Chapter Seven

 In a sleek, modern conference room, a digital layout of the London gallery glowed on a massive screen. At the head of the long table, Chris sat, his fingers interlocked, eyes scanning the reports in front of him.

Around him, staff members—curators, marketing managers, logistics coordinators, and lead artists—sat stiffly. Shoulders tensed, pens gripped tightly, lips pressed into thin lines. The room was so silent that the drop of a pin could echo.

“We have three months left until the international exhibition,” Chris said, not bothering to look up. “I want to create six new paintings myself to include in the showcase.”

Chairs creaked as people shifted. Muted nods followed.

Chris continued, his voice unwavering. “This is my vision. I want something bold—something that demands attention. I won’t tolerate mediocrity.” His gaze lifted. His gaze sliced through the room.

Men adjusted their ties, women smoothed their hair. Backs straightened, eyes darting around, silently urging someone to speak first.

Maya, the lead curator, cleared her throat, fingers tightening around her pen beneath the table. Her toes curled inside her heels.

“Understood, sir. We’ve started selecting pieces from previous collections, and the artists are working on fresh concepts.”

Chris tilted his head slightly. “Are they?” His gaze dropped to the report. “Because I see nothing here that suggests originality.”

Maya lowered her eyes, scribbling notes in silence.

Daniel, the marketing manager, shifted uncomfortably before speaking. “We’ve begun promotions—press releases, collector outreach, and potential VIP invitations.”

Chris nodded, considering. “Potential is not certainty, Daniel. Secure them.”

Daniel swallowed and nodded stiffly.

Chris’s gaze swept across the room. His grip tightened slightly on his pen as heads lowered and breaths hitched.

The room had turned into an iceberg. He could almost feel the cold seeping into his bones, searing his chest.

It’s always Good they understand the stakes.

“Have you decided on a name for the exhibition?” His voice remained firm, controlled as he relaxed his grip on his pen.

Silence thickened. The air grew heavier with each passing second.

A throat cleared. He didn’t need to look to know it was Maya—the red-haired, skinny woman who always seemed to be the team’s spokesperson. He sometimes wondered if she ever hurt her throat from how often she cleared her throat.

“We have a few ideas,” she said, voice cautious, “but we weren’t sure if they fit. So—” she swallowed, “we haven’t picked a name yet.”

Chris leaned back slightly, gaze razor-sharp.

“Then you’re lacking.” His voice cut through the tension. “I need a name in two days.” His eyes swept the table. “Make it unforgettable. I want a title that speaks before the first painting is even seen.”

He stood smoothly, and every chair screeched loudly against the black tiled floor as the team scrambled to rise with him.

Adjusting his cufflinks, Chris spoke firmly. “I want results in our next meeting.”

Heads bobbed in rapid agreement. Without another word, he slid his hands into his pockets and strode out, leaving behind an air of silent urgency.

As soon as the door shut, the room exhaled in unison. Staff members collapsed into their chairs like deflated balloons. It was as if someone had finally released oxygen back into the room. They breathed loudly, like fish that had just been thrown back into the water.

“Gosh!” Maya groaned, dropping her notebook onto the table. “He always freaks us out. How can someone like him be human?” She shook her head. “He should be a monster instead.”

Daniel grunted, rubbing his temples. “He’s such a perfectionist.”

Mocking, he leaned back in his chair like Chris had and tilted his head at Maya.

“But potential isn’t certainty, Daniel. Secure them,” he mimicked coldly.

The rest of the team groaned in unison, nodding as if replaying the scene in their minds.

“How can someone be so ruthless?” Daniel sighed, shoulders slumping.

Ryan patted his back. “You got this.” He clenched his fists, scrunching his face dramatically as if lifting a heavy weight. “You have the power. You can do it.”

“He’s terrifying,” a small voice piped up. “But... I like him. I just wish he were mine. He’s even cute when he’s terrifying.”

Silence fell.

Heads snapped toward Liana, a round-faced woman with full, pearly eyes and short, sleek black hair that barely grazed her shoulders.

Maya’s eyes widened in horror. “What did you just say?” she shrieked.

Liana blinked at the stunned faces around her. “Is... is that a bad thing to wish for?” she stammered.

