Tangled in Velvet

Chapter Three - Familiar Spaces

Lily let herself into her apartment just after nine. The door clicked shut behind her, and for a moment, she stood still in the hallway, keys still in hand. The silence here was different from the kind in the auction house. Less polished. Less clean. This was the kind of quiet that let your thoughts echo back at you.

She slipped off her shoes and set her bag down by the bookshelf. The space smelled faintly of citrus and turpentine. Her apartment was small, second-floor, nothing fancy. The walls were mostly bare, except for a few pieces she kept for herself—paintings she’d found at flea markets or inherited from clients who couldn’t afford to pay. There was something honest in them, something raw. They didn’t impress anyone, but they made her feel something. That was enough.

In the kitchen, she filled the kettle, set it on the stove, and leaned against the counter. The day was still in her. The room, the painting, his voice, the way he looked at her without looking away. She tried to shake it off, but it clung to her like humidity.

Her phone buzzed once on the counter. She didn’t check it right away.

The kettle began to whistle. She made tea and carried it to the small table by the window, where the city lights blinked through the half-open blinds. Across the alley, someone had strung fairy lights on their fire escape. She watched them flicker while the tea cooled in her hands.

Eventually, she picked up her phone. One new message.

CARA [8:42 p.m.]

Did you finally meet the ghost behind the curtain?

Lily smiled a little and typed back.

LILY:

I did. Not a ghost. Just a very well-dressed mystery with opinions.

CARA:

Ooooooh. Was he hot? Please say he was hot.

LILY:

He was... distracting.

The typing bubbles popped up immediately.

CARA:

LILY CHEN. Don’t you dare start catching feelings for one of your clients. This is how crime documentaries start.

Lily laughed softly and locked her phone without replying. Cara had known her since undergrad, had watched her work her way through three internships and one disastrous breakup. She meant well. Always had. But this wasn’t that. Or at least, it wasn’t anything yet.

She finished her tea and moved to the small studio tucked into the corner of her apartment. The space was barely big enough for an easel and a cart of supplies, but it was hers. Her canvases lined the far wall, some blank, others halfway to something. She hadn’t painted for herself in weeks.

She grabbed a pencil and a piece of scrap paper. Nothing serious. Just enough to keep her hands busy while her head tried to sort itself out.

It was easier to focus on lines. On small, quiet marks. The pressure of the graphite, the way it moved on the paper. It steadied her. Slowed everything down.

She sketched the edge of a jawline, then a pair of hands, rough and too large for the page. She didn’t realize she’d drawn them from memory until she stopped and looked at them properly.

Victor.

She sighed and pushed the paper aside.

Across the room, a tiny framed photo leaned against the window. Her parents. Taken the year before they sold everything and moved back to Taiwan. She hadn’t followed. Not out of rebellion, just... uncertainty. Her father still called every Sunday. Her mother always asked if she was sleeping enough. She always lied and said yes.

Her phone buzzed again.

CARA [9:16 p.m.]

Dinner tomorrow. You’re bringing wine. And no talking about men in suits.

Lily smiled. Maybe that was exactly what she needed. Real life. Something outside of paintings and auction rooms and strangers who looked at her like they were waiting for her to reveal something she hadn’t figured out herself.

She texted back a simple “Okay” and returned to her bedroom. The city hummed outside. She let the noise in for a while, let it fill the room, the way she used to as a *** when the silence got too loud.

When she finally lay down, it took a long time for sleep to find her.

And when it did, it brought velvet and shadows with it.