The price of her heart

Avery Monroe adjusted the painting on the wall for what felt like the hundredth time. The art gallery was quiet, and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above seemed to echo in her ears. Her stomach churned with nerves, but she forced herself to smile and look confident. This was her big break. The night she had worked for-the night she had dreamed about for years.

But as she glanced around the gallery, she noticed that no one was stopping to look at her work. People wandered past, heads down, eyes flicking over the paintings as if they were nothing more than background noise. Avery couldn't help but feel invisible.

She had come all the way from a small town with big dreams. She had spent years learning, working, saving, and fighting for this moment. And yet, it seemed like all the effort hadn't amounted to much.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her out of her thoughts. She didn't need to check it. It was probably her mother, worried about her health, or her younger sister, Becky, asking for money again. Avery sighed, stuffing the phone back into her bag.

"Impressive."

The voice came out of nowhere, and Avery nearly jumped. She spun around, wide-eyed, and came face to face with a man who had entered the gallery unnoticed. He was tall-almost too tall-dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His sharp features seemed like they were carved from stone, and his icy blue eyes studied her with an intensity that made her feel exposed.

"I beg your pardon?" Avery asked, blinking in surprise.

The man took a step forward, his gaze never leaving hers. "The painting," he clarified, his voice smooth like velvet. "It's impressive."

Avery felt her cheeks flush. No one had ever looked at her work like that before. She wasn't sure whether to feel proud or intimidated.

"Thank you," she said softly, trying not to let her nervousness show. She wasn't used to attention, especially from someone who looked like he belonged in a different world.

He stepped closer, his eyes lingering on her as he studied the piece. "What's the story behind this one?"

Avery's heart raced a little as she explained the piece. It was a landscape, full of vibrant colors, depicting the mountain range from her childhood home. She had poured every ounce of emotion into it. It represented hope, struggle, and the search for freedom.

The man nodded thoughtfully. "I can see the emotion in it. You've captured something raw, real." He paused and looked at her with a glint of interest. "You're talented, Ms. Monroe."

She swallowed hard. "Thank you." She felt awkward under his gaze. "You're... Julian Hartley, aren't you?"

His lips curved into a half-smile. "Yes. And you are?"

"Avery Monroe," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

He extended his hand, his grip firm but not overpowering. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Avery."

She shook his hand, still unsure why he was here or why he was speaking to her. This man was a billionaire, one of the most influential people in the city. She had read about him in the newspapers, seen him at charity events, but never imagined she'd meet him like this-standing in front of one of her own paintings.

"Would you like a drink?" she asked, trying to act normal despite the nerves flooding her.

Julian waved her off. "I don't need anything. But I do need something from you."