The rain had not stopped since morning.
London shimmered beneath a gray sky, the kind that made the city feel alive — sleek, restless, and full of secrets. Ava Monroe clutched her umbrella tighter as she crossed the marble steps leading to ValeTech Headquarters, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She shouldn't have been nervous — it was just another art commission.
But there was something about this one… something that felt different.
Inside, the building was all glass and steel — cold, sharp, perfect. It smelled faintly of ozone and wealth. A world far removed from the paint-streaked chaos of her studio in Notting Hill. Her boots squeaked against the polished floor as a receptionist in a fitted navy suit greeted her.
"Miss Monroe? Mr. Vale is expecting you."
The name carried a weight that made her pulse skip. Sebastian Vale — CEO, billionaire, genius, and, according to the whispering corners of the art world, impossible to please.
She followed the receptionist into a private elevator, her reflection multiplying in mirrored walls. Her curls were still damp, her dress a little too simple for this kind of place. But her eyes — those, she knew, held her truth.
When the elevator doors opened, the man himself stood waiting.
Sebastian Vale.
Tall. Composed. A storm in a suit.
His presence filled the room like a slow burn — dark hair perfectly in place, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes the color of winter steel. He didn't smile. He simply studied her, as though assessing a problem only he could solve.
"Miss Monroe," he said, voice smooth but controlled. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
She nodded, setting her portfolio on the sleek glass table between them. "Your assistant mentioned a mural for the new lobby."
"Yes." He stepped closer — too close. "I've seen your work. It's... different. Raw. You paint emotion, not perfection. I want that."
Her breath caught. "Emotion doesn't always fit in corporate spaces."
His lips twitched, just slightly. "Then perhaps my company needs a little chaos."
For a heartbeat, the air thickened between them — charged, unspoken.
He turned away first, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Thames.
"The mural should represent innovation. Vision. Obsession." He looked back at her then, eyes dark. "Can you paint that, Miss Monroe?"
Her pulse quickened. "I can paint anything, Mr. Vale."
A faint smile ghosted across his face — the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"Good," he murmured. "Then we'll begin tomorrow."
As she gathered her things, she felt his gaze follow her — not professional, not polite, but something else. Something that promised danger disguised as desire.
When she stepped back into the elevator, her reflection trembled slightly in the mirrored walls.
She told herself it was just nerves. Just business.
But even then, deep down, she knew — nothing about Sebastian Vale would ever be just business.
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