Chapter 109
Chapter 109
Two months later, I’m staring at three finished paintings, and I can’t quite believe I actually did.
They’re good.
No–fuck that false modesty–they’re incredible.
The first is a storm over mountains, all dark blues and violent purples with streaks of gold breaking through the clouds. It’s chaos and hope wrapped in oil paint, and it took me three weeks to get the lighting exactly right.
The second is more abstract–a woman’s silhouette dissolving into autumn leaves, red and orange and gold bleeding together in ways that shouldn’t work but somehow do. It’s about transformation. About becoming something new while pieces of the old self scatter on the wind.
The third… the third is personal. Dangerous, maybe. It’s a wolf in moonlight, powerful and alone, standing at the edge of a cliff. Looking back over its shoulder like it’s waiting for something that will never come.
I didn’t mean to paint him.
But somehow, Alaric ended up on that canvas anyway.
Fuck.
I shake my head, forcing the thought away, and pull out my phone.
“Julian, baby!” I practically sing into the phone. “They’re done. All three. And they’re fucking gorgeous p>
“Oh my god, finally!” Julian’s squeal nearly deafens me. “I’ve been checking my phone every five minutes like a stalker. When can I see them p>
“Come by tomorrow. We can load them up, get them to the auction p>
“MAMA p>
I turn just as Aedion bursts into my workspace, a cup of what I really hope is juice clutched in his small hands.
“Baby, hold on p>
“Me and Tessa made you juice!” He’s so proud, his entire face lit up with accomplishment.
“That’s amazing, sweetheart, but can you just wait one p>
He’s already moving toward the paintings, drawn like a magnet to the colors, and my heart stops.
“Aedion, no, don’t touch p>
“This one’s SO pretty, Mama!” He reaches out, and I watch in slow–motion horror as his small palm lands directly on the lower corner of the autumn leaves painting.
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Chapter 109
Paint
Fresh paint.
Paint that’s still slightly wet because I literally finished it this morning.
“No!” I drop the phone, rushing forward, but it’s too late.
Aedion pulls his hand back, staring at his orange–stained palm with wide eyes.
A perfect, tiny handprint now mars the corner of my painting.
For a second, nobody moves.
Then Aedion’s face crumples. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Mama, I didn’t mean p>
“It’s okay, baby, it’s-” But my voice is high, stressed, and he can hear it.
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-orget something?” Julian’s voice crackles from the phone on the floor. “Sorin? You still there p>
I snatch up the phone. “Julian, we have a problem p>
“What kind of problem p>
“The kind where my three–year–old just put his handprint on one of the paintings p>
Silence.
Then, “Can you fix it p>
I stare at the orange handprint, my mind racing. “Maybe? I need time to repaint that section, let it dry properly p>
“We don’t have time. The auction is tomorrow night p>
“Tomorrow? You said p>
“I said as soon as possible, and tomorrow is as soon as possible.” His voice is apologetic but firm. “The catalog’s already printed. The buyers have been notified. We can’t delay, Sorin p>
“But p>
“Can you cover it? Blend it? Anything p>
I look at the handprint again. At Aedion, who’s now crying and hugging my legs, repeating “sorry sorry sorry” over and over.
At the painting itself—already beautiful, already complete, now marked by tiny fingers that belong to the most important person in my world.
“I…” My voice trails off.
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Chapter 109
Because here’s the thin, the handprint isn’t ruining the painting.
It’s… kind of perfect, actually.
A
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The woman dissolving into leaves, and a child’s hand reaching up from the corner like it’s trying to hold on Like it’s trying to keep the pieces from scattering completely.
It’s unintentional.
It’s chaotic.
It’s real.
“Sorin?” Julian’s voice pulls me back.
“It’s fine,” I hear myself say. “Leave it. It’s… it works p>
“Are you sure p>
“Yeah.” I kneel down, pulling Aedion into a hug. “I’m sure p>
He sniffles against my shoulder. “You’re not mad p>
“No, baby. I’m not mad.” I kiss the top of his head. “You just made the painting better p>
“Really p>
“Really p>
Tessa appears in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, surveying the scene with the kind of amused exasperation that comes from living with artists.
“Everything okay in here p>
“Perfect,” I say, standing up with Aedion still clinging to me. “Just finishing up these paintings that are going to sell for millions p>
I say it so casually, so matter–of–factly, that it takes Tessa a second to process.
She takes a sip of coffee. “Cool, cool. Millions. That’s–wait, WHAT p>
She does a literal spit–take, coffee spraying everywhere.
“MILLIONS?” She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Sorin, did you just say MILLIONS p>
I grin. “We’re gonna be rich, baby p>
“Holy shit.” She sets down her mug with shaking hands. “Holy actual shit. You’re serious p>
“Dead serious p>
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Chapter 109
“1–wow–okay-” She runs her hands through her hair. “I need to sit down. And possibly drink something stronger than coffee p>
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in months,
This is happening.
This is actually fucking happening.
Julian arrives the next morning with a van and the kind of manic energy that suggests he either didn’t sleep or consumed his body weight in espresso.
“Let me see them!” He practically vibrates as he rushes past me into the apartment.
I gesture to the three paintings, now dry and carefully covered with protective cloth.
He pulls back the first cover.
Silence.
Then the second.
More silence.
Then the third–the one with Aedion’s handprint.
