The photo had spread faster than Sebastian anticipated.
By Monday morning, it wasn't just a whisper — it was everywhere. Business blogs, gossip sites, even international outlets were speculating about "the mysterious artist" who had captured the attention of London's most reclusive CEO.
Sebastian sat in his office, the skyline glinting coldly beyond the glass walls. The phone on his desk hadn't stopped ringing since dawn — investors, partners, even members of his own board demanding an explanation.
"Sir," his assistant said cautiously, stepping into the room, "the press team needs a statement before noon."
Sebastian didn't look up. "Draft something simple. No names. No confirmation."
"Yes, sir."
As the door closed, he finally exhaled and leaned back in his chair. He'd dealt with crises before — market crashes, hostile negotiations, lawsuits — but none of them had shaken him like this. This wasn't business. This was personal. And the line between the two had finally blurred beyond recognition.
His gaze drifted to the small canvas that sat on a shelf — one of Ava's first gifts to him. A quiet city street at dawn, painted in soft gold and gray. He'd once called it peace in chaos. Now, it mocked him.
He wanted to call her. To hear her voice. But he'd promised himself distance — for her sake.
Only distance wasn't working.
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Across the city, Ava sat in her studio surrounded by unfinished canvases. The walls that once comforted her now felt like they were closing in. Her phone buzzed endlessly — interview requests, journalists pretending to be clients, even distant acquaintances wanting "her side of the story."
She ignored them all.
Clara arrived midmorning, dropping a bag of pastries on the table. "You've officially gone viral," she said, trying to sound light, but her tone was tight with concern.
"I don't want to be viral," Ava muttered, staring at the half-painted portrait on her easel.
"I know. But it's not going away. People are saying you're the reason ValeTech's stock dipped two points this morning."
Ava's brush stilled. "That's ridiculous."
"Welcome to the modern world," Clara sighed. "They love a scandal. Especially one involving power and mystery."
Ava set the brush down and rubbed her temples. "I didn't ask for this."
Clara hesitated, then asked carefully, "Do you love him?"
Ava looked up sharply. "That's not the point."
"It's exactly the point," Clara said softly. "Because if you do, you need to decide whether this — all of this noise — is something you can live with."
Ava swallowed hard. "I don't know."
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By late afternoon, Sebastian was summoned to an emergency board meeting. The long conference table gleamed under sterile lights as the directors filed in — all sharp suits and sharper glances.
"Sebastian," began Mr. Hargreaves, one of the senior board members, "we've always trusted your judgment. But the last seventy-two hours have shaken confidence. Investors are nervous."
Sebastian folded his hands calmly. "Our stock drop was minimal and already recovering. I've ensured our upcoming launch will not be affected."
"This isn't just about numbers," another member interjected. "It's about image. Our CEO involved in a scandal — photographed at an event with a woman who—"
"—is an artist," Sebastian interrupted, his voice even but steely. "Not a scandal."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Hargreaves leaned forward. "Then clarify it. Publicly. End the rumors."
He could feel the trap closing. If he denied it, he would be lying. If he confirmed it, he'd expose Ava to more scrutiny.
"I'll issue a statement," he said finally, his tone controlled. "But my personal life remains my own."
The meeting ended with thin smiles and unspoken threats. As the others filed out, Hargreaves paused beside him. "You've built this company from nothing, Sebastian. Don't let a distraction undo you."
When the door closed, Sebastian sat alone in the silence, his hands clenched.
Distraction. That's what they thought she was.
But she wasn't. She was the first thing in years that had made him feel like more than his title.
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He reached for his phone.
When Ava answered, her voice was small. "Sebastian?"
"Are you safe?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Just… tired of seeing my face on screens."
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I should have protected you better."
"You couldn't have stopped it," she said quietly. "But I don't know how to paint anymore. Every time I pick up a brush, it's just you."
He closed his eyes. "Ava—"
"I mean it," she said, a fragile laugh breaking through. "You're everywhere. In the colors, in the silence, in the spaces between strokes. It's maddening."
Something in his chest cracked. "Then maybe I should stay away until the noise dies down."
Her breath hitched. "Is that what you want?"
"No," he said after a pause. "It's what I think I should do."
"Then don't." Her voice was soft but firm. "Don't disappear on me."
He exhaled slowly. "I can't promise the world won't keep watching."
"Then let them watch," she whispered. "Just don't lie about what this is."
He didn't answer for a long time. Then, quietly, "Tomorrow night. The old bridge near the pier. Seven o'clock."
Ava closed her eyes, the smallest smile tugging at her lips. "I'll be there."
When the call ended, neither of them moved for a long time.
Outside, the evening sky bled into violet and silver, the city lights flickering to life — unaware that two people on opposite ends of it were about to cross another line that couldn't be uncrossed.
And somewhere in that space between love and ruin, they were already falling too far to stop.
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