Beyond the fortune

Three

This changes things," she whispered. "It doesn't have to," Ethan said matter-of-factly. "We can figure this out. Together." Afterwards, the silence in the gallery was even heavier. Lila didn't say anything; neither did Ethan, for that matter. He stayed close, his forehead still pressed against hers, his breathing warm and steady. "This is a bad idea," Lila said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Ethan leaned back an inch to meet her gaze, his expression unreadable.

"Why? "Because," she said, waving a hand vaguely around them. "Because this isn't normal.

I don't do this. And we're supposed to be working together, not—" "Kissing? Ethan finished, the glimmer of something wicked dancing in his eyes, softening for a moment the hardness in them. "Yes, exactly," Lila echoed and let go entirely. She wrapped her arms around herself and paced across the room, her mind racing. Ethan watched her, his hand laid casually on the back of a chair. He was unflappable, calm and maddeningly patient. "You're overthinking this." "Overthinking?" she repeated, turning around. "You're a billionaire, Ethan. You can afford not to overthink things. I don't have that luxury." He moved closer to her, his voice even but soft. "This isn't about money, Lila. Not for me. Is it for you?" She froze; his words struck a chord she didn't want to acknowledge. "It's about trust," she said finally. "And right now, I don't know if I trust you." Ethan nodded slowly, his face serious. "Fair enough. But I hope you'll give me the chance to earn it." Sincerity swirled in his voice, taking her by surprise.

For a moment, she seriously considered letting her walls down, just a little.

But then the memory of that contract clause she found earlier in the week resurfaced-the one allowing Ethan to pull funding at any time.

"I need time," Lila said, her voice now firmer. "Take all the time you need," Ethan said. "But just so you know. I'm not going anywhere. - They were days full of work, with accumulated feelings. Lila dived headfirst into the work on the community hub, and each day became a marathon of meetings with local artists and events organization with the purpose of exposing the evident neighborhood talent. She couldn't help but try to never be left alone with Ethan for too long, which was impossible to avoid altogether. Their interactions were polite, professional even, yet palpable between them lay an unsaid tension. Every look, every incidental brush, seemed to carry a voltage. Ethan, in turn, was leaving her alone. He didn't push or pry. But he was there-always a contribution here, always listening to her thoughts and ideas, or just as often, surprise her with a small gesture that made her question everything she had ever thought about him. Evening fell, and the druggy day got dragged along more than usual. She found herself completely alone in the gallery in front of a white canvas. The pressure from the project added to her enormously confused feelings about Ethan, and it took all the energy out of her. She picked up a paintbrush, the familiar weight anchoring her to some place stable, and swished it into a pot of deep blue paint. She began to paint sans thought-broad, sweeping strokes that belied the turmoil in her mind. All feeling of time was lost as her emotions flowed onto that canvas with every move of the brush. "Lila." She started at the sound of Ethan's voice. She hadn't heard him come in.

He stood in the doorway, his face unreadable as he took in the scene.

His gaze settled on the canvas, and something in his eyes gentled. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he said, taking a step closer. "It's fine," Lila said, setting the brush down and wiping her hands on a rag. "I was just. clearing my head." Ethan nodded, his gaze lingering on the painting. "It's beautiful," he said softly. Lila followed his gaze, her brow furrowing. The painting was raw, unfinished-nothing at all like the polished pieces she usually showcased in the gallery. "It's a mess," she said. "No," Ethan said, turning to her. "It's real." His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. "Why are you really here? " Lila asked, the silence broken. Ethan hesitated, as if weighing his words. "Because I needed to see you," he said finally. "And because I wanted to apologize." Lila frowned, taken aback. "For what?

"For the clause in the contract," Ethan admitted.

I know you found it, and I know this looks bad.

But I promise you, Lila, I'm not pulling funding. I'm in this for the long haul." Ache hit her heart as she heard the vulnerability in his voice, but she would not drop her walls completely yet. "We'll see," she said softly, partly guarding herself. Ethan shrugged and took her hesitation in his stride. "Fair enough, but I meant what I said. I'm not going anywhere." Later that night, after Ethan had gone, Lila sat alone in the gallery, the thoughts racing in her head. She wanted so desperately to believe him-to believe he wasn't like those other corporate sharks out for a chunk of flesh. But the trouble with trusting him was that she'd be risking more than her gallery. She'd be risking her heart. A risk not quite sure she was ready to take. The next morning Lila walked in heavy into the gallery, heavier than her usual. She had slept poorly, her dreams haunted by visions of Ethan's piercing gaze and his soft words of disarmament. The trace of his lips still hovered upon hers, and there was nothing rational that could rid her of that. She kept going, sweeping the floor and adjusting the lights, re-arranging the centerpieces on view. The harder she worked to distract her mind, the more it wandered to Ethan. As mid-morning arrived so did a stream of people : tourists admiring the art, locals stopping by to greet her, regular patrons making small purchases. In the undemanding galleries, it had been a good day, but the spectre of the redevelopment project had been lurking, hanging over every interaction. Then, as if conjured by the workings of her thoughts, in he came through that very door. He wasn't attired in his usual business wear but casual attire: a white shirt with sleeves rolled up and dark jeans. It made him look less like the untouchable billionaire she'd come to expect and more like. someone human. Lila steeled herself. "Ethan," she said, her tone carefully neutral. "What are you doing here?" "I wanted to talk," he said, his tone even but softer than usual.

"If now's a bad time, I can come back." She hesitated, looking around at the smattering of visitors browsing the gallery.

"Give me a minute," she said, motioning for him to wait near the door. When she was satisfied that the guests weren't in want of anything, she escorted Ethan back to the small office at the back of the gallery. Small, lined with piles of art catalogues, papers to be attended to and half-finished canvases. A far cry from Ethan's stainless steel, minimalist offices; he didn't seem to mind that fact.

As a matter of fact, he looked around with an honest-to-goodness interest in his eyes. "This is where the magic happens, huh?" "Something like that," Lila said, leaning against the edge of her cluttered desk. "So, what's so important that you couldn't wait?" Ethan breathed, running a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking about what you said.

About trust.

And I want to prove to you that I'm serious about this-about the community hub, about supporting Midtown, about you." Lila's heart jumped at the last word but she kept her expression guarded. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"First of all, I rewrote the contract," he said, pulling a folder out of the bag slung over his shoulder. "No hidden clauses. No loopholes. Just clear, straightforward agreement that ensures your gallery's place in the project, no matter what." Lila stared at him, her skepticism at war with the burgeoning hope swelling high in her chest. "Why are you doing this? "Because I believe in this," Ethan said simply. "And I believe in you." His words hung heavy with sincerity in the air. It was a moment before words could leave Lila's lips. She took the folder from him and flipped it open, scanning the revised contract inside.