SKETCHING HEARTS

Chloe Bennett had always known she was bad at pretending. She could pretend not to care when someone laughed at her drawings. She could pretend the sharp, little comments from her family didn't crawl beneath her skin and stay there for days. She could even pretend that standing in a room full of wealthy artists, gallery owners, and designers who spoke about creativity as though they had personally invented it did not make her feel like a total intruder. But tonight, she couldn't pretend she belonged. The city art mixer glittered around her like a gilded cage. Crystal chandeliers hung from the soaring ceilings like suspended stars. Waiters drifted through the elite crowd carrying silver trays of champagne, while expensive perfume, tailored suits, and carefully rehearsed laughter filled the enormous gallery. Chloe stood near one of the modern displays, tightly holding a glass of sparkling water she had no intention of drinking. Her eyes moved over the artwork surrounding her—the oil paintings, the massive sculptures, the abstract installations. Everything looked impressive, expensive, and out of reach. And somehow, she felt like the cheapest thing in the room. "You're still drawing those little cartoons, Chloe?" Chloe's shoulders instantly stiffened. She didn't even have to turn around; her aunt's voice carried that particular, artificial sweetness people used when they were about to say something cruel. Turning slowly, Chloe faced her. Her aunt stood beside two of her cousins, all three looking at her with varying degrees of mild amusement. "They're illustrations," Chloe corrected quietly. "Digital illustrations." Her cousin snorted, swirling her wine. "Whatever you want to call them, sweetie. But you're twenty-three now. Don't you think it's time to take your life seriously and think bigger?" The question landed like a physical blow, bruising her already fragile confidence. Chloe forced a tight, defensive smile. "I'll put that on my to-do list." "You always did have low standards for yourself," her uncle chimed in, joining the group with a heavy sigh. "Liking a childish hobby isn't the same as actually being talented. You're wasting your potential." Something deep inside Chloe's chest tightened. She swallowed the burning lump in her throat. She always swallowed it. Maintaining her fading smile, she whispered, "Good to know." She turned on her heel and walked away before anyone could see how badly her hands were shaking. The moment she pushed through the heavy glass doors onto the terrace, the suffocating noise of the gallery died behind her. Cold evening air brushed against her flushed face, and Chloe exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Finally, she could breathe. She walked toward the stone railing, placing both hands against the cool metal as she looked over the New York skyline. Below her, thousands of lights glittered between towering buildings, and cars moved through the streets like streams of liquid gold. She closed her eyes against the sting of unshed tears. Maybe they were right, she thought bitterly. Maybe I really am just an aimless doodler who doesn't know what she's doing. "That's a dangerous thing to believe." Chloe's eyes snapped open. She wasn't alone. A man stood several feet away, leaning casually against the shadowed side of the terrace. She hadn't heard him come out. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored suit that screamed wealth, his silk tie loosened just enough to suggest he had grown thoroughly bored of the elite crowd inside. His expression was calm, almost indifferent, as he stared out at the city, but his presence was entirely commanding. Chloe frowned, her defensive walls immediately going up. "Excuse me?" He turned his head to look at her. His eyes were sharp, dark, and intensely assessing. "The cruel things people say about you," he said, his voice a smooth, low baritone. "If you start believing them, they become impossible to remove." Chloe stared at him, stunned. "Were you eavesdropping on my family?" "I have ears. And they were loud." "That's incredibly rude. You don't know anything about me." "I know enough," he replied smoothly, shifting his weight. "I know you're currently questioning your own worth based on the opinions of people who couldn't carry your shadow." She blinked, caught completely off guard by the strange intensity of his words. "Well, congratulations," she shot back, masking her vulnerability with sharp wit. "You've successfully made standing alone on a balcony feel like an interrogation. Are you always this naturally unpleasant?" That earned her a real reaction. The man's dark eyes narrowed slightly, and a faint, dangerous hum of tension sparked in the air between them. He looked like the kind of man who could make an entire room apologize without ever raising his voice. "And you're always this naturally combative?" he asked, stepping slightly out of the shadows. "Only when arrogant strangers think they have the right to analyze me." "There is a difference between arrogance and observation, Ms...?" "Bennett," she supplied quickly, tilting her chin up defiantly. "And you definitely lean toward arrogance." The corner of his mouth ticked upward into the briefest, ghost of a smirk. "Perhaps. But at least I am confident. You, on the other hand, let mediocre people dictate your talent. You said you draw. Are you any good?" "I'm trying to be professional," she snapped, irritated by how easily he was pulling her strings. "Trying?" He stepped closer, his imposing height suddenly casting a shadow over her. The proximity made her heart skip a chaotic beat. "An artist who 'tries' has already failed. You either are, or you aren't. Don't let their low expectations become your reality." Chloe opened her mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but before the words could leave her lips, the heavy terrace doors swung open. A nervous-looking man in a tuxedo stepped out, his eyes instantly locking onto the stranger beside her. "Mr. Vance," the man stammered anxiously. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, sir, but the board members are waiting for you inside. They need your final decision on the main city gallery exhibition before the press arrives." The man beside Chloe didn't break eye contact with her for a long, agonizing second. "Give me a minute," he commanded quietly. "Of course, sir." The assistant bowed his head and quickly retreated inside. An absolute, deafening silence settled over the balcony. Chloe felt the blood drain from her face. Her mouth went completely dry, and her stomach did a violent flip. Mr. Vance. There was only one Vance who ruled the city's artistic empire. Julian Vance. The most ruthless, powerful, and fiercely critical art director in the country. A man whose single nod could launch an artist into global stardom, or whose rejection could permanently bury a career. The exact man she had just called naturally unpleasant. And arrogant. Julian looked down at her, a brilliant, mocking glint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Something wrong, Ms. Bennett? You're staring again." Chloe swallowed hard, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. "I... I didn't know who you were." "I noticed," he said softly. There was no anger in his tone, which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying. He straightened his posture, adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit jacket, completely taking over the space. "Though I must admit, it's refreshing to be insulted so creatively before dessert." He took a step toward the glass doors, then paused right beside her. The scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne washed over her, making her dizzy. He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous, mesmerizing whisper near her ear. "Have a good night, Chloe. Practice that confidence. You're going to need it." Then, he turned and walked back into the glittering warmth of the gala, leaving the glass doors to swing shut behind him. Chloe remained frozen on the balcony, staring at the empty space where he had just been standing. She had come out here to escape a humiliating family conversation. Instead, she had just insulted the most powerful man in her industry. Twice. She buried her face in both hands, letting out a weak, breathless groan. "Oh, God." Inside, the classical music continued to swell, and the lights continued to glitter. And Chloe Bennett suddenly had a terrible feeling that her evening had just become the least of her problems.