Chapter 18: Shadows of the Past
***Vanessa’s POV***
The last touches of my brush stroked onto the canvas, and the artwork came to life. It was the first painting for the collection—a vivid interpretation of both vulnerability and strength, inspired by the guarded yet striking personality of Sergie Ivanov.
I moved away and wiped my hands on a cloth before stepping back to examine the work. The painting had taken days of effort, countless revisions, and moments of self-doubt, but now it stood finished, glowing with vibrant hues and layered textures—a man who radiated power but carried unseen scars.
I sighed, setting the brush aside. Now came the nerve-wracking part—showing it to him. As soon as I stepped into his office, Sergie was sitting at his desk, concentrated on a paper. Sunlight filtering through the windows threw a golden light onto him, highlighting his sharp features. At that moment, I paused, hesitating over whether I should break in.
“Vanessa,” he said, looking up, his gaze softening. “Come in.”
I stepped forward, holding the covered canvas. “I, uh, finished the first painting.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “Already? That was fast.”
“I got a lot of inspiration,” I said, placing the canvas on an easel.
His lips curved into a small smile. “Let’s see it.”
Holding my breath, I removed the sheet to expose the painting.
Sergie stood and crossed the room to study it. Time seemed to linger, and I felt an inevitable wave of nervousness wash over me. What if he hated it? What if I’d gotten it all wrong?
“This is…” he began, trailing off.
My heart sank. “Is it not what you were expecting?”
He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “It’s brilliant, Vanessa.”
The words caught me off guard. “It is?”
He nodded, his gaze returning to the painting. “You’ve captured something raw and real. It’s not just a painting—it tells a story. And it’s perfect for the collection.”
Relief flooded me, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
He looked at me then, and for a moment, the air between us shifted. There was something in his gaze—something warm, almost tender.
“There’s a reason to be proud of all this,” he said in a low voice.
“I am,” I admitted. “But I’m more relieved that you like it.”
He let out a low chuckle; the effect was warm and strange on me. “Like it? I think it's one of the finest I've seen in years.”
My cheeks reddened as I blushed and looked away, caught in an embarrassed yet pleased state.
“I’ll have it sent to the gallery,” he said, stepping back. “The world deserves to see this.”
As I left his office, my heart felt lighter. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.
***Sergie’s POV***
The rest of my day had been fairly uneventful—until Julian walked into my office with a look I didn't want.
“Bad news,” he said, closing the door behind him.
I put down my pen and slumped back in my chair. “What is it?”
“Irina Volkova is back in New York.”
The name slammed into me like a blunt-force blow. My jaw tightened. “What?”
“She arrived last night,” Julian continued. “I thought you should know.”
Memories I’d buried long ago came rushing back—Irina’s laughter, her touch, the way she’d made me believe in love only to shatter that belief.
“Why now?” I muttered as I stood and began pacing the room.
“I don’t know,” Julian admitted. “But knowing her, it’s probably not good.”
He was right. Irina never did anything without a motive. She was manipulative, selfish, and cunning—a perfect actress who’d fooled me for far too long.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, trying to sound unaffected. “She’s irrelevant.”
But Julian gave me a knowing look. “Is she?”
I hated that he could see through me so easily. Irina might have been out of my life for years, but her betrayal had left scars.
“Whatever she wants, she can try,” I replied with forced serenity in my voice. “She won’t get to me again.” Later that evening, Julian and I met at a well-known bar in Manhattan—a favorite spot of ours where we could relax without the weight of expectations.
“You’re thinking about her,” Julian said as we sat at a corner table with drinks in hand.
I didn’t bother denying it. “How could I not? She’s the reason I don’t trust anyone.”
Julian took a sip of his whiskey and studied me. “You’re not the same man you were back then, Sergie. You’ve grown stronger.”
“Stronger?” I scoffed. “Or just more guarded?”
He shrugged. “Maybe both. But that’s not a bad thing.”
I stared into my drink; the amber liquid swirled in the glass. “I loved her, Julian. I gave her everything—and she…”
“She used you,” he finished bitterly. “She never deserved you.”
I nodded; the memories were still raw despite the years that had passed. Irina had been everything I thought I wanted—beautiful, charming, intelligent. However, underneath her beautiful guise was a woman who cared only about herself.
“I found out she was cheating on me,” I said quietly. “And I still gave her a chance to explain. I was that blind.”
Julian placed a hand on my shoulder as he continued speaking softly: “You were young, Sergie. You wanted to believe in her.”
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. “And now? What am I supposed to believe in?”
“You’ve built an empire,” Julian said firmly. “You’ve surrounded yourself with people you can trust—that’s worth believing in.”
I nodded in agreement with him while recognizing that this wouldn’t erase my pain entirely. Gradually we lightened the mood by discussing business matters, old recollections, and future plans. But no matter how much I tried to push Irina from my mind, her presence lingered like a shadow.
And then there was Vanessa.
Her face flashed in my mind—the way her green eyes lit up when she talked about her work and the warmth of her smile—but she was completely different from Irina; at the same time, admitting someone into my life again felt like a daunting prospect.
“What are you thinking about?” Julian asked curiously.
“Nothing,” I replied while gulping down the rest of my drink.
But it wasn’t nothing; it was everything.
As we left the bar and parted ways, I couldn’t help but wonder if Vanessa was the one person who could break through the walls I’d built around myself.
And that thought scared me more than anything.