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Elara Monroe, an untamed artist guarding her father's legacy, signs away her freedom for six months to Cassian Blackwood, the enigmatic billionaire who buys everything - except hearts. But when he tries to own hers, he learns some masterpieces can't be caged.
Chapter 1 The Crumbling Gallery
The Crumbling Gallery
Elara Monroe stood beneath the soft flicker of the last working gallery light, paint still drying on her fingertips and anxiety coiled tight in her chest like a cornered animal. Outside, rain smudged the city skyline into watercolor ruin. Inside, her father's legacy cracked inch by inch around her - flaking paint, unpaid bills, unsold canvases stacked like ghosts waiting for buyers who would never come.
She pressed her thumb into her palm to ground herself, but the weight didn't lift. The final notice lay on her cluttered desk, the red letters screaming EVICTION louder than the city traffic ever could.
Her father had built this place out of love and stubbornness. He'd taught her that art mattered, that truth on canvas could save a soul. But truth didn't pay the electricity bill or keep loan sharks from slipping threatening notes under the door.
Elara closed her eyes. One more commission. One miracle. She just needed enough to buy time. To keep the lights on. To keep his dream alive, even if it broke her in the process.
Her phone buzzed on the desk - an unknown number. She ignored it. She didn't have the energy for collectors who'd haggle her down to scraps.
But the buzzing didn't stop. And something about its persistence crawled under her skin, daring her.
With a groan, she snatched it up. "Hello?"
Silence. Then a voice, smooth as whiskey poured over ice: "Miss Monroe?"
A shiver licked her spine. She hated how her name sounded on his tongue - a stranger's voice that seemed too deliberate, too poised.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"A friend. An admirer, you could say. You'll receive an invitation tonight. Read it carefully. It may solve... all your problems."
Before she could demand more, the line clicked dead.
What the hell? She stared at the phone, heart pounding in the quiet gallery, the rain drumming harder like an omen. She turned toward the door when she heard the subtle thud - an envelope, slid neatly beneath the crack.
She crossed the floor barefoot, flinching at the cold marble that should have been polished but now bore the stains of leaks and neglect.
The envelope was thick, the paper expensively heavy. She tugged it open with paint-stained fingers.
Inside:
An exclusive auction. One night only. Bring your finest piece. Or bring yourself.
At the bottom, a signature she didn't recognize but would soon carve itself into her bones:
Cassian Blackwood.
---
Far above the storm, in a glass tower that owned half the city's breathless skyline, Cassian Blackwood watched the security feed on his phone. A shadow of a smile tugged at his lips as he saw the exact moment Elara bent to pick up his invitation - her wild hair curtaining her defiance, her eyes reflecting a storm fiercer than the one raging outside.
"Are you sure about this, little brother?" Alec's voice drifted from behind him, laced with mischief and warning all at once.
Cassian didn't look away from the screen. Her. He'd waited too long for her.
"Completely."
Behind Alec, Julian - equal parts elegance and razor wit - leaned against the marble bar, swirling a glass of red wine. He raised an eyebrow at Alec with an amused sigh.
"Play nice with your new muse, Cassian," Julian drawled. "Or she'll gut you and sell your heart on canvas."
Cassian only smirked. The city bowed beneath him, obedient and predictable. But Elara Monroe would kneel for no one. That was what made her priceless.
And by sunrise, she would belong to him.
To be continued...
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