“Sorin.” His voice is reverent. “These are fuck. These are museum quality p>
“Yeah p>
“Yeah.” He turns to me, eyes wide. “You’re going to make a fortune tonight. Like, life–changing money p>
“Good.” I help him start wrapping the paintings in protective padding. “Because I have a three–year–old who’s going to need college tuition eventually, and those Ivy League schools aren’t cheap p>
We load everything into the van with the kind of careful precision usually reserved for transporting explosives.
When the last painting is secured, I turn to Tessa, who’s standing in the doorway with Aedion on her hip.
“You take care of my baby,” I tell her. “And when I get back, we’re celebrating p>
“With champagne bought with million–dollar painting money?” She grins.
“The most expensive champagne you can imagine p>
Aedion reaches for me, and I pull him into a hug, breathing in his little–kid smell–juice and paint and something indefinably him.
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Chapter 109
“Be good for Auntie Tessa, okay p>
“Okay, Mama.” He kisses my cheek. “Love you p>
“Love you more p>
Tessa winks at me. “Go make us rich, babe p>
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The hotel is… excessive.
That’s the only word for it.
It’s not just fancy—it’s aggressively, overwhelmingly, almost violently opulent. Like Vegas had a baby with a European palace and then covered everything in gold leaf just because they could.
Crystal chandeliers the size of cars hang from ceilings painted with frescoes that probably cost more than my entire life. Marble floors so polished I can see my reflection. Staff in uniforms that look like they were designed by people who’ve never had to do laundry.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as we walk through the lobby.
“Right?” Julian’s eyes are sparkling. “This is where the other half lives p>
“The other half can fuck right off with this level of excess p>
He laughs. “Says the woman about to join their tax bracket p>
Fair point.
We take an elevator to the fifteenth floor, and Julian leads me to a suite that’s bigger than my entire
apartment.
“This is our room?” I stare at the king–size bed, the sitting area, the floor–to–ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.
“Just for tonight. Courtesy of Wade and the auction organizers.” He gestures to the bed, where a large black box sits with a card on top. “And that’s for you too p>
I pick up the card.
For tonight. Make them remember you. -W
Inside the box is a dress.
Not just any dress–a floor–length gown in deep emerald silk that catches the light like water. Simple but stunning, with a neckline that’s modest enough to be classy but low enough to remind everyone I have collarbones.
And beneath it, a mask.
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Chapter 109
Black and silver, delicate filigree work that looks like it belongs in a Renaissance painting. Elegant. Anonymous.
“Wait.” I look up at Julian. “This is a masquerade auction p>
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“Did I not mention that?” He has the grace to look sheepish. “Yeah. Everyone wears masks. Keeps things mysterious. Anonymous p>
Of course it’s a fucking masquerade.
I hold the dress up against myself, checking the mirror. It’s perfect. Exactly my size, exactly my style.
Wade knows me too well.
“You look gorgeous,” Julian says, already dressed in his own perfectly tailored suit and matching mask. “Now put it on so we can go make you obscenely wealthy p>
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing in front of a full–length mirror, barely recognizing myself.
The dress fits like it was made for me–which it probably was. The mask obscures enough of my face to feel protected while still letting my eyes show through.
I look… powerful.
Like someone who belongs in this world of excess and wealth.
It’s terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
Julian appears behind me in the mirror, adjusting his own mask, and places his hands on my shoulders.
“You look beautiful,” he says softly.
“I look rich p>
“Same thing in this crowd.” He grins. “Ready p>
“As I’ll ever be p>
We leave the suite and make our way to the auction hall–a massive ballroom that’s been converted into something between an art gallery and a theater.
My paintings are already on display, along with dozens of others. Each one has a small placard with a number and the artist’s pseudonym. Mine read, S. Nocturne – Lots 47, 48, 49.
The room is filling with people–all masked, all dressed like they’re attending the Met Gala. Voices murmur in a dozen languages. Champagne flows. Money practically hangs in the air like humidity.
At the front of the room is a stage with a podium for the auctioneer.
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Chapter 109
And beside the stage, elevated slightly above the general seating…
A single chair.
Not just any chair–a throne, basically. Larger than the others, positioned with clear sightlines to both the stage and the artwork. Roped off with velvet barriers like it’s a museum piece itself.
Empty.
“Who sits there?” I ask Julian, nodding toward the chair.
His eyes light up behind his mask. “Oh! You don’t know p>
“Would I be asking if I knew p>
“That’s for him. The biggest buyer. The guy who basically funds half these auctions.” Julian leans in conspiratorially. “He’s like… a legend in this world. Buys the most expensive pieces, never haggles, pays in cash. No one knows who he is p>
“What do you mean no one knows p>
“Exactly what I said. He’s completely anonymous. Shows up to every auction, bids on the best work, then disappears. The only name anyone knows him by is ‘A p>
“A?” I repeat. “Like… the letter p>
“Yep. Just A.” Julian shrugs. “Mysterious billionaire with expensive taste and a flair for the dramatic. Very on- brand for this crowd p>
I stare at the empty throne, and something cold slides down my spine.
Just a letter.
Just an initial.
But something about it feels… familiar.
Wrong.
Dangerous.
“When does he arrive?” My voice sounds strange even to my own ears.
“Usually right before bidding starts. Makes an entrance, you know? Very theatrical.” Julian checks his watch. “Should be any minute now, actually p>
The lights dim slightly.
A hush falls over the crowd.
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12:10 Mon, Feb 2
Chapter 109
And I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change.
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