Binding The Playboy

Ryan Cole didn't care for art galleries.

They were too vague, too subjective. A blur of color and texture masquerading as revelation. He preferred facts. Precedent. The clean, comforting structure of a contract or the crisp edges of logic. But tonight, logic wasn't on the agenda.

He stepped into the gallery like a man walking into a foreign country without a translator. The event was high-profile-hosted by Solvance, a tech conglomerate and one of his firm's most high-paying clients. He was there to represent Whitmore & Grant, flash a few smiles, and ensure the right people felt seen.

The gallery buzzed with curated elegance. Sleek lighting bathed the room in warmth, illuminating canvases hung with casual precision. Sculptures lined pedestals like silent judges. Waiters in black vests floated by with glasses of champagne and bite-sized art installations disguised as hors d'oeuvres.

Ryan sipped a drink he didn't like and moved through the crowd like a well-dressed ghost.

Then he saw it.

A painting, tucked away on the far wall, half-obscured by a twisting metallic sculpture. It was unlike the rest. No sleek polish, no safe color palettes. This one pulsed with emotion-violent strokes of red slashing through stormy layers of grey and blue. Shadows dragged through light. The chaos wasn't random-it was controlled, but only just.

The title beneath read: Unspoken Noise.

Ryan stepped closer, drawn in despite himself. The canvas felt like a conversation someone had screamed but never said aloud.

"Careful," came a voice behind him, smooth as silk with a subtle rasp. "That one bites."

He turned and saw her.

The woman from the painting. Not literally, of course, but the energy was unmistakable. She had that same magnetic contradiction-messy and graceful, intense and light. Her jumpsuit was smeared with tiny specks of dried paint, as if she'd stepped out of a studio and into this event without pause. Her earrings, shaped like tiny paintbrushes, swung slightly as she tilted her head.

"I take it you're the artist," Ryan said.

"And I take it you're either lost or very bored," she replied with a sly smile.

He chuckled. "Neither. Just... curious."

"About the art, or the company's attempt at pretending they care about creatives?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "You're not exactly the PR rep for this event, are you?"

She stepped forward, arms crossed, but not defensively. "I'm Evelyn Jones. I work in Solvance's design team. I helped curate tonight's collection." A pause. "And that one's mine."