Chapter 3 - The Gallery Opening
Two weeks after the confrontation in Cassian’s office, the grand exhibition of the Vitali Hospitality campaign opened at a sleek, multi-level gallery in Soho.
It was the kind of high-society event that usually made my skin crawl. Champagne flutes chimed against crystal, art critics murmured in hushed, pretentious tones around oversized prints of luxury lobbies, and investors in bespoke tuxedos shook hands with real estate moguls.
I stood near the back of the main gallery floor, wearing a simple emerald-green slip dress that felt entirely too exposed compared to my usual uniform of paint-stained jeans and an oversized hoodie. My camera hung over my shoulder, not because I was shooting tonight, but because the heavy metal body and familiar lens acted like a shield against the sea of strangers.
"You look like a deer trapped by headlights," a smooth, familiar voice murmured near my ear.
I didn't have to turn around to know it was Julian Vance, one of Cassian’s primary senior partners and a man whose corporate shark smile I had learned to distrust during the early weeks of the campaign.
I turned slowly, offering him a polite, icy smile. "Just taking in the atmosphere, Julian."
Julian swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his sharp eyes scanning the gallery walls where my photographs of the twelve properties hung in museum-quality frames. "Remarkable work, Ms. Hayes. Truly. Cassian has a rare talent for finding... unique assets."
There was a subtle, venomous double meaning in his tone that made my stomach tighten.
Before I could reply, Cassian appeared beside us. He had materialized out of the crowd with the silent, predatory grace that defined his presence in any room. He didn't touch me, but the sheer proximity of his body sent an electric awareness rippling across my skin.
"Julian," Cassian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the older man’s smile stiffen. "I believe the acquisition committee for the midtown portfolio is waiting for you by the terrace."
Julian’s eyes flicked between Cassian and me, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Of course, Cassian. Wouldn't want to keep the committee waiting. Enjoy the evening, Ms. Hayes."
As Julian melted back into the crowd, I let out a long breath. "Your partners love me."
"My partners are accountants and sharks," Cassian replied smoothly, finally letting his hand settle gently against the small of my back. The heat of his palm burned right through the silk of my dress. "They don't understand art, and they certainly don't understand independence. Ignore them."
"It's hard to ignore them when one of them practically accused me of being your latest acquisition," I muttered, looking up at him.
Cassian stopped, his hand sliding up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across my cheekbone. The world around us—the chatter, the champagne, the flashing camera bulbs—seemed to dissolve.
"You are not an acquisition, Belle," he said, his voice fierce and low. "You are the only real thing in this entire building."
That night, after the gallery emptied and the caterers packed up the remaining hors d'oeuvres, Cassian didn't take me to a penthouse or a luxury suite. He drove us straight to Brooklyn, parked his black sedan two blocks away from Harborlight Studio, and walked with me through the quiet, brick-lined streets under the amber glow of streetlamps.
May you like
We sat on the dusty wooden steps outside my studio door, sharing a paper bag of greasy french fries we bought from a 24-hour diner down the block.
For the first time since the phone call with my accountant, the knot in my chest finally loosened completely.