“Shut up!” Naomi smacked Liam’s shoulder.

Liana yelped, rubbing the sore spot.

“He doesn’t even have a PA. No close friends, no relatives,” Naomi scoffed, crossing her arms. “The man is like a ghost.”

Ryan suddenly sat up. “Actually, I heard from the HR that he’s looking for a PA.” He said it all in one breath as if he himself couldn’t believe it.

“P—A?” Liana’s jaw dropped.

Ryan nodded quickly, lips pressing into a thin line.

Maya scoffed. “Do you really think he’ll keep one?” She glanced around the room. “He’s going to fire them in record time. None of his previous PAs lasted. And for years, he hasn’t even bothered to appoint one.”

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. “It’s odd.”

Everyone nodded as if in agreement.

“It’s odd,” they muttered as if it were their personal business.

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Isabella clutched the umbrella tightly as she dashed through the torrential rain, each droplet striking the ground with force, creating ripples in puddles. Lightning slashed across the restless gray clouds, followed by a thunderclap so powerful it rumbled like a battalion of soldiers marching over the earth. Despite the umbrella shielding her, the relentless rain had soaked half of her cardigan, seeped into her suit pants, and muddied her covered shoes.

Reaching the door, she shoved it open and slammed it shut behind her. Her breath came in sharp gasps as she folded the dripping umbrella and leaned it against the wall. She peeled off her cardigan, revealing a soaked, translucent white shirt that clung to her like a second skin, the pink hue of her bra peeking through. Shivering, she kicked off her shoes and slipped into her waiting slippers. With the damp cardigan pressed to her chest, Isabella trudged into the living room, her knees trembling. Wet strands of hair clung to her face, water trailing from her neck down into her shirt.

She froze at the sight of her mother setting the dining table, her black hair neatly pulled into a ponytail, an apron tied snugly around her waist. The warm aroma of freshly brewed tea and the rich scent of stew filled the room, wrapping it in a comforting embrace. A soft smile spread across Isabella’s face. Her mother might appear distant, but her warmth was woven into the very air of their home.

The moment Kelly glanced up, Isabella’s smile widened. Kelly’s gaze swept over her daughter from head to toe before she straightened, her expression unreadable. When her eyes locked onto Isabella’s face, a single brow arched in silent inquiry.

Isabella smirked at the curiosity playing on her mother’s face—she could tell she hadn’t expected to see her in office attire. Sniffling, Isabella rubbed her arms, trying to fend off the cold.

“I went for an interview, Mom,” she announced, stepping toward the table. She sneezed, covering her nose with her hands.

A flash of red lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a thunderous roar that rattled the roof. Isabella flinched, her gaze darting upward as if checking for damage, but Kelly remained unfazed, her eyes locked onto her daughter.

“Job—interview?” Kelly’s brow rose higher.

Isabella nodded enthusiastically, pressing the wet cardigan closer to her chest. “And I got the job, Mum! I will start on Monday.”

Kelly blinked, her jaw slackening. “You’re going to work?”

Grinning, Isabella nodded again. “Of course! And guess what? I got hired at a huge painting company! They’re even giving me a company apartment, and the salary is amazing. Plus—I’m the CEO’s personal assistant!” She rushed out the words in a single breath, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her body practically glowing with newfound energy, momentarily forgetting the cold clinging to her.

“A—house!” Kelly exclaimed, her eyes gleaming. “This must be an incredible job, Isa. Seriously.” She quickly pulled out a chair, guiding Isabella into it before pouring her a steaming cup of tea. “I can’t wait for you to start working again.” Handing her the cup, she added, “This job might finally change things for us.” She smoothed Isabella’s damp shirt at the shoulder. “I’m relieved, Isabella.”

Isabella gulped down the tea, warmth spreading through her chest. As she set the cup on the wooden table, the soft thud echoed in the sudden silence. The moment stretched as she felt her mother’s grip on her shoulder tighten. A strange unease settled in her stomach, the cold creeping back into her bones.

“Mum?” Isabella muttered, peering up at her.

Kelly turned away, her shoulders stiff. Isabella’s stomach twisted. She fiddled with her fingers, her pulse quickening.

