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1
Olivia
Thesoundofmyalarm blares through the room, jolting me awake from a restless sleep. Groaning, I roll over and fumble to turn it off, finally silencing the shrill noise. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up and glance around my small, cozy apartment. The sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow across the room.
I stretch my limbs, trying to shake off the remnants of a vivid dream that left me unsettled. It's been a while since I had a decent night's sleep. Running an art gallery in the heart of New York City is demanding, but it's my passion, my lifeblood. Art has always been my refuge, a way to express the emotions that I'm not comfortable sharing with others.
As I prepare for another hectic day, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Long chestnut curls frame my face, and my hazel eyes reflect a mix of determination and vulnerability. Today, I choose a simple yet elegant outfit— a knee-length navy dress that accentuates my curves and a pair of nude pumps. I want to feel confident and in control, especially when I step into the cutthroat world of the art industry.
Grabbing my bag and keys, I lock the door behind me and make my way to the gallery. The city buzzes with energy as I navigate through the crowded streets. It's a melting pot of cultures and personalities, a place where dreams are made and broken. And in this whirlwind of a metropolis, I've built a reputation as a formidable art dealer.
Arriving at the gallery, I'm greeted by the familiar scent of fresh paint and the faint sound of classical music playing in the background. My assistant, Sarah, rushes up to me with a stack of papers in her hands.
"Olivia, I need your approval on the new exhibition catalog," she says, her voice filled with urgency. "We've got less than a week until the opening, and there are still some details to finalize."
I take the papers from her and scan through them, my mind already racing with ideas and plans. Sarah is my right-hand woman, efficient and reliable. I trust her judgment, but I also have high standards. Together, we've curated some of the most successful exhibitions in the city, showcasing talented artists from around the world.
"Looks good, Sarah," I finally say, flashing her a quick smile. "Let's get these printed and distributed to our mailing list. We need a packed house on opening night."
She nods and scurries off, leaving me to immerse myself in the preparations. The next few hours pass in a blur as I attend to various tasks— finalizing contracts, arranging the artwork, and coordinating with caterers. My phone buzzes incessantly, a constant stream of emails and messages from artists and clients alike.
Just as I'm about to take a break, my phone chimes with a new email notification. By habit, I open the app and find an invitation to a high-profile charity event. The sender's name is unfamiliar, but the subject line reads, "A Night of Elegance and Philanthropy."
"Hm, this is strange," I murmur. I don't get these types of invitations often as I don't believe my name to be big in the art industry yet. However, it seems as if someone has taken notice of me.
Intrigued, I read through the details. It's an exclusive gathering of New York's elite, a chance to mingle with influential figures in both the art and business worlds. My heart quickens with excitement. Attending such an event could potentially open doors for my gallery and allow me to secure a prestigious clientele.
Without hesitation, I hit the reply button and accept the invitation, feeling a surge of anticipation building within me. Little do I know that this event will mark the beginning of a journey that will change my life in ways I could never have imagined.
I scroll back to view the invitation. As an owner of an art gallery who is surrounded by different forms of art every day, I can't help but notice artistic details in whatever is presented to me, and looking at invitation designs always helps me choose what to wear.
The invitation is a nude color with a floral border. I analyze the colors and mentally check if I have anything in my wardrobe that looks similar. Sarah calls me a second time to check on some details for our next exhibit, and I turn off my phone. It’s important to focus on my work now and worry about the charity event later.
.
I carefully step out of my car, making sure the slit in my dress doesn’t ride up my thigh indecently. The chauffeur waits until the long trail of my dress exits the car before closing the door after me. My breath quickens when I take in the grandeur of the charity event's entrance. I wasn't familiar with this part of the city, and this hall looks exquisite, bathing in the golden glow of the lighting set up, highlighting the intricate details of the stone carvings.
Whoever this mansion belonged to has a deep respect for architecture. I hear the murmur of guests milling inside, and I follow the crowd. Tilting my head up and maintaining poise and elegance, I walk inside the hall and into the ballroom. I try to hide the gasp that almost releases from my mouth at the sight of the ballroom. The chandeliers glimmer and reflect stars. There is the color of honey gold as far as the eye can see, accented by the colorful clothing adorned by the guests mingling.
I curl a hair behind my ear and glance at my reflection in one of the mirrors on the wall. My dress is nude and decorated with a layer of colorful embroidered flowers. A slit up to my thigh gives a generous view of my bare leg, soft pink heels elevating my look. I can't help but smile. For the first time in a long time, I feel beautiful.
I’m admiring my hair when I catch sight of a man watching me. His reflection stares at me through the mirror. I immediately turn and look away, embarrassed someone saw me.
"I apologize. I didn't mean to disturb you. I was admiring your beauty."
I turn as he walks up to me, his dark hair swept back, exposing his forehead, and a charming smile on his face. I narrow my eyes as each feature brings me some recognition until I realize who he is. That’s Ethan, a famous NBA basketball player, and billionaire bachelor, better known as an infamous playboy. I have heard many rumors about him. However, I never expected to meet him face to face.
"Oh, thank you, but I'm not sure I deserve the compliment. There are many beautiful women here."
Ethan hums thoughtfully.
"That may be so, but my eyes gravitated toward you before anyone else."
My cheeks burn, and I hear Ethan chuckle.
"This dress is amazing, yet I find red to look the best on you."
I cough awkwardly in my hand. I’m not used to so much attention on me, especially by such a handsome man. Women around us whisper and I catch a few glares. Of course, getting attention from a rich man like him would attract jealousy.
