the ringtone was coming from and traced his hand under his seat. The phone was there, he grabbed it. Slowly but steadily, he squeezed himself out through the car's shattered window. He staggered, every step jarring his body with fresh pain as he moved to a safe distance. Behind him the wreckage sparked and then, with a low whoosh, flames licked along the underside of the car.

Mr. J found a spot and sat on it. The taste of blood is sharp in his mouth as it oozes out of his nose. He moved his hand to the right side of his face. "Ouch!" He whimpered in pain, he sustained a few scratches on it.

He dialed a number on his phone. “Donald, please come get me. I will send you my location now,” he mumbled in a low tone.

“Okay, boss.”

In less than thirty minutes, Donald arrived at the accident scene in a different car. He helped Mr. J into the car and he drove off to the Lockwood family hospital.

They arrived at the hospital. A male nurse in a white coat came in. “Good day, Mr. J,” the nurse greeted.

“Good day, Nurse Quinn.”

“Let me have a look at this,” he smiled, slightly using his hand to turn Mr. J’s face. “This looks really messy, but I will have it cleaned up and also give you some drugs to take home. You will be fine,” the nurse assured.

The nurse finished tending to Mr. J’s injuries and they headed back home.

Ivy walked into the grand ballroom of The Solace Gallery. A place so anciently carved seemed to weigh with whispered secrets. The glass-like chandelier illuminates and mirrors the marble floors. The atmosphere smelt of wealth, connection, and something darker. Ivy couldn’t mention it.

Her paintings hung high on velvet-draped walls—bright strokes of colors enclosed by murmuring elites in black attires. “Black seems to be the color of the day,” she looked at her dress and shrugged. “No one informed me.”

As Ivy moved through the glistening crowd in her fitted rose gold gown, something felt oddly strange as a prickly feeling clawed up her spine. She was being watched.

She quickly turned and there he was. Standing. Secluded from the crowd in a sleek black tuxedo and his signature mask, watching her every move, but something snagged her attention. Mr. J stood in a kind of posture. Ivy felt she had seen somewhere before, but at the moment, she couldn’t remember where and who stood that way. Her eyes were still fixed on him when he moved away from his position. Ivy’s eyes widened, and he moved with restrained power. A coiled tension she somehow recognized deep in her bones.

Immediately, a voice echoed through the speaker, distracting her thoughts.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please let us give a round of applause to our amiable sponsor. A true lover of the arts, a private collector, and a patron of the arts who dropped a huge sum to support today’s gala. Mr. J.”

Mr. J smiled in acknowledgment and ascended the stage for recognition. He got off the stage but instead of heading to the position where he was standing. He went on a different route. Ivy secretly followed suit. It was a lonely passage, but there was a door to a room to the left. Mr. J entered it.

Ivy arrived at the door and she heard Mr. J grunt in pain. She arched her brow. “What could be wrong with him?” She then tipped on her toes and peeped through a hole in the door.

Mr. J sat down, his hand on his face as he tightened his lips. Wrinkles formed where there were none. He touched his face carefully. “Argh!” he winced. With each touch, he let out a painful howl.

“Why was he in so much pain?” Ivy asked herself. “What could have happened to him?” She was still trying to figure out what had happened when Mr. J uttered a moan. “Damn! This hurt terribly. This mask is not making it easy for me,” he whimpered in a low tone.

Ivy was about to turn and leave when Mr. J started untying his mask. Ivy stood still. She was curious and wanted to see who was behind the mask, but she started hearing footsteps approaching. She quickly comported herself, squatted on one knee and pretended she was working on her heel strap as they passed her by.

Her heart was hammering fast, she swiftly tiptoed and peeped. For a split second, her eyes caught Mr. J without his mask on.

Ivy froze on the spot. “No, no. It can’t be.”