Chapter12
880 Words
The table where Elena and Sandra sat suddenly grew tense, the chatter around them fading into a low murmur.
Sandra leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
“Who doesn't carry an ATM card or at least a little cash in this 21st century?” she said, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
Elena pointed squarely at her.
“You,” she said grinning. “You're the one footing the bills today, so I didn't bother.” She dropped her face into her hands, hiding her smirk.
Sandra sighed dramatically.
“So, what now? The house is too far, and we barely have ten minutes left on our lunch break!”
Before Elena could respond, the waitress, who had been lingering nearby, coughed politely.
“I could cover it for now. You can pay me back when you next visit.”
Without hesitation, Sandra sprang up and scooped the waitress into a tight hug.
“You're a lifesaver!” Elena said, her smile breaking through the tension.
They hurried out, back to work, laughter chasing them out the door.
But beneath Elena's smile, a silent pressure began to coil inside her chest.
The clock was ticking.
Velvis City Art Gallery.
Seconds blurred into minutes, days into hours. The big day drew closer, too close.
Elena felt the weight of her responsibilities growing heavier, almost suffocating.
“Is everything set?” Mr. Nicholas's voice cut through the buzz as he checked department after department.
“Yes sir,” came the chorus of responses.
When he reached Elena's station, he paused. It was unusually quiet.
Mia and Pete were busy arranging pieces in the exhibition room, but Elena sat frozen at her desk, lost in thought.
“Is everything alright?” Mr. Nicholas asked, stepping closer.
Elena slowly lifted her head. Her eyes, tired but determined, met his.
“Just processing a lot right now,” she said.
He nodded, understanding. No more words were needed. Tomorrow was everything.
Meanwhile, Elsewhere
“Don't tell me you forgot the exhibition is today,” Trent said, barging into Alexander's Manhattan mansion.
Alexander chuckled lazily, sipping his espresso.
“Nothing catches me by surprise. I was waiting for your call.”
Trent patted him on the back.
“Good. Because we're leaving now. Private jet, right?”
“Already fueled and waiting,” Alexander said with a grin.
Thirty minutes later, after a smooth flight from Manhattan to Velvis, a sleek black Bentley was waiting for them at the airport.
They pulled up at the Velvis City Art Gallery, far earlier than expected.
“Told you we're too early,” Trent teased, peering out at the sparse crowd.
Alexander's eyes scanned the grounds sharply.
“It's never too early,” he said. “Let's get our seats sorted before the madness begins.”
But as they neared the entrance, chaos greeted them.
At the Gallery Entrance
“What the hell?” Alexander barked, his gaze snapping to the thick, restless crowd.
“You said it starts at 10AM! Why is the queue already this insane?!”
Trent paled, fumbling for the invitation ticket.
“Uh… I might've gotten the time wrong. It's 9 AM, not 10.”
Alexander stared at him, jaw tight.
“You forgot the most crucial detail?” His voice was low, but dangerous.
Trent shrugged sheepishly.
“We have VIP tickets. We'll be fine.”
Alexander's eyes blazed.
“Do you see this madness?!”
Still, Trent grinned. “Relax. I'll find a way. Wait here.”
With a quick pat on Alexander's shoulder, he disappeared into the crowd.
Alexander waited. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty.
The line barely moved. His patience evaporated.
“Move back! No cutting!” people started shouting as Alexander tried pushing forward.
He ignored them… until the scene grew heated.
From inside the gallery, Elena glanced up, frowning.
“What's going on out there?” she asked a coworker.
“Some VIP trying to beat the line,” they replied.
Elena rolled her eyes.
“Typical,” she muttered. Still, the rising commotion forced her to step outside.
She walked through the crowd and found the source, a tall, infuriated man restless.
Elena tapped him sharply on the shoulder.
“Sir, why are you causing a ruckus?”
The man spun around, fury flashing across his face.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” he snarled.
Elena's breath hung. She instantly recognized him, Alexander Drake, billionaire tech guy.
But she didn't flinch.
“I'm the lady who decides whether you get in or not,” she said coolly, planting her heels firmly into the ground.
Alexander sneered.
“I have a VIP ticket. I shouldn't be treated like everyone else.”
Elena arched an eyebrow.
“First rule of VIP; come early. Now you're just like everyone else.”
Alexander cursed Trent under his breath, but his rage only deepened.
“Move, or I'll move you,” he snapped.
Elena's smile sharpened.
Without warning, she slapped him, hard across the chin.
Gasps rippled through the queue.
“Like I said,” Elena said icily, “I'm the lady who decides if you get in. And right now? You're not looking so lucky.”
Alexander stood frozen, stunned.
The line fell into shocked silence, the tension snapping like a taut wire.
- Writer
