Chapter 23
1573 Words
Ava was still staring at Amelia's business card when the bell above the studio door chimed again.
She smiled without looking up.
"Welcome! I'll be with you in just a..."
Her voice stopped.
Nathan stood in the doorway.
He had traded his tuxedo for a charcoal-gray suit, the top button of his shirt undone. Despite the more relaxed look, he still carried the quiet confidence that seemed to follow him everywhere.
Ava blinked.
"What are you doing here?"
Nathan held up a small leather sketchbook.
"You left this in my car."
Her eyes widened.
"My sketchbook!"
She hurried over and took it from him, running her hand across the worn cover.
"I thought I'd lost it."
"I noticed it after I got home."
She let out a relieved sigh.
"Thank you."
Nathan glanced around the studio.
It was the first time he'd seen it properly.
Canvases leaned against the walls.
Paint tubes were scattered across a large wooden table.
A half-finished cityscape rested on an easel near the window.
"It suits you," he said quietly.
Ava frowned.
"What does?"
"This place."
She looked around.
"It isn't much."
"It's yours."
Something about the way he said it made her smile.
Nathan's gaze drifted to the fresh SOLD tag resting on a nearby table.
"You sold one."
Ava nodded, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.
"I did."
"Congratulations."
His smile was small but genuine.
"You earned it."
She hesitated before speaking.
"A gallery director came by."
Nathan raised an eyebrow.
"The one my mother mentioned?"
"Amelia Brooks."
"She invited me to be part of an exhibition."
Nathan's expression softened.
"I knew she would."
"You knew?"
"I knew she'd like your work."
Ava looked at him curiously.
"You sound very confident."
"I've seen enough of your paintings to know they belong in a gallery."
She laughed lightly.
"I still can't believe it."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The comfortable silence was broken by Ava's phone vibrating on the table.
She picked it up.
Another news notification.
Another headline about the gala.
Her smile faded.
Nathan noticed immediately.
"They're still talking about us?"
She nodded.
"I went online for five minutes this morning."
"Big mistake."
She placed the phone face down.
"People keep asking me about you."
"They don't ask about my paintings."
"They ask what it's like dating Nathan Walker."
She let out a quiet sigh.
"I worked so hard to become known for my art."
"Now I feel like people only see me because of... this."
Nathan was silent for a moment.
Then he stepped closer.
Not so close that it felt overwhelming.
Just close enough for her to know she had his full attention.
"Ava."
She looked up.
"You don't have to become someone else because people are looking at you."
She searched his face.
"They'll get bored eventually."
"And when they do..."
He glanced toward the paintings lining the walls.
"...the people who matter will remember your work."
Not the headlines.
Not the photographs.
"You really believe that?"
"I do."
His answer came without hesitation.
"And if they don't..."
He smiled faintly.
"I'll be first in line to buy every painting you make."
Ava laughed.
"You'd go broke."
"I can live with that."
The warmth between them lingered, making the noisy world outside the studio seem very far away.
Just then, the bell above the door chimed once more.
A courier stepped inside, carrying a beautifully wrapped box tied with a dark blue ribbon.
"Delivery for Miss Ava Carter."
Ava frowned.
"For me?"
The courier nodded and handed her the package.
"There wasn't a sender's name."
Nathan looked at the elegant wrapping.
"So..."
Ava murmured.
"Who could've sent this?"
She carefully untied the ribbon as both of them looked at the mysterious gift.
The heavy silk ribbon was the colour of a bruised plum, slick and cool against Ava’s fingertips. She worked the knot with practiced patience, her breathing shallow in the quiet of her new studio space.
Beside her, Nathan stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze fixed on her face rather than the parcel resting on the scarred wooden workbench.
The studio still smelled of fresh primer, sawdust, and the faint, ghostly tang of linseed oil. Sunlight cut through the high, arched windows of the old textile mill, throwing long, geometric shadows across the floorboards. It was the kind of space Ava loved, a real sanctuary.
"If this is a plant, I’m going to need to buy a watering can," Ava murmured, a nervous flutter in her chest.
"Unlikely," Nathan said, a small, easy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "The delivery guy looked like he was transporting fine art, not ficus trees. Go on. Open it."
