Chapter 40 The art exhibition

Chapter 40 The art exhibition

Travis' p.o.v

Is this pull healthy.

A pull to a woman more than a decade younger. To a woman who I'm supposed to keep an eye on but instead, she needs to be kept away from me.

The scent of her luscious skin drives me crazy, I could still taste her on my tongue. Fuck. I'm hard as stone just by thinking about what happened few hours ago.

I had dropped her off at the art house, she was still looking shock and scared. Like my announcement of my presence to the art gallery was highly unwelcome to her.

But I don't give a shit.

That Matthew has left scars on her wrist. No one gets to touch what's mine. I may have been forced to leave my life in Italy. But my profession was still imbedded in me. A killer.

I've killed people who didn't deserve it, and worse to people who do. Now's my turn to do same for a woman who does as little as existing enough to get me this hard.

I arrived at the art exhibition, and walked into it, the crowd from outside was promising, everyone was yet to be led in side.

If this was a normal investment, it would have been a good one on my end. But a few grand was enough to get Matthew interested. Heck, I haven't even officially signed the investor form yet. And he's already all whipped.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Matthew’s voice boomed again, saccharine and loud enough to scrape the walls, “thank you all for honoring us with your presence tonight.”

A polite ripple of applause followed. I barely clapped. My eyes scanned faces, bodies, corners anywhere Nyx might be.

She wasn’t near the entrance. Figures.

“This exhibition,” Matthew continued, chest puffed, “is a celebration of raw talent, emotion, and vision. Every piece you’ll see tonight carries a story one worth owning.

So please,” he smiled wide, already counting money that wasn’t his yet, “feel free to buy, bid, and ask questions.”
Another round of applause.

He turned, dramatic as ever, and pushed the double doors open. “Now, let me invite you inside.”

The crowd flowed in, chatter rising, heels clicking against polished floors. I followed at a distance, bored out of my skull, irritation crawling up my spine. I didn’t come for art. I came for her.

Inside, the space opened up white walls, soft lighting, canvases spaced like they were holy relics. People fanned out immediately, drawn to color and price tags.

Then I saw her.

Nyx stood near the far wall, dressed exactly how I remembered beautiful blouse, short skirt, hair falling loose around her shoulders. She looked… unsettled. Her eyes kept moving, scanning faces, the room, the doors.

Searching.

My mouth curved before I could stop it.

She was looking for me.

Her gaze snapped up, collided with mine.
Her eyes widened.

For a second just one everything stilled.

Then she looked away too fast, cheeks tightening, professionalism slamming back into place. She stepped toward a woman beside her and began explaining a painting, her hands moving, her voice calm.

A damn good act.

I was already moving toward her when Matthew appeared out of nowhere, blocking my path like a bad smell.

“Mr. Scott,” he beamed, sticking out his hand. “So good to see you.”

I nodded, shook his hand once. “Likewise.”
“Come, come,” he said eagerly. “I’ll show you around. Some exceptional pieces here are future gold, truly.”

“I’d rather not,” I started, eyes sliding past him to where Nyx stood.

But Matthew laughed, oblivious. “Ah, all my staff are occupied at the moment. Busy night, you see.” He gestured grandly. “I insist.”

Walking dead man, indeed.

He launched into explanations prices, techniques, artists’ tortured backstories. I followed half a step behind, my attention split between nodding at the right moments and tracking Nyx’s movement across the room.

Every time she shifted, my focus snapped to her.

She avoided looking at me. Deliberately.
That only made it worse.

Matthew stopped in front of a large canvas, something abstract and aggressively red. “This one,” he said proudly, “has already drawn interest.”
“I’m sure,” I replied flatly.

Across the room, Nyx finished with her guest and finally risked another glance. This time, she didn’t look away immediately.

There it was again that tension. That pull.
Her jaw tightened, and she turned, heading toward the back hallway.

I smiled to myself.

Let Matthew speak.

I already know exactly where I was going next.

“Matthew over here,” Someone called him from behind me. I almost heaved in relief.

He turned to me. “I would hate to leave you without a guide Mr Scott.”

“He has me.” A soft voice chipped in. It was Nyx's friend. Luna. Lana. Lena. I can't remember.

“Ohh,” Matthew exclaimed. “You're in safe hands,” he left immediately after someone calls his name again.

“Lena Mr Scott,” she extended her hand and I took it. I looked towards the path Nyx took and then back at her. “You can go to her right now, she's busy.”

I frowned. “What did you say?”

She smiled, leading me to a painting of a naked woman, carrying a bag on her head and a man crawling on the floor to her. “You see, I never thought a man like you would be into a relative.”

I shoved my hand into my pocket. She knows. My interest suddenly piqued.

“And what is a man like me?”

“A handsome man like you can get any woman you want with just a wink but seems that doesn't cut it.”

“The head wants what it wasn't.” I couldn't say heart.

“More like the dick wants what it wants.” She scoffed.

I arched my brow in amusement. The girl is sure mouthy.

“Look Travis, if you're going after Nyx because you think she's innocent and naive to fool with. You better take a step back because her friend is the exact opposite.”

I cocked my head, ghost of a smirk appeared on my lips. “Very foul opinion you have of your friend.” She flashed a tight lipped smile at me. “I assume that friend who is the opposite is you.”

“Yes.”

I almost cut out a laugh. “Then I guess I would be careful with her then.”

She was just two pounds bigger than Nyx. I could crush her with a foot if I want to. But she doesn't need to know that.

“Funny how you're not preaching to me how bad it is to fuck my niece.”

She sneered, leaned in. “Whatever Nyx wants she gets. Now it seems your dick excites her.” She winked as she pulled away.

Just how much Nyx confided in her.

“Good evening once again everyone,” Matthew cut in and we both turned to him, from the corner of my eyes, I saw Nyx emerge. She was sweating, wringing her hands together, chewing on her lips like it was her favorite meal. I frowned.

She only does this when she's nervous.

Do I make her that nervous?

Matthew clapped his hands once, sharp and theatrical. Two attendants wheeled out a long, black-draped stand from behind the partition.

My eyes were no longer on him.

They were on Nyx.

She stood stiff beside the wall, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Sweat dotted her temple. Her gaze was fixed on the covered frames like they might bite her if she looked away.

Interesting.

“With great pride,” Matthew announced, voice swelling, “I present the five featured works of tonight’s exhibition.”

He grabbed the edge of the cloth and yanked.

The first painting was revealed.
A collective breath sucked in from the room.

It was massive an oil piece of a woman submerged halfway in dark water, her reflection fractured, her eyes above the surface calm while the reflection below screamed. Blues and blacks bled into each other like bruises.

“Stunning,” someone murmured.

“Haunting,” another said.

Matthew beamed.

The second followed. A cityscape on fire but not burning. The flames were painted as flowers, blooming from windows and streets, petals licking the sky. Beauty in destruction. The crowd leaned closer, phones already out.

The third was quieter. A child’s shoes placed neatly at the edge of a cliff, the horizon empty. No child. Just absence. That one hit harder than the rest.

The fourth drew another gasp a violent swirl of gold and charcoal, two figures locked in a struggle that could have been an embrace or a murder. You couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

Applause broke out before Matthew could even speak.

Then he reached for the clothes for the fifth one and pulled it off. It was a painting of eyes, deep ocean blue ones. Everyone gasp in awe.

The painting was beautiful.

Blue eyes with scar underneath it.

Wai
t…

I reached for the spot underneath my eyes, my hand skimmed across the little scar I got as a kid. It was almost non-existent but it sure was there.

Is that…

Is that my eyes…