The morning after the gallery felt unreal.
Ava woke to soft sunlight spilling through her window, the quiet hum of the city beyond. The memory of yesterday lingered — Sebastian's voice, the warmth of his hand in hers, the rare gentleness in his eyes.
She should have felt guilty. Terrified. But instead, she felt alive.
Still, something in her chest ached — the knowledge that what they had wasn't built to last. He was a man of boundaries, and she'd spent her whole life coloring outside the lines.
She made tea and tried to paint, but her focus kept drifting. Every stroke turned into him again. His silhouette. His eyes. His stillness that hid so much fire.
The soft buzz of her phone pulled her back. It was her friend, Clara, a fellow artist.
Clara:Check the news, Ava. Now.
Her stomach dropped. She opened the link — and froze.
It was a photo.
Taken the day before at the gallery.
Sebastian and Ava, standing close, gazing at each other — his hand almost, but not quite, touching hers. The caption read:
"Sebastian Vale — London's elusive CEO spotted at a private art showing with a mysterious woman."
Her tea went cold in her hand.
The article didn't name her, but it didn't have to. The mural at ValeTech was already making quiet rounds in the art world. It wouldn't take long before someone connected the dots.
Her phone rang again — this time, it was him.
She hesitated before answering. "Sebastian…"
"I've seen it," he said, his voice low, clipped, full of restrained fury.
"I swear, I didn't—"
"I know," he cut in. "You didn't have to." A pause. "Meet me. Not at the office."
"Where?"
"The gardens by the river. Thirty minutes."
The line went dead.
The sky was heavy with clouds when she reached the gardens. The river shimmered darkly nearby, leaves trembling in the cold wind. She spotted him near a stone fountain, dressed in black, tension radiating from every inch of him.
He turned when he heard her footsteps. His expression was unreadable — a man torn between anger and concern.
"They're calling it a rumor," he said, his voice low. "But rumors in my world don't stay harmless."
"I didn't even see a camera," she whispered.
"Neither did I. But someone did. And they knew exactly what they were looking for."
Ava's throat tightened. "Do you think someone followed you?"
He shook his head slowly. "No. Someone followed us."
Her pulse spiked. "So what happens now?"
Sebastian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I'll handle it."
"How?"
"By doing what I always do — control the narrative before it controls me."
She hated the cold professionalism in his tone. "You make it sound like damage control."
He met her gaze, his voice softening. "Because that's what it has to be."
Her heart stung. "So that's what this is to you — damage?"
He flinched at her words. "Don't twist it. You know it's not that simple."
"I know you're scared," she said quietly. "But so am I. The difference is — I'm not pretending I'm not."
He turned away, staring out at the water. "You don't understand what people like me lose when rumors spread. Every partnership, every investor, every ounce of trust — it can disappear overnight."
"And what about me?" she said, her voice trembling. "What do I lose, Sebastian? Because I'm the one they'll dig into. I'm the woman in the photo. The nobody who dared to stand next to you."
He looked at her then — really looked at her — and the fear in her eyes broke something in him.
"I won't let that happen," he said.
"How can you promise that?"
"Because I'll protect you."
She took a step closer, her eyes glistening. "And who protects you?"
The silence stretched, raw and fragile.
Then she did something neither of them expected — she reached for his hand, weaving her fingers through his. "Stop hiding behind control," she whispered. "You can't fix everything. Sometimes you just have to feel it."
His breath caught. "You make it sound easy."
"It's not," she said softly. "But it's real."
Their hands stayed entwined, a quiet defiance against the storm around them. The wind whipped through her hair; a raindrop slid down her cheek. He reached up instinctively, brushing it away — his touch lingering, tender, careful.
"I hate that the world sees everything," he murmured.
"Then stop caring about the world," she said. "For one moment, just be here."
He hesitated, then stepped closer, his forehead resting against hers. The noise of the city faded — the river, the rain, the whispers of passing strangers — all of it melted away.
"This isn't supposed to happen," he said softly.
"Maybe it's exactly what's supposed to happen."
Her words hung in the air, soaked with something unspoken. He wanted to pull her closer, to drown in the simplicity of it — but even now, part of him held back.
Finally, he stepped away, his voice steady again. "You should lie low for a few days. I'll take care of the press."
"And if they find out anyway?"
He looked at her, the faintest trace of vulnerability in his eyes. "Then they'll find out I finally met someone who made me forget everything else."
Ava's breath caught.
He turned as if to leave, but she stopped him. "Sebastian."
He looked back.
"Don't make this something you have to fix," she said quietly. "Make it something you want to fight for."
His expression softened, but he didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers across hers — once, fleeting, as though memorizing the shape of her hand — before walking away into the misty rain.
She stood there long after he was gone, her heart torn between fear and something dangerously close to hope.
The photo might have exposed them.
But for the first time, Ava wondered if maybe exposure wasn't the enemy.
Maybe it was the beginning.
.....................................................