Chapter 3
550 Words
The glass doors of the Phoenix Resort parted with a soft hum, but Zara felt like she was walking into a storm, again.
Lavish. Cold. Perfect. The lobby was a cathedral of luxury—white marble floors, a chandelier shaped like cascading raindrops, walls dressed in minimalist elegance. People moved like clockwork. Every detail screamed money and control.
And there, at the centre of it all, stood Adrian Wolfe.
His back was turned, speaking with someone in a crisp suit. Zara hesitated, her fingers gripping the strap of her leather sketch bag. She told herself she didn’t care. That this was just a job.
But the second he turned around—eyes locking with hers—the world narrowed into a single beat.
His face was unreadable. Smooth, cool. But those eyes—dark gray like Missouri clouds before a storm—still held that strange power over her. Like he could see the parts of her she didn’t show anyone else.
“Miss Sinclair,” he said, formal.
Zara straightened. “Mr. Wolfe.”
The air between them crackled—like the static before lightning.
He motioned toward the lift. “The mural space is upstairs. I’d like you to see the wall before we finalize anything.”
She followed, her steps slow, guarded. In the elevator, silence stretched between them—sharp and uncomfortable. Zara avoided his gaze, watching the floors tick by.
“You’ve changed,” he said suddenly.
Her head turned, eyes narrowing. “So have you. Only difference is—I had no choice.”
Adrian flinched, almost imperceptibly.
They stepped into the presidential hallway. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows lined the corridor, revealing the ocean beyond. At the end stood a blank, curved wall—sunlight spilling onto it like an invitation.
“You’d have full creative control,” Adrian said, gesturing to the space.
Zara dropped her bag by the base, pulled out her sketchpad, and kneeled down, hands moving without thinking. Shapes. Curves. Emotion.
Adrian watched her. Not the way a boss watches a hired hand—but the way a man watches the woman he still remembers the feel of.
Zara looked up and caught his gaze.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that. Like you still feel something.”
He stepped forward, voice low. “What if I do?”
Silence stretched again. Her fingers tightened around the pencil.
A Wound Reopened.
“Let’s not pretend this is anything more than business,” she said, standing. “You left. You didn’t explain. You disappeared. I moved on.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Did you?”
Zara stared at him. “No. But I wanted to.”
He exhaled, stepped back, putting distance between them again. “I’m not proud of how I left. But you’re here now. Let’s work together—if nothing else.”
She nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll start sketches tonight. You’ll have concepts by tomorrow.”
As she turned to leave, his voice followed her:
“You should know… some things aren’t what they seem.”
She paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Then maybe it’s time you tell me the truth.”
Adrian said nothing. But the flicker in his eyes told her:
There was more.
So much more.
- Writer
