Sterling’s Fortune

Chapter 15

The Metropolitan Museum of Art was a cathedral of silence and history, but tonight, it was a runway.

The Winter Solstice Showcase was the most exclusive event of the season. The Great Hall was filled with champagne towers, live violin music, and the kind of people who owned islands.

Elodie stood near the Temple of Dendur, trying not to hyperventilate.

"Breathe," Alistair whispered in her ear. His hand rested on the small of her back.

"I can't," she whispered back. "My painting is in the next room. People are looking at it right now. Judging it. Hating it."

"They love it," Alistair assured her. "I heard the main curator weeping in front of it ten minutes ago. Believe me, people are going to love it"

Elodie smoothed the skirt of her gown. It was deep emerald green velvet, strapless and sleek. She looked like a jewel. Alistair, in a midnight-blue tuxedo, looked like the velvet box she came in.

But something was wrong.

ZAP.

"Ow!" Elodie jumped.

"What?" Alistair pulled back.

"You shocked me," she said, rubbing her arm. "Static."

Alistair frowned. He reached out to touch her arm again.

SNAP.

A visible blue spark jumped between his finger and her skin. It was loud enough that a woman nearby turned to look.

"The air is dry," Alistair muttered, pulling his hand away. He looked at the ceiling. The lights in the massive hall were flickering. Not a romantic dimming, a jagged, nervous flutter.

"It’s not the air," Elodie said, eyeing the bracelet. It was vibrating against her wrist like a trapped insect. "It’s the luck. It’s angry."

"It has no reason to be," Alistair said, his jaw tight. "We are together. We are honest. We are winning."

"Are we?"

Before Alistair could answer, a hush fell over the crowd. The Head Curator was stepping up to the podium in the center of the room.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the curator announced. "Tonight, we celebrate the light in the darkness. And no piece captures that better than the anonymous submission in the American Wing, titled 'The Grey Tower'."

Applause rippled through the room. Elodie’s heart hammered.

"Shall we go see your triumph?" Alistair offered his arm. He was careful not to touch her skin directly, resting his hand on the velvet of her sleeve.

They walked into the gallery.

A crowd was gathered around her painting. It was lit perfectly. The image of the lonely grey man in the glass tower, surrounded by the vibrant, chaotic veins of the city, held the room captive.

"It’s haunting," a woman whispered. "It’s a critique of capitalism," a man said. "No," a familiar voice cut through the crowd. "It’s a love letter to a monster."

The crowd parted. Bianca St. James stood there.

She looked immaculate in silver silk, like a knife blade dressed for dinner. She held a glass of champagne in one hand and a manila folder in the other.

"Bianca," Alistair warned, stepping forward. The lights overhead buzzed aggressively.

BZZZZZT

"Relax, Alistair," Bianca smiled. She looked at Elodie. "Congratulations, darling. It really is a beautiful painting. You captured his coldness perfectly."

"What do you want, Bianca?" Elodie asked, standing her ground.

"I just wanted to return something to you," Bianca said. "I found it during my... research for the board meeting. I thought you might want it for your scrapbook."

She handed the folder to Elodie.

"Don't take it," Alistair said sharply.

CRACK.

A lightbulb in the sconce next to the painting exploded. Glass rained down on the floor. The crowd gasped and stepped back.

"Why?" Bianca laughed, enjoying the chaos. "Are you afraid she’ll see how much you value her?"

Elodie took the folder. Her hands were shaking. She opened it.

It was a document.

EMPLOYMENT CONTRACT RENEWAL.

Dated: Yesterday.

Elodie scanned the legalese. It wasn't just a renewal. It was an amendment. It classified Elodie Rose as a "Key Asset" of Sterling Industries. It contained a clause that prevented her from selling her art to any entity other than Sterling Holdings for a period of five years. It garnished her earnings from the gallery to pay back the "investment" of the apartment building.

But the worst part was the signature at the bottom.

Alistair Sterling.

Elodie stared at the signature. The ink looked fresh.

"He didn't fire you," Bianca purred, leaning in. "He promoted you. To property. He locked you in, honey. You aren't his partner. You're a subsidiary."

Elodie looked up. The world was spinning.

"Alistair?" she whispered. "Tell me this is a draft. Tell me you didn't sign this yesterday."

Alistair looked at her. He looked at the folder. For the first time since she had known him, he looked guilty.

"It was a precaution," he said rapidly, stepping closer. "Elodie, listen to me. The board was coming for you. If you were an 'Asset' on paper, they couldn't touch you. It was a defensive maneuver to protect the apartment. To protect you."

"To protect me?" Elodie’s voice broke. "Or to own me?"

"I don't want to own you!"

"Then why does this say I can't sell my art to anyone but you?" She held up the paper. "Why does it say you own the rights to my 'image and likeness'?"

"Because I was afraid!" Alistair shouted.

The room went silent. The lights stopped flickering and went dead dark. The only light came from the emergency exit signs and the eerie, pulsing glow of the rose gold bracelet.

"I was afraid," Alistair said into the darkness, his voice raw. "I was afraid that if the magic stopped... if the luck ran out... you would wake up and realize I am just a man in a tower. And you would leave."

He reached for her in the dark.

"I needed a contract because contracts are the only things that don't leave me, Elodie."

Elodie looked at him in the dim red light of the exit sign. She saw the fear. She saw the lonely boy from the photo.

But she also saw the lie.

"You can't contract love, Alistair," she whispered. "And you can't audit trust."

She reached for the bracelet.

"Elodie, don't," Alistair begged. "Please."

"The luck is broken," she said, tears streaming down her face. "Because it was never real. You didn't trust it. You tried to ensure it."

She unclasped the bracelet.

It didn't want to come off. It burned her skin. It hummed a high, screeching protest. But she forced the latch open.

CLICK.

She dropped the bracelet into his hand.

The moment it left her skin, the air pressure in the room dropped. A wind, cold and biting, swept through the sealed museum gallery.

"Goodbye, Alistair."

Elodie turned and ran. She ran through the dark crowd, past the whispering elites, past the Egyptian temple.

Alistair stood frozen. He held the bracelet. It was dark. Cold. Just a piece of dead metal.

"Alistair!" Bianca’s voice cut through the dark. "Fix this! The stock futures just dropped five hundred points in ten seconds!"

Alistair looked at the bracelet. Then he looked at the door where Elodie had vanished.

He didn't run after her.

He couldn't.

Because as the magic died, the old curse returned instantly. The blizzard outside, which had been holding off, slammed into the city with the force of a hurricane. The windows of the Met rattled.

And Alistair Sterling felt his heart turn back into ice.