Shadows of a Billionaire's heart

The gallery was oddly silent, but for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shuffling of my heels on the marble floor. A few visitors were idly moving between the exhibits as I stood close to the entrance. An uneasy pit in my stomach had taken the place of the cheerful, upbeat energy I had experienced earlier in the evening.

As she studied one of my paintings, a flaming red abstract that I had put my heart and soul into, a woman whispered, "This is beautiful." However, her gratitude didn't go far enough to cover her expenses. She nodded courteously, admired, and went on, just like the majority of tonight's guests.

I was accustomed to the pattern by this point.

Sasha, my assistant, came over with a strained look on her face and gave me a glass of champagne that I hadn't requested. "I've been observing," she muttered. "They're not purchasing." Not one of them.

I clinched my teeth and said, "Not now, Sasha," looking around the room once more in case someone surprised me with a purchase. I knew it was unlikely, but hope remained obstinate.

She paused, then leaned closer as she looked towards the entrance. "Someone entered just now. It appears to be trouble.

I spotted him when I turned around. Tall and immaculately dressed in a neat black suit that likely cost more than my rent each month, he had an easy confidence that made him hard to ignore. Vance Richard . A billionaire with a reputation for brutal business dealings and a sharply charming personality, his name was well-known in the business world.

Yes, trouble.

His eyes scanned the artwork on the walls as he walked across the space with a serene accuracy. However, there was no admiration or intrigue in his eyes. The art wasn't why he was here.

Richard paused in front of one of my paintings, which depicted a serene, subdued scene of a far-off horizon, and cocked his head slightly. Then his eyes moved and met mine. A slight, well-practiced smile pulled at his lips, as if he had been waiting for me to notice him.

My heartbeat accelerated, but I didn't flinch. What brought him here?

He began to approach me with slow, deliberate steps before I could duck back into the mob.

"Claire Lowell," he replied, coming to a halt a short distance away. He had a deep, silky voice with a tinge of edge that suggested he didn't waste time or words. "I've heard great things about you."

Maintaining a steady tone, I raised an eyebrow. "I hope everything goes well."

With a sneer on his lips, he answered, "Let's call it a mix." "Your work, however, speaks for itself."

I was waiting for him to go into more detail, but he didn't. Rather, he looked around the room, as if absorbing the dull atmosphere. "To be honest, I was hoping for a little more vigour tonight. Do you not think?

I remained calm despite my outbursts. "Mr. Vance, not every night is a big hit. Art isn't always a sure thing.

He looked back at me and answered, "True." But it must be annoying, I suppose. Putting a lot of effort into something and then seeing it struggle to take flight

I didn't want him to notice how hard the words hit, but they did. "Is there a reason you're here, or did you come here to criticise my career?"

Richard laughed quietly, his laughter calmingly angry. "Direct and to the point. That appeals to me. He seemed to be enjoying the moment as he halted. "I came because I'm looking for... opportunities."

"Is it possible?" I narrowed my eyes and repeated.

Claire, you're talented. Motivated. I respect that," he added, his voice becoming softer but not enough to conceal the underlying calculation. But let's not mince words. Your gallery isn't doing well. I'm not sure if you're about to fail or reinvent yourself, but you're on the verge of something.

His statements were so direct that they tightened my chest. It felt like a slap to hear it out loud in his cold, detached tone, even though he wasn't mistaken. "You still haven't responded to my query. Why have you come here?

"Because I believe we can support one another," he stated plainly. "I have an idea for you."

My stomach turned over. "A suggestion?"

Richard looked around once more, bringing me closer by slightly lowering his voice. Details should not be discussed here. Come see me in the morning. It is ten o'clock. My workspace. Before I could object, he thrust a shiny business card into my hand.

I looked at him and then at the card. "You think I'll just show up and drop everything?"

His eyes shone with serene confidence as he said, "I expect you to see an opportunity when you see one." "And you'll accept it if you're intelligent, which I think you are."

He turned and left before I could reply, leaving me standing there with a mixture of curiosity, rage, and an unidentified emotion.

---

The following morning, I was sitting on the edge of a leather chair that most likely cost more than my car in Richard Vance's ostensibly streamlined office. The breathtaking perspective of the skyline behind him served as a reminder of how different his world was from mine.

As I walked in, he looked up from his desk and said, "You're on time." "Thank you for that."

As I crossed my arms, I added, "Let's skip the pleasantries." "Mr. Vance, what do you want?"

He leaned back in his chair and grinned. Again, right to the point. Excellent. Claire, I won't waste your time. Here's the thing: You and I both need something. A collaboration, if you will.

I scowled as my doubts increased. "What sort of collaboration?"

"A marriage," he remarked nonchalantly, as if he were talking about the weather.

I briefly believed I had misheard him. "A... what?"

"A marriage," he said in a cool, collected voice. "A mutually advantageous agreement. For your profession to succeed, you need money, recognition, and stability. I require... specific benefits that can only be obtained by a steady, dedicated public persona.

I was struck into silence as I looked at him. "You're kidding."

"Business is never a joke," Richard said coolly. "Claire, this has nothing to do with romance. A contract exists. You'd have all you need to get your career back on track. You would take on the role of my wife in exchange, which would be advantageous to both of us.

I was shocked by his proposal's audacity. "Really, do you think I would consent to that?"

"I believe you're intelligent enough to think about it," he added, his eyes penetrating. Claire, you're having trouble. In a society that demands continual relevance, your gallery is losing money and your reputation is eroding. I can provide you with the foundation you need to be successful.

"What do you gain from it?" I fired back. "Why is a fictitious marriage so necessary?"

Although his smile wavered a little, his poise held. To put it simply, there are some commercial chances that call for me to project a more grounded image. Stability appeals to investors. That is the impression that a committed relationship conveys.

What I was hearing was unbelievable. "So, in order to preserve your reputation, I must sell myself?"

"Don't sell," he clarified. Join forces. You are as much a part of this as I am. Claire, I'm giving you a lifeline. Is it something you're willing to accept?

I started to fight, but in reality, his remarks had touched a raw spot. I was having trouble with my gallery. I was in danger of losing my job. And here he was, providing an escape route, albeit one with conditions.

Richard remarked, standing and holding out his hand, "I'll give you time to think about it." Don't take too long, though. There aren't many opportunities like this one.

With the decision weighing heavily on me, I paused before shaking his hand.

I had a lot of questions and doubts when I left his office. This was a gamble, not just a proposition. One that had the power to either preserve all I had fought for or ruin it altogether.

If I answered yes, what type of person would I become?

And why did I have the slightest suspicion that Richard Vance already knew the answer?