THE GRAVITY OF US

TERMS OF CONTROL

Chapter Two -

The next morning, the gallery floor-to-ceiling windows were flooded with sunlight, which turned the canvases into a radiant gold. But Elowen was buzzing with nerves that were too overwhelming to savor anything around her.And her high-and-bright heels made a clicking sound across the marble as she rushed into the director's office. "Are you really serious?" she exclaimed incredulously. "Rhys Moretti cannot be our patron! The ownership of this exhibition cannot be given to him!"The director Miquel Montoya, an elderly gentleman with silver hair and an omnipresent attitude even if the world was falling apart, still barely raised his eyes from the paperwork. "Correction, Ms. Hart: He already does. Without Mr. Moretti's contribution, this exhibition wouldn't exist."Elowen's fists were like hard stone. "In this case, I would prefer to watch it go down."Montoya sighed as if she were a sulking kid. "Your feelings strictly concern you. His investment remains to be a professional issue. Keep it that way."Personal. The word got her burned. It felt like a branding iron over her skin.She pivoted, her anger rising, along with the memory of the embers did, in a molten way, down the hall. Professional? How could she act like a pro when the guy who had smashed her heart to pieces was; the one on the very floor she stood on?" When she pushed the gallery doors open wide, it turned out he had been there.What Rhys did was lean on a marble column, embodying the very image of superiority. The black suit he wore was an absolute epitome of cut, hands in the pockets, as if he had never been part of the building. His storm-gray eyes were the very first thing she noticed as he saw her walk into the room. A small and sagacious smile crept on his lips bit by bit."I can see the urge in your eyes that you want to kill one," he said lazily. "Let me ask you a question, Elowen — do I get to be the victim, or am I just the executioner?""Her pulse skipped a beat. ""What the hell are you even doing here?""He moved deliberately forward but relaxed on the way like every single part of him was calculated, like he knew that just being here was enough to unsettle her. "My investment is secured. I am ensuring this exhibition flourishes." He dropped the smile. "And by the way, I'm keeping you close."She felt a sudden rigidness in her body. "Close? You are not serious! Do you really think you can just come back into my life, throw money at my work like it is some kind of—""Prisoner?" His look was something like a sword. "Funny. It is, in fact, the exact thing you made me five years ago."Her breath froze for a moment. "I did not—""Didn't what? Left me alone? Did you not trust your brother's lies over the man who would have been in flame for you? " He grinned, the rage beneath his polished persona emerging to the surface. "Don't twist the truth, Elowen. You picked a side.""Her throat was hurting as the hurtful memories came back to her, Marcus's voice clear and persuasive, whispers of Rhys's sickness, and the night she departed. The truth was as simple as this - Rhys's gaze when he looked at her left her with the pain of betrayal, even if she firmly believed she was right."Her voice was solid at the time. "I made a choice to stay alive. Something that's beyond your understanding."The moment drew on a little too long, an unyielding tension between the two of them. But then, his lips turned back into shadows, yet again but this one was cold and cruel."Then survive me now."Her heart stumbled. "What do you mean?" "I'm not just a patron, Elowen. I am your patron. Every article, every critic, every photo op from this moment forward? They'll see my name tied to yours." He leaned in, his cologne—spiced citrus and something darker—curling around her senses. "You'll smile for the cameras. You'll thank me for saving your precious gallery. And every time you do, you'll remember that you belong to me."Her knuckles were white as they dug into the palm of her hand. "I do not belong to you."His eyes dropped for a moment and he looked down at her lips before his gaze returned to her eyes. "We'll see."The gallery doors got opened suddenly, invading the moment of tension. Clara popped in, tablet in hand, only to halt at the distressing phase of two individuals standing too close together, electricity snap in the air. Her eyes rounded. "Oh. Did I interrupt...something?"Elowen jerked backwards but Rhys remained still, his face unreadable."No," Elowen quickly said, brushing past him. "Nothing which worth interrupting."But she was still feeling tight in the chest listening to Rhys's deep and sure voice which was laid behind her."Run if you want, Elowen. I will always find you."The very next evening, the exhibition was the first to host the press walk. Elowen cursed her own self for being in full awareness as her despised co-worker occupied the space beside Rhys, making her feel like each step they took was on a stage in front of blinking cameras. She hated herself for carrying him along like a dead weight, each step like a performance on a stage for the camera lights. His hand lay lightly on her back as he guided her from painting to statue like nothing had ever changed in their relationship. Her power was to shove him down, scream at the top of her lungs - if only the cameras could be merciless with him instead."Mr. Moretti," a press guy questioned, "what made you invest in art when your empire is actually technology?"Rhys, before answering, flicked a quick gaze at Elowen, while the richness of his voice stated the meaning of his words. "Some things are priceless. Some things you never forget, no matter how much time goes."The crowd laughed and seemed taken in by the magic. Elowen's heart was about to break. She was gasping for breath.Throughout the evening, being exposed to whispers and photos, each little contact of Rhys made her walls thin. She held herself together, looked straight in front, her smile professional, but inside she was falling apart.When the last guest departed, she was left in the dimly lit art gallery trying to gather her fragmented self in a solitary silence.Her moment of relief hurried by, and of course, he was still there. Rhys, who had the grand staircase for his back, was the image of a predator resting; his jacket was on the floor and his tie was all loose. "You are very good at wearing a mask," he said. "But I see the cracks."Her spine went stiff. "You do not know anything at all about me anymore."His eyes went stormy like a cloud forming. He moved closer and she kept still, her pulse urging her to go away, but she stayed in place. "I know everything," he said softly. "I know the sound you make when you're about to cry but refuse to let it fall. I know the way your hands shake when you’re furious but you hide them behind your back. And I know"—his gaze pierced hers—"that you still want me, even if you’d rather die than admit it."Her breath got stuck in her throat, and she wanted to deny, but just then the doors of the gallery opened again."Elowen!"Marcus Hart's voice rang in warmth, both he and the expression on his face were of delight as he walked in with the arms wide open. The tailored suit glimmered under the lights and his smile was as charming as a weapon of war. Contrary to that, Rhys's face turned to stone; his jaw was taut and his eyes, like steel, were cruel.The battlefield has just changed. Elowen stood still at the center of them, her pulse racing. Marcus's embrace was comforting as he whispered to her. "I didn't realize we would be sharing company tonight. Rhys, what a surprise."Rhys's answering smile was ruthless. "Trust me, Marcus. No one is more surprised than me.