The car was right on time. It arrived at Six in the morning. Lina was prepared, an odd calm settling in. A numbness of a soldier on the eve of a battle, all feelings buried by protocol. She had obeyed Colette's orders: toast for breakfast, only water since. The dress, now properly adjusted, clung to her like a second skin, like a luxurious armour. The pearls were cold against her throat.
Saying goodbye to the mother was not something she was involved in. She simply squeezed her hand and walked out as if she were going to any other shift.
The driver was the same silent type, he opened the door. She eased herself in, adjusting the folds of her dress, keeping her back straight, just as she had been taught to do. The city rushed by in a blur, the glowing light of the evening shifting from the warm, messy light of her neighborhood to the cold, blue-white radiance of the gallery district.
The car stopped not at the bustling main entrance, but at a discreet side door. A security guard in a black suit opened it.
"Miss Carter. Mr. Knight is waiting inside."
She took a breath that didn't feel like it reached her lungs, and stepped out.
He was in a small, private antechamber, its walls lined with blank canvases awaiting shipment. He stood under a single downlight, checking his watch. He wore a tuxedo again, but this one was less formal than the one she'd ruined, a deep navy that made his grey eyes look like chips of flint. He was breathtaking, and he looked utterly bored.
His gaze swept over her as she entered. It was not the look of a man seeing his date. It was a quality inspection. He took in the dress, the hair, and the posture. After a moment, he gave a single, shallow nod. "Acceptable."
The word was a grade. It stung, but she let it slide off the cool surface she'd built around herself.
"You remember the rules." It wasn't a question ,she nodded.
Smile when i smiles. Speak only when spoken to. Redirect. Be a pleasant mystery.
"Then we begin."
He extended his arm. His arm. Not his hand. An invitation to cling to and not to be held by. Her fingers danced faintly over the fine wool of his sleeve. She felt the hard muscle under it. A current, sharp and unpleasant, surged up her arm. He felt it too. His jaw clenched a little. But his face remained an unbothered mask of politeness.
He led her through a door, and they were plunged into the noise.
The gallery was a soaring white space, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne. Abstract sculptures twisted towards the high ceilings, and massive paintings of angry black slashes dominated the walls. Everywhere was the low, confident hum of money talking.
Heads turned. Whispers followed them like a wake. Alexander Knight… who is she?... stunning dress… so quiet…
Alexander moved through the crowd with the ease of a shark gliding through familiar waters. He nodded at some, ignored others. Lina kept her head up, a small, serene smile on her lips, her fingers resting on his arm. She was a shadow, a beautiful, silent appendage.
"Alexander! You made it." A bearded man with glasses clapped him on the shoulder. "And you've brought a muse."
"Lina, this is Julian, the artist." Alexander's voice was warm, a perfect performance. His hand came to rest on the small of her back, a firm, guiding pressure. It was electric, possessive. A signal.
She extended her free hand, the smile still in place. "A pleasure, Julian. Your work is… formidable." It was one of Colette's approved words.
Julian beamed, delighted. "Formidable! I like that. Not 'beautiful'. Not 'interesting'. Formidable." He launched into a explanation of his creative process. Lina nodded, her eyes occasionally flicking to Alexander, who listened with an expression of polite interest that didn't reach his eyes.
It went on like this. A financier. A magazine editor. A socialite with diamonds in her hair. Each time, Alexander's touch directed her, a press on her back to step forward, a slight pull on her arm to steer her away. Each time, she said little, smiled, and reflected his light.
It was exhausting. A performance more gruelling than carrying ten loaded trays.
She was staring at a painting that looked like a violent storm of red and grey, trying to keep her smile steady, when a woman approached. She was older, elegant, with eyes as sharp as scalpels.
"Alexander, darling. Aren't you going to introduce us to your lovely companion? We're all simply dying of curiosity."
This was Vanessa's mother, Eleanor. The question was a trap, wrapped in silk.
Alexander's palm was firmly on Lina's back, and it didn't even quiver. "Eleanor, of course. This is Lina. Lina, this is Mrs. Monroe."
"Lina," Eleanor said, as if this was some exotic taste. "And how did you two meet?". All teeth, all smile.
That was unwritten. A personal question. Lina's brain was suddenly empty. The approved word salad stopped being there. She could feel Alexander's fingers squeezing her spine a tad more.
She tilted her head and met his gaze. She let the tranquil smile loosen up into something real, something personal. "You know," she said in a hushed, private tone just for him, even though she was talking to Eleanor, "he still says he was the first to notice me. But I think we just…" She paused, as if the right words were still jostling in her mind. "found each other at the right time."
It was pure, ad libbed fiction. But she said it with his storm grey eyes on her, and the act dissolved. She caught a flash of something, shock, then growing, harsh scrutiny, in his gaze.
Eleanor's glossy smile became tight. "How… coincidental."
Alexander got back to himself quickly. He looked down at Lina, and for the world, unmasked himself. It was some sort of masterclass. A slight warmth in his eyes, a slight curve to his lips that was not quite a smile. "I've always had good luck," he said, and his thumb traced a small, barely discernible arc along her spine.
It wasn't a signal. It was a reward.
Just then, a server brought out champagne. Alexander took two glasses, giving one to Lina. He held her gaze for a beat longer, the scrutiny still present, then turned back to Eleanor.
The rest of the night was blur. But the sound of that, the feeling of his thumb on her back, the look in his eye, it buzzed below her skin.
Finally, about midnight, he leaned close, his lips close to her ear. Warm. "The car's outside. We'll leave in five minutes. Go to the anteroom. Wait."
She nodded, and slipped herself away. In the quiet, empty anteroom, the silence was a roar. She leaned against a crate, nodded her head, and let it hang by her shoulder, the peaceful smile finally falling. Her face hurt. Her feet hurt.
She heard the door open and close. She didn't open her eyes. "It's been five minutes already?"
"Not quite."
She opened her eyes in a flash. It was not Alexander.
It was a woman. Tall and slender. Dressed in a liquid-silver gown that seemed to pour over her body. Hair of honey-blonde that fell in waves. A face like a perfect, cold work of art. The most beautiful woman Lina had ever seen, and blue eyes like glaciers.
Vanessa Monroe.
She stood there, looking Lina up and down with a slow, insulting thoroughness. A small, icy smile touched her lips.
"So," she said, her voice like chilled champagne. "You're the new little project. How… quaint." She took a step closer, the air turning brittle. "Let me give you some advice, sweetheart. Men like Alexander get bored with toys very quickly. Especially broken ones."
She reached out, not to touch Lina, but to adjust the pearl necklace at her throat, her fingers lingering just a second too long, a silent threat.
"Enjoy the dress-up party while it lasts," Vanessa whispered. "He always comes back to what's real."
She turned and glided out, leaving behind the faint, expensive scent of her perfume and a silence that crackled with venom.
Lina stood frozen, her hand at her throat where Vanessa's fingers had been. The warmth from Alexander's touch was gone, wiped away by an ice-cold warning.
The door opened again. Alexander stood there, his expression back to its usual detached impatience. "The car is waiting."
He offered his arm again.
She took it, her fingers cold and stiff. As he led her out into the night, she felt the ghost of Vanessa's smile and knew one thing for certain.
The gallery had been the easy part. The real performance had begun.