“Mum,” Isabella stood, reaching out.

“Don’t.” Kelly’s voice was firm as she shrugged away from Isabella’s touch.

A fresh shiver ran through Isabella, her heart hammering against her ribs.

“I—I’m sorry,” she whispered, curling her toes. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Kelly sniffled, wiping her tears before turning to face her. Her once gleaming eyes had dulled into a steely coldness, her jaw tightening.

“No matter how great the benefits, you always leave your jobs.” Her voice was flat. “So why should I celebrate? Just admit it, Isa. You’re lazy and incompetent.”

Isabella’s breath hitched. Clutching her cardigan, she fought against the lump rising in her throat. Tears burned the corners of her eyes, and a sharp, cold ache seared her chest.

She nodded, defeated. “You’re right, Mother,” she choked out. “I’ve been lazy and incompetent.”

Kelly’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before she looked away.

Isabella’s vision blurred, the floor beneath her seeming to shift and spin. She sniffled, but the tears kept coming, clouding her sight.

“Maybe…” she paused, her voice cracking, “maybe I’ve been using music as an excuse.”

Kelly crossed her arms, her chin lifting. “Then what will you do now?”

Isabella lifted her gaze, shaking her head vigorously—like a child swearing she’d never misbehave again.

“I won’t quit this job, no matter what,” she vowed. “I promise, Mum. I’ll make you proud. I’ll put an end to the gossip.”

Kelly exhaled, her shoulders slumping. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she pulled Isabella into her arms, smoothing her hair.

“I just want to be proud of you, Isabella.” Her voice was softer now, filled with longing. “When I see other children making their parents proud, I envy them. I want that for us. I wish you would hold onto this job.” She patted Isabella’s back, her tone dropping to a whisper. “Forget music, Isabella.” She shook her head. “It’s not your path. Focus on your career and make your mother proud.”

Her mother’s arms held her close, but the warmth didn’t seep in. It should have. It should have melted the unease, the weight pressing against her ribs. But it didn’t. As her mother whispered for her to forget music, it was as if a blade had pierced her chest. Betrayal coursed through her veins.

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her lips together as tears burned in her throat.

She shouldn’t have said that.

Why am I feeling this way? Mother is happy with me. That should be enough.

Forcing her eyes open, Isabella shaped her lips into a smile—a smile that never reached her eyes.

I will feel better soon. Now that Mother is happy with me… I will feel fine.

But her heart refused to comply. It betrayed her, whispering the truth she wanted to ignore—how much she loved music, how many years she had poured into it, how many sacrifices she had made for it.

Am I really giving up on all of that now? The question slithered into her mind like a serpent.

For a moment, she envisioned her future unfolding like a well-worn routine—waking at dawn as the clock struck 5 a.m., shivering through a cold shower, rushing through a hastily prepared breakfast, and dressing in a blur before sprinting to the bus stop. Her gaze darted to her wristwatch, heart pounding with urgency. Then, she saw herself in an office, releasing a weary sigh after a gruelling morning, the weight of monotony settling over her like an inescapable fog.

As if the exhaustion were real, a deep breath left her lips, but it felt too heavy, sinking into her chest like a stone.

Already tired…?

The thought jolted her. Her eyes snapped open, and she bit down hard on her lower lip. Wrapping her arms more tightly around her mother, she clung to the warmth that should have soothed her but didn’t.

It’s time to let go of the laziness. Forget music for now, Isabella.

She shook her head at the thought, as if physically rejecting the voice in her mind.

Mother’s happiness matters.

Then, a quote surfaced in her memory: “Responsibilities bring respect to those who accept them. And love… love means sacrifice.”

A sigh slipped from her lips, as if she had finally found her anchor. Her shoulders loosened, her muscles unclenching.

“Mother,” she murmured.

Her mother hummed in response.

“I’m going to forget music,” Isabella said, her voice steadier than she felt. “I’ll work hard and make you happy.”

Her mother’s laughter rang through the room, soft and full. Isabella buried her face in the crook of her mother’s neck and chuckled along, even as something deep inside her cracked.

“I love you, Mum.”

But in the depths of her heart, she knew—she was betraying herself.

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