>]Chapter One
1345 Words
The gallery buzzed with the sound of clinking glasses and murmurs of admiration. I stood near the corner of the large room, away from it all, observing. I brushed my sweaty palms against the silky fabric of my blue dress, an attempt to calm my nerves.
Some of my very own paintings hung along the walls.
Tonight was supposed to be my night—the result of months of hard work, several sleepless nights, and moments when I doubted my own skill. This wasn’t my first gallery showcase, but it was my most personal one. Every piece represented things I couldn’t quite put into words, my raw emotions put on a canvas.
“Ms. Blake, your work is extraordinary,” an older woman said as she approached me, her pearls gleaming in the warm lighting.
I smiled, trying to push down my anxiety. “Thank you so much. It means a lot to hear that.”
The woman gave me a simple nod and moved on, leaving me to sip on my champagne and survey the room. People were smiling and gesturing to my work. I felt a huge burst of confidence.
The night was a success.
Just then, I heard a voice.
“It’s a bit… amateur, don’t you think?”
I turned towards the voice, my eyes landed on a man standing a few feet away, studying my favorite piece.
“Excuse me?” I said, stepping closer.
The man turned to face me, and I felt an unexpected jolt. He was strikingly handsome. Tall and broad-shouldered. His sharp eyes reminded me of a cold winter. His overall look screamed wealth and power.
His face was adorned with an infuriating smirk. I wanted so bad to wipe it off his face.
“You heard me,” he said, his voice calm but mocking. “It lacks depth. The composition is alright, but it’s trying too hard to be…profound. It’s more decoration than art.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m sorry, but who do you think you are, critiquing my work?”
He raised a brow. Something about I said seemed to have amused him. “Just someone with an eye for quality. Don’t take it personally.”
“Don’t take it personally?” I repeated, my pitch rising slightly. “You, sir, just insulted my work in the middle of my showcase, and I’m supposed to not take it personally?”
He shrugged. “Honesty is rare these days. You should be glad”
My eyes narrowed as I stared at him. I struggled to maintain my composure. My art was my soul, laid bare for the world to see. And for a random person to speak so casually about it made my blood boil.
“Well,” I started, setting my empty glass down on a nearby table, “let me return the favor and show you my gratitude”
Before he could respond, I picked up a fresh glass of champagne and tossed it in his face.
A collective gasp rippled through the room as the man stood there, stunned, his face and expensive suit dripping with bubbly liquid.
I couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction as his smirk faltered.
“I hope you enjoyed that,” I said coldly, “Because it’s the last time you’ll be welcome at one of my showcases.”
I walked away, my heart pounding as the weight of what I’d just done hit me.
~
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing incessantly. I groaned, pulling the pillow over my head in an attempt to block out the noise, but the buzzing continued.
I sighed and reached across my nightstand to grab the phone. The screen displayed Dad in bold letters, along with several missed calls and a string of texts.
Call me. Now.
We need to talk.
This is urgent.
A small frown settled in my face as I sat up. My father rarely called, let alone this many times in a row.
“What now?” I muttered, swiping to call him back.
The phone barely rang once before he answered. “Sophia. Get to the house. Now.”
“Good morning to you too dad,” I said dryly.
“This isn’t the time for jokes,” he snapped. “It’s serious.”
I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the clock. It was barely 8am. I hadn’t even had my morning coffee yet. Definitely too early to be speaking to people.
“Can’t you just tell me what’s going on over the phone?
“No,” he said firmly. “This isn’t a conversation we can have now. Just come. Please.”
The edge of desperation in his voice made me pause. Whatever this was, it wasn’t like my father to sound so rattled.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”
~
Half an hour later, I walked into my parents grand estate. The house, as always, felt more like a museum than a home. It was cold, and devoid of any homely warmth.
“Dad?” I called out, walking further into the house.
“In the study,” his voice replied.
I made my way to the study, where I found my father pacing behind his desk. Hiis face was lined with worry and his once dark brown hair was now showing streaks of grey.
Father looked older than I remembered, the weight of the family’s troubles were clearly taking its toll.
“Okay, I’m here,” I said, crossing my arms. “What’s wrong?”
He stopped pacing and looked at me, his expression grave. “We’re in trouble, Sophia. Serious trouble.”
“What… kind of trouble?”
“The company is on the brink of collapse,” he said. “We’re drowning in debt, and if we don’t act fast, we’ll lose everything.”
My stomach dropped. I knew the business had been struggling, but I'd never realised it was that bad.
“I’m sorry to hear that dad,” I said carefully. “But what does this have to do with me?”
I'd made it clear before I finished college that I wanted to pursue art and had no interest in the family business. And I'd only recently started gaining publicity there was no way I could help with the business.
I could sense his hesitation, in the way he looked down at his desk before meeting my eyes. “There’s a way to save the company, but it requires your… cooperation.”
A sinking feeling began to form in my chest. “What kind of cooperation?”
Father took a deep breath. “You need to marry someone. A man who has agreed to invest in the company, under the condition that you two wed.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Is this a joke?”
“I wish it was, dear” he replied. “But this is the only way. Without this deal, we’ll lose everything—our business, our home, our legacy.”
I shook my head, my heart racing. “You can’t be serious dad. This isn't the renaissance or something. You can't just arrange my marriage with a complete stranger to save your company”
“He’s not a stranger, he’s… he’s a powerful man and an alliance with him will ensure the survival of our business. I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t think it was the only option we had left”
I opened my mouth to protest or shout or tell my father that I wouldn't be pawned off. But before I could say anything, the sound of footsteps interrupted us.
The study door opened behind me. “He’s here,” my father said quietly.
I turned toward the door. It felt like it all happened in slow motion. A tall figure stepped inside and I felt the air leave my lungs.
My eyes widened in shock as the recognition slid into place .
It was him.
- Writer
