Chapter Two
699 Words
She arrived early at the Phoenix the next morning, in a plaid skirt and a button-down shirt, portfolio in hand. She was confident that it wasn’t Adrian, it couldn’t be him after all these years, it was just luck finally shining down on her. Zara was ushered into a drawing room by the Manager and asked to paint something fresh while she waits for the Boss. Immediately, she set to work with the materials provided.
Zara dipped her brush into the amber paint, the scent of turpentine clinging to her skin. Her hand moved in steady strokes, but her heart beat with a restless rhythm. She didn’t think, she just painted and time passed for awhile.
The door creaked.
She didn’t need to look to know someone had entered the gallery behind her. The air shifted—too still, too aware.
"Zara."
Her brush froze mid-air. That voice. Low, velvet-rich, and unmistakably familiar. She turned slowly, heart pounding.
And there he stood.
Adrian Wolfe.
The man who had once whispered dreams into her skin, and vanished before dawn.
“You,” she breathed.
Zara stood frozen.
The room around her—a bright, airy studio meant for creative peace—suddenly felt suffocating. The paintbrush slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a faint clatter.
He looked the same.
No, not the same. Sharper. Colder. Richer.
Adrian Wolfe wore his power like a tailored suit—literally. Navy-blue blazer, white shirt crisp like freshly minted arrogance. His gaze, once soft when it looked at her across a paint-stained mattress, now pierced through her like winter.
“I didn’t expect you to come,” He said, arms crossing his chest.
“I was offered a job.” She replied, voice low, controlled. “I came for the interview.”
“I know, I offered the job.” He said.
Zara laughed—bitter, short, pride hurt. “A job? That’s how we start again?”
“We’re not starting anything, Zara. This is business.”
“Right.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. “Just business, like how you disappeared five years ago—was that business too?”
Adrian flinched. Not much, but she saw it.
And she hated herself for noticing.
“Look,” he said, moving a step closer. “I made mistakes—”
“Mistakes?” Her voice cracked. “You were everything to me. And then you just… vanished. You turned me into a ghost in my own life, Adrian.”
His jaw tightened. “I had to leave. You don’t understand—”
“Then help me understand.” She stepped forward, emotion rising like a tide. “You owe me that much.”
Adrian looked at her. For a heartbeat, she saw the man she once loved. The one who held her when her brother got sick. The one who whispered, ‘You paint the world better than it is.’
But then it was gone. Replaced by the billionaire who made headlines. Who probably had a girl on each continent. Who now stood offering her a job like they hadn’t been each other’s everything.
“I’m building a new luxury resort here in Missouri,” he said authoritatively. “I want you to do the main mural in the lobby. Full creative freedom. Good pay.”
She blinked. “Why me?”
“Because no one paints emotion like you do.”
Zara’s heart stuttered.
She needed the money—her brother’s treatments weren’t cheap, and her freelance gigs had dried up. But working under Adrian? Seeing him everyday?
It would be like ripping open an old wound and dipping her brush into the blood.
She turned away, voice cold. “One month. I paint. I leave. That’s the deal.”
He nodded, almost relieved.
But as she moved past him to gather her things, he whispered just loud enough for her to hear:
> “Zara… I never stopped thinking about you.”
She paused—but didn’t look back.
If he wanted forgiveness, he’d have to earn it.
And this time, she held the brush.
She walked away, head held high, feeling his gaze burn into her back.
- Writer
