painted Heart

**CHAPTER 3 — First Contact**

### **KHLOE**

The message came at 7 AM.

Khloe was already awake, staring at her phone, reading through hundreds of messages from last night's community meeting. The energy had been electric—people ready to fight, ready to stand together.

But then Sarah Chen's email appeared in her inbox.

**Subject: Meeting Request - Nathaniel Berthon**

*Ms. Cole,*

*Mr. Berthon requests a meeting to discuss the Brixton development. Tomorrow, 10 AM, Berthon Development offices, Canary Wharf.*

*Please confirm attendance.*

*Regards,*

*Sarah Chen*

*Executive Assistant to CEO*

Khloe read it twice.

His office. His territory. His rules.

Of course.

She typed back quickly:

*Ms. Chen,*

*I'll be there. But this isn't a negotiation. It's him listening to why this project needs to stop.*

*- Khloe Cole*

She hit send before she could second-guess herself.

Mama J was going to tell her this was a bad idea. Marcus would say she was walking into the lion's den. And maybe they were right.

But if Nathaniel Berthon wanted to meet, she'd meet him.

And she'd make damn sure he understood what he was destroying.

---

### **NATHANIEL**

Nathaniel arrived at his office at 6:30 AM, as always.

He'd spent the previous evening reviewing everything he could find about Khloe Cole. Social media profiles. News articles. Interviews. Her art portfolio.

She was more than just an activist with a viral post.

She was talented. Genuinely talented. Her murals across London told stories with a level of skill and emotional depth that was... impressive.

Not that it mattered.

Talent didn't change the economics of the Brixton project. The building was old, structurally compromised, sitting on land worth millions. Keeping it for "cultural value" was financial suicide.

But the board had called an emergency meeting yesterday. Investors were nervous. The press coverage was becoming a problem.

"Handle it," the board chair had said. "Quietly. Quickly. Make this go away."

So here he was, about to meet with an artist who thought passion could override logic.

Sarah knocked at 9:45 AM.

"She's here."

Nathaniel glanced up from his desk. "Early."

"Fifteen minutes. She's in the lobby."

"Let her wait."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Playing power games?"

"Establishing expectations."

"She's not intimidated by power, sir. If anything, making her wait will just make her angrier."

Nathaniel considered this. "Fine. Send her up."

Sarah nodded and left.

Nathaniel stood, adjusting his tie, moving to the window. His office was designed to impress—floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking Canary Wharf, minimalist furniture, everything clean and expensive and cold.

Most people who walked in here felt small.

He wondered if Khloe Cole would.

Somehow, he doubted it.

---

### **KHLOE**

The lobby of Berthon Development was exactly what Khloe expected.

Sterile. Modern. Expensive.

All glass and steel and perfectly polished floors that reflected the harsh overhead lights. A massive abstract sculpture sat in the center—the kind of art that cost millions and said absolutely nothing.

Corporate art. Soulless.

The receptionist had looked at Khloe like she'd walked in from another planet. Paint-stained jeans, oversized denim jacket, canvas bag slung over her shoulder. She didn't belong here and everyone knew it.

Good.

She wasn't here to fit in.

Sarah Chen appeared—tall, impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place.

"Ms. Cole. Please, follow me."

They rode the elevator in silence to the top floor. The doors opened directly into Nathaniel's office suite.

And Khloe hated it immediately.

Everything about this space screamed money and power and detachment. No warmth. No personality. No soul.

Just like the buildings he designed.

"Mr. Berthon will see you now," Sarah said, gesturing toward the massive glass doors.

Khloe took a breath and walked through.

---

The first thing she noticed was the view.

London stretched out below them, the entire city visible through floor-to-ceiling windows. It was breathtaking and horrifying at the same time—the perspective of someone who saw the city as something to own, not something to belong to.

The second thing she noticed was him.

Nathaniel Berthon stood by the window, hands in his pockets, perfectly still. Tall—taller than she'd expected from photos. Expensive charcoal suit tailored to perfection. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and those eyes—cold gray-blue, assessing her like she was a problem to be solved.

He was devastatingly handsome in the way villains in movies always were.

Which made her hate him more.

"Ms. Cole," he said, voice smooth and controlled. "Thank you for coming."

"Let's skip the pleasantries," Khloe said, not moving from her spot near the door. "You wanted to meet. I'm here. Talk."

A flicker of something crossed his face—surprise, maybe?—but it disappeared instantly.

"Direct. I appreciate that." He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, sit."

"I'll stand."

His jaw tightened slightly. "Suit yourself."

He moved to his desk, leaning against it, arms crossed. The power pose. The "I'm in control here" stance.

Khloe crossed her own arms, mirroring him.

"You've caused quite a disruption," Nathaniel said.

"Good."

"The project is proceeding regardless of your... campaign."

"We'll see about that."

"Ms. Cole—"

"It's Khloe."

"Khloe." He said her name like he was testing how it felt. "Let me be clear. The Brixton development is not negotiable. The building has been purchased. Permits have been approved. Demolition is scheduled. What you're doing—the protests, the media attention—it's noise. It won't change anything."

Khloe's eyes blazed. "Noise? You think the lives of an entire community are *noise*?"

