He Bought Her Truth

Name: He Bought Her Truth
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

MI KEL

Romance | Ongoing

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Blurb: New York artist Rowan Hart persuades herself it is only business when she accepts a phony relationship with Damien Vale, frigid, calculating millionaire and heir to a harsh empire. A few public performances. Some meticulously staged shots. Sufficient to pay off the obligations threatening to ruin all she had created and rescue her struggling charity. Damien is more than a headline, though. more than the outfit and strength and penetrating gray eyes. He's a man with secrets buried deeper than riches can hide-and a history that refuses to remain buried. Rowan felt she could manage the lie. Until a contract shows, with her name forged at the bottom. Until her art is connected with a scandal she has never addressed. Not until the man she once loved-the one who broke her-comes back with a deal she cannot afford to turn down. The distinction between performance and reality is currently quite fuzzy. Each gaze Damien gives her feels too true. Every touch is also vital. And when betrayal hits from the shadows, Rowan must wonder: is she falling for the guy behind the mask or the one she helped him construct? One reality becomes evident as her history meets his future: The most dangerous aspect of their phony love is her utter desire for it to be genuine.

Thriller Modern First love Secret relationship CEO Attractive

Chapter 10 The Article That Burned

06-25 14:50

Chapter 1 Brushes and burden

The smell of turpentine hung to Rowan Hart's fingers, always reminding her of the fights she fought with color and canvas. With a quiet grin, she moved between easels, correcting a kid's brushstroke, and the paint-streaked floor of the community art studio creaked under her heels.

"See that? " she whispered to the boy with wide eyes. "Let the paint breathe. Art is not about flawlessness. It is about truth.

Though she knew the words wouldn't quite sink in yet, he nodded. Still, seeding counted.

Rowan had not produced anything of her own in more than six months, the fact was.

Her hands yearned to paint, but the fire that had once driven her had dimmed, almost entirely extinguished under escalating payments and rejection letters. Donors had withdrawn, citing the economic climate. Her landlord had stopped phoning back. Her part-time gallery barely covered the costs of her charity, much alone her rent. What now? She was two weeks away from losing the place totally now.

Sighing, she wiped a smear of cobalt blue from her wrist. Outside, the city pulsed with SoHo's artistic mayhem of traffic, street performers, and visitors seeking originality. Her inside world was silent desperation adorned in vivid murals and happy children.

On the table close to the drying rack, her phone buzzes. Another email.

The heading read: FINAL NOTICE-TERMINATION OF LEASE.

Rowan felt his stomach sink. She slumped onto the closest stool, the studio's cold enveloping her like the inexorable nature of failure.

She opened the correspondence with a click. Though the numbers blurred, the message was obvious: thirty days. Thirty days to assemble the dreams she had developed from scratch.

A bang at the glass door startled her. Kaya, one of the gallery interns, poked her head in.

"There's a courier here," she reported, "hand-delivered packet, elegant-looking. "

Rowan rose and accepted the cream envelope Kaya gave him. Gold trim on heavy parchment. The sort of stationery that shouted wealth and power.

Inside, one line:

You are cordially invited to the Sable Fund Annual Gala-a private artist's reception, Vale Tower, Saturday at 7 PM.

Rowan had applied to the Sable Fund three years ago. They refused her form letter.

She was now invited to their gala, was she not?

She turned the card over. Written at the bottom:

Your work was brought to our attention by an anonymous patron. Bring a portfolio, please. A. M."

Her heart raced. Anonymous supporter?

Could this be a lifeline? Or another false hope clad in golden ink?

The next night, Rowan stood outside Vale Tower, diamonds twinkling like a string across the horizon behind her. Though she had given her best scrubbing, her fingers still had a little paint on them, and she felt like a fraud in her secondhand dress and thrifted heels.

Inside, the foyer shimmered: black marble floors, chandelier like a frozen explosion overhead. Everyone gleamed in designer gowns and suits fitted for lives she would never experience.

"Rowan Hart? " A woman in black approached. "You're on the list. Mr. Vale's crew requested you personally. "

Mr. Vale;

The name struck something loose in her breast. Damien Vale, wealthy real estate developer, phantom of glossy magazine covers and mumbled scandals. Why would *he* know her name?

She trailed the woman into the gala ballroom.

Everything glistened white and gold. Waiters presented champagne. Rowan's stomach turned as strings played somewhere in the corner.

Works-paintings, installations, all from the Sable Fund's selected artists-were highlighted by a spotlight on the distant wall. And there, among the abstracts and oil paintings, hung * hers. *

Torn edges, dark reds, deep silvers, scars woven in paint and thread define a mixed media piece titled "Breath After Burn. "

Two years ago, it was sold.

"Amazing, isn't it? "

Her left voice was calm, cool, and threaded with power. Rowan turned and made contact.

Vale Damien.

Tall. Dark. Tailored to the inch. The type of guy who only grinned if he wanted to control the space. His eyes were blank, fixed on her like he already solved a puzzle.

Throat dry, she said, "You purchased my painting. "

"I did. " He raised a goblet. "You paint sorrow like it owes you something. "

Rowan watched him. "Perhaps it does. "

One beat of silence. Then: "I wanted to find whether the artist behind that kind of work could survive in a room like this. "

She bristled. "Is that what this is? A test? "

"No," he said, putting down his glass, "An invitation. "

"To what? " He bent in a little. The atmosphere changed. Something between interest and difficulty ignited between them.

"To change your life. "

Though Rowan did not flinch, her hands clenched at her sides. "Why would you care? "

He smiled, but it didn't show in his eyes.

"Because I possess a proposal. And I believe you're desperate enough to listen.

Though Rowan is still unaware, the offer Damien is about to make will flip all she believed she knew about art, power, and love.