With a final tug, the ribbon parted. Ava folded back the heavy, cream-colored wrapping paper, her breath catching as the contents were revealed.
Nestled in custom-cut, charcoal-colored foam was a professional set of premium German paintbrushes, hand-tailored sable, their ferrules gleaming like polished chrome.
Beneath them lay a selection of hand-milled French oil pigments, colors so rich and rare they were practically legendary among working artists. It was an assemblage of tools that cost more than Ava’s entire rent budget for the upcoming semester. A collection far, far beyond what she could ever hope to afford herself.
"Oh my god," Ava whispered, her hand hovering over the brushes as if touching them might cause them to vanish.
"Nathan... you didn't have to do this."She turned to him, her eyes bright with a sudden, overwhelming wave of gratitude.
Nathan didn’t smile. In fact, his brow furrowed, his shoulders squaring slightly as he looked from Ava to the pristine box. The relaxed demeanour he usually carried vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp focus.
"Do what?" he asked, his voice entirely flat.
Ava’s smile faltered slightly. She lifted the heavy wooden case, tilting it toward him. "This. The brushes, the pigments. Nathan, it’s incredible. But it’s too much."
Nathan shook his head, stepping closer to examine the box without actually touching it. "Ava, I didn't buy this."
"Stop joking," she laughed, though the sound lacked conviction. "Who else would it be? My landlord? The Vanguard doesn’t send welcome baskets worth thousands of dollars."
"I'm not joking," Nathan said softly. He looked directly into her eyes, his expression utterly sincere, devoid of the playful teasing she expected.
As if sensing her sudden discomfort, Nathan reached into the folds of the wrapping paper and pulled out a small, heavy card that had slipped to the side. It was made of thick, cotton-weave paper, the edges deckled and elegant.
"There's a note," he said, handing it to her.
Ava took it, her fingers tracing the heavy texture before flipping it over. Written across the centre in elegant, fluid black ink was a single, concise sentiment:
Talent deserves the right tools. Congratulations on your new opportunity.
Ava read it aloud, her voice small.
"There’s no signature," she muttered, turning the card over, then checking the envelope. "Nothing."
Nathan’s expression subtly changed. He didn't say anything to alarm Ava, he was too careful for that, but his eyes narrowed as he began a quiet, methodical examination of the packaging. He didn't just look at it; he analyzed it. He noticed the precision of the folds, the lack of any commercial shipping label, the absence of a*****e receipt, or a packing slip. The box hadn’t been mailed through traditional courier services. It had been hand-delivered, packaged with an unsettling, meticulous perfection.
"Ava," Nathan said, his tone deliberately calm, dropping into the low, steady register he used when he was processing a problem. "Did anyone else know you’d be at the studio today?"
Ava blinked, trying to shake off the strange fog settling over her. "Just Chloe. And you. Why?"
"Have you been expecting any deliveries? A backorder? A gift from Chloe?"
"No," she said, her voice dropping.
"Did the courier say anything when he dropped it off? A name? A company?"
"No, he didn’t.
...
Three miles away, in a high-rise office overlooking the city's glittering financial district, the atmosphere was entirely different.
The room was a study in monochromatic minimalism. Behind a sprawling desk of dark obsidian sat Isabella. Her posture was flawless, her tailored silk blouse completely unwrinkled despite the afternoon heat.
With slow, deliberate movements, Isabella reached into her top desk drawer. She lifted a heavy, deckled-edge stationery set, identical in every way to the paper currently sitting in Ava's studio. She carefully placed the remaining sheets back into their velvet-lined compartment, sliding the drawer shut with a soft, satisfying click.
A faint, sharp smile played on her lips. She leaned back in her leather chair, steepeling her fingers.
"Curiosity is always the easiest door to open," Isabella said softly to the empty room, her voice a purr of absolute certainty.
She reached across the desk and picked up a high-gloss photograph taken at the Walker's gala the previous evening. In the frame, Nathan was laughing, his arm draped casually, possessively, around Ava’s waist. Ava was looking up at him, her face radiant, completely exposed.
Isabella’s gaze narrowed onto Ava’s smiling face. She tapped the edge of the photograph against her manicured fingernail.
"Now let's see how long you can hold onto him, Ava."
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