"I think emotion is clouding your judgment."

"And I think profit is clouding yours."

Nathaniel's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "This is business. Not personal."

"It's personal to the families who've lived there for generations. To the kids who use that center. To everyone who sees that mural and feels *seen* for the first time in their lives." Khloe stepped closer. "But you wouldn't understand that, would you? When was the last time you actually walked through Brixton? Talked to the people who live there? Saw what that community *is*?"

"I've reviewed all the relevant data—"

"Data." Khloe laughed bitterly. "You can't measure community in data. You can't spreadsheet belonging. That building isn't just bricks and mortar—it's *home*."

"It's a structural liability sitting on prime real estate."

"It's proof that we exist!"

Her voice echoed in the massive office.

Nathaniel was quiet for a moment, studying her with those cold, calculating eyes.

"You're passionate," he said finally. "I'll give you that."

"Passion isn't a weakness."

"I didn't say it was. But it's not enough to stop this project."

Khloe stepped closer to his desk, planting her hands on the glass surface, leaning forward until they were eye to eye.

"Then let me make this clear, Mr. Berthon. I will fight you every single day for the next eight weeks. I will make sure every person in London knows what you're doing. I will turn you into the face of everything wrong with this city. And when your investors start worrying about brand image and your board starts questioning whether this project is worth the PR nightmare—"

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm *promising* you."

Their faces were inches apart now. Khloe could see the flecks of darker blue in his gray eyes, could feel the cold control radiating off him.

But underneath that control, she sensed something else.

Irritation. Frustration.

Interest.

He wasn't used to people standing up to him.

Good.

"You're wasting your time," Nathaniel said quietly, dangerously. "And mine."

"Then this meeting is over." Khloe straightened, turning toward the door.

"We're not finished."

She stopped, looked back over her shoulder. "Yes, we are. Unless you're about to tell me you're canceling the project."

"I'm not."

"Then we have nothing else to discuss."

She walked toward the door.

"Khloe."

Something in the way he said her name made her pause.

She turned back.

Nathaniel had moved from the desk, standing now in the middle of his sterile office, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read.

"Why does this matter so much to you?" he asked. Not mocking. Genuinely asking.

Khloe considered not answering. Considered just leaving.

But something made her stay.

"Because that mural was the last thing I painted with my mother before she died," she said quietly. "Because she taught me that art is how we fight back against being erased. Because every face in that mural represents a person who's been told they don't belong in this city anymore. And because if people like you keep winning, there won't be any space left for people like us."

Silence filled the room.

Nathaniel's expression shifted—just barely—but enough that Khloe noticed.

Was that... regret? Sympathy?

No. Impossible.

Men like him didn't feel regret.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he said finally.

"I don't want your pity. I want you to do the right thing."

"The right thing is subjective."

"No. It's not."

She turned and walked out before he could respond.

---

### **NATHANIEL**

Nathaniel stood alone in his office for a long time after she left.

The space felt emptier than usual. Colder.

He walked to the window, looking out at the city, replaying the conversation.

*"Because if people like you keep winning, there won't be any space left for people like us."*

He'd been called many things in his career. Ruthless. Brilliant. Cold.

But no one had ever looked at him the way Khloe Cole had—like he was the villain in her story.

And the worst part?

Maybe he was.

No.

He pushed the thought away.

This was business. He'd made the right decision based on sound financial analysis. What she *felt* about it didn't change the facts.

But her words lingered.

*"That mural was the last thing I painted with my mother before she died."*

He understood loss. God, did he understand loss.

But he'd learned to bury it. To move forward. To focus on what could be controlled—numbers, deals, buildings.

Khloe Cole hadn't buried anything.

She wore her grief and passion like armor.

And it made her... dangerous.

Not to the project. The project would proceed.

But to him.

Because for the first time in years, Nathaniel felt something other than cold calculation.

Curiosity. Respect.

Something else he refused to name.

He picked up his phone and called Sarah.

"Yes sir?"

"The Brixton project. I want full community impact reports. Every detail."

"Sir, we already have—"

"Not data. I want to know who lives there. What they do. Why they care. Everything."

Silence on the other end.

"Understood," Sarah said finally.

Nathaniel hung up and returned to the window.

Eight weeks until demolition.

Eight weeks to deal with Khloe Cole.

This was going to be more complicated than he'd thought.

---

### **KHLOE**

Khloe made it to the street before her hands started shaking.

She leaned against a building, breathing hard, trying to process what just happened.

She'd gone into that office ready for war.

And she'd gotten it.

But something unexpected had happened too.

For just a moment—when she'd told him about her mother—she'd seen something flicker in Nathaniel Berthon's cold eyes.

Something human.

It had disappeared as quickly as it came, but she'd seen it.

Which made him more dangerous than she'd thought.

Because it was easier to fight a villain.

Harder to fight someone who might—*might*—have a sliver of humanity buried under all that ice.

Her phone buzzed.

Mama J: *How did it go?*

Khloe typed back: *He's not backing down. Neither am I.*

Mama J: *Good. Come to the restaurant. We need to plan next steps.*

Khloe pocketed her phone and started walking.

The war had officially begun.

And she had no intention of losing.

---

**END OF CHAPTER 3**