BENEATH THE VELVET EMPIRE

I stared steadily at my reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at me. My hair was pinned up in a neat bun, and my favorite black dress hugged my figure perfectly. For someone who usually spent her days in paint-stained clothes, I almost looked like I belonged in this world of art dealers and critics.

The buzzing of my phone on the counter pulled me from my thoughts. A text from Jenna flashed on the screen, reminding me that I was expected at the gallery in less than an hour. I let out a sigh and put my phone down. I still wasn't sure why I had agreed to this show in the first place. Yes, it was a huge opportunity-my biggest one yet-but something about the whole thing made my stomach twist with unease.

It wasn't the art, though. My work was the one thing I felt sure about. I had spent months pouring my soul into this collection, and I was proud of every single piece. The problem was everything else: the expectations, the critics, and, of course, the wealthy patrons who would be sizing me up along with my art.

I took one last glance in the mirror, forcing myself to smile, even if it felt fake. This was my night. I had to own it.

The gallery was a short cab ride away, and as I stepped out onto the sidewalk, I could already see people gathering inside. The soft glow of the lights through the windows illuminated the faces of well-dressed men and women sipping champagne and making small talk. My heart raced as I approached the entrance.

Jenna spotted me as soon as I walked in and waved me over with a bright smile. Her blonde hair was styled perfectly, and she wore a tailored black suit that made her look every bit the polished gallery assistant she was.

"Isa, you look amazing!" she gushed, pulling me into a quick hug. "Everyone's already talking about your pieces. This is going to be huge for you, I can feel it."

I smiled, though my nerves were still jangling. "Let's hope so."

She linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the center of the gallery where my work was displayed. As we walked, I overheard snippets of conversation-words like "brilliant," "innovative," and "bold" floated through the air. It was flattering, sure, but also overwhelming. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much. I knew how fickle the art world could be.

"And this," Jenna said, stopping in front of my favorite piece, "is where you should stand. People are going to want to talk to you about this one."

The painting was the centerpiece of the collection: an abstract piece in bold strokes of red and gold. It was the kind of work that spoke to me on a visceral level. Whenever I looked at it, I felt that same rush of emotion I'd had when I first started painting it. I hoped others would feel the same.

I barely had a chance to take a breath before people started coming over to introduce themselves. I smiled, shook hands, and answered questions about my process and inspiration, trying to stay grounded in the moment. But as more people approached, I started to feel like I was drowning in their attention.

And then, just as I was beginning to think I couldn't handle another conversation, I saw him.

Liam Mercer.

He was standing across the room, talking to one of the gallery owners, his tall frame towering over everyone else around him. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, and he held a glass of champagne in one hand, looking completely at ease in the midst of the crowd. There was something about him-maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the intensity in his eyes-that made it impossible to look away.

I had heard of Liam Mercer, of course. Everyone had. He was a tech billionaire with a reputation for making bold moves and taking risks. His name was always in the headlines, whether it was for acquiring another company or attending some high-profile event. What I hadn't expected was to see him here, at my gallery show, looking right at me.

Our eyes met for a brief moment, and a shiver ran down my spine. There was something about the way he looked at me-like he already knew me, like he was sizing me up in more ways than one.

Before I could think too much about it, he started walking toward me.

My pulse quickened as he approached. What could someone like him possibly want with me?

"Isabella Wright," he said smoothly, holding out his hand. "Your work is... remarkable."

I blinked, momentarily stunned that he even knew my name. I took his hand, feeling the firm grip of his handshake. "Thank you," I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Liam's eyes flicked to the painting behind me, and he tilted his head slightly, as if studying it more closely. "You have a unique vision. I haven't seen anything quite like this before."

I wasn't sure how to respond. Compliments from a billionaire felt different than the usual praise I received. His words carried weight, and I couldn't help but wonder what he really wanted.

"I'm glad you like it," I said carefully. "This piece means a lot to me."

"It shows," he replied, his gaze shifting back to me. "You don't just paint for the sake of it. There's something deeper here."

I nodded, unsure of where this conversation was heading. "Art has always been my way of expressing what I can't put into words."

Liam smiled slightly, but there was something sharp about it. "I understand that. Expression is everything, whether it's through art, technology, or business."

I was about to ask what he meant by that when Jenna appeared at my side, practically glowing with excitement. "Liam Mercer! I didn't know you were a fan of the arts."

Liam turned his attention to her, offering a polite smile. "I appreciate creativity in all its forms."

Jenna beamed, clearly thrilled by his presence. "Well, you've certainly come to the right place. Isabella is one of the most talented artists I've ever worked with."

Liam's eyes flicked back to me, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest. "I can see that."

Before I could say anything more, Liam reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek business card. He handed it to me with a look that made my heart skip a beat.

"I'd like to discuss your work further, Isabella. If you're interested, give me a call."

I stared at the card in my hand, the bold black lettering spelling out his name and contact information. This was it-the kind of moment I had only dreamed about. But instead of feeling excited, I felt a knot of uncertainty form in my stomach.

"I'll think about it," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Liam gave me one last lingering look before turning to leave. "I hope you do."

I watched him walk away, his presence still lingering in the air long after he disappeared into the crowd. Jenna turned to me, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Did that just happen?" she whispered.

I nodded, still clutching the business card in my hand. "Yeah, it did."

The rest of the night passed in a blur. I answered more questions, accepted more congratulations, and somehow managed to keep a smile on my face, but my mind was elsewhere. Every time I looked down at the business card in my hand, I felt a strange mixture of excitement and fear. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that saying yes to Liam Mercer could change everything-and not necessarily in a good way.

By the time I finally made it home, I was exhausted. I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the couch, the silence of my apartment a welcome relief after the noise and chatter of the gallery. I pulled out the business card from my pocket and stared at it again.

Liam Mercer.

What did he really want from me? And more importantly, was I ready to find out?

I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes as the weight of the night settled over me. I had always dreamed of making it big, of having my art recognized by people who mattered. But now that the opportunity was in front of me, I wasn't sure if I was ready to step into that world.

With a deep breath, I set the card down on the table and picked up my phone. There was one person I needed to talk to before I made any decisions.