Chapter 1 Why Are You Rude

Mia:

"What is this?" said a baritone deep voice from behind, grabbing my attention. I turned to notice a stranger standing there.

"It's a painting," I responded, deciding to press on with my painting as I stared at his imposing, muscular form and beautiful emerald eyes. Mr. Knighton had entrusted me with this painting."

I don't even know why I'm explaining myself to this strange man.

Is this what you call a painting? Splattering paint on a board and calling it art? I heard him say back to me.

W-what!, what did you just say, I stammered, dumbfounded by that rude response. He didn't even wait for me to finish talking before he walked out on me.

Flashback 48 hrs ago:

I stood there, heart pounding like a drum, staring at the fancy entrance of this mansion that looked like it belonged in a fairytale. Who would've thought Mia Turner, a struggling artist, would end up here? I fidgeted with my bag strap, clutching onto my paintings like they were life rats in an ocean of elegance.

I took a deep breath, well, several deep breaths, and finally stepped onto that marble pathway. I made an effort to behave as though I did this every day even though my sneakers looked out of place on the reflective surface. I was split internally between a sense of joy and anxiety, "What on earth am I doing here?"

The inside hall resembled something from a dream. Art hung on the walls like stars in a night sky, and people floated around in fancy dresses, all elegance and grace. And then there was me, awkwardly standing there with my not-so-fancy dress and a weird feeling like I had just walked into the wrong party.

My heart did a little leap when I spotted my paintings in the corner. They looked good. Even though I was aware of their quality, it was nevertheless strange to see them in this posh location. I couldn't help but crack a silly grin.

"Mia Turner, isn't it?" a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to find this older gentleman with a warm smile coming my way.

Suddenly he extended his hand like a prince, and I shook it, hoping not to seem like a wet sponge.

"Yeap, that's me," I replied, probably slightly too happily for the occasion.

"Lawrence Knighton," he said like I should know that name. "I'm thrilled to finally meet the brilliant artist behind these stunning pieces."

"Thank you," I whispered, somewhat uneasy. "I mean, thank you very much." "I'm simply... I'm delighted to be here, this is a nice Charity Art event you've thrown."

Lawrence chuckled like I had just cracked some inside joke. No need to be nervous, "Isabella." Your work is truly captivating. Your paintings communicate volumes to the viewer, "as art tends to do."

Okay, now, "I'm blushing" - sorry, I appreciate that. I mean, really, thanks. "It's just... wow."

You know what, I would love for you to come to do a painting for me at my house, let's say in two days if that's okay with you?

"I nearly choked at the thought" W-what? "Yeah, yes, sure I will be available. Jumping at the thought that the Almighty Lawrence Knighton is inviting me to his house to paint for him.

He handed me his card and left, "So that's a deal, right?"

Walking towards his guests.

"As I snapped back to the present, the memories of how I am here settled in my mind like dust after a whirlwind. I noticed Mr. Knighton approaching, making sure to check on the painting's progress. As he neared, he caught sight of me and his eyes lit up with recognition."

"Mia, how's the painting coming along?" Mr. Knighton asked with genuine interest.

I tried to keep my cool by smiling. "Thank you. It's going well." Working on it is fun for me.

Then, turning quietly, he faced the rude young man I saw earlier, who was standing just behind him, his eyes dancing with expectations. He pointed to the beautiful piece of art in front of them and said –

"Lorenzo, I want you to meet the extremely gifted artist I was telling you about, Mia Turner, Mia meet my son."

I had no idea how Lorenzo would respond, based on our last interaction. He mumbled, "Hmm, another artist claiming to be talented, I presume?" while casting a contemptuous glare my way.

I felt more upset due to his arrogant words. He didn't seem to be interested in me, my life, or my job. Despite his father's attempt at a warm introduction, Lorenzo seemed determined to maintain his rude demeanor.

"I sighed slowly, careful not to lose my calm" as Mr. Knighton gave his son an expression of dissatisfaction. I chose to let it go nonetheless since I knew that some people would be difficult to satisfy.

I had a goal in mind before I came, and I wasn't going to let one sour apple spoil my chance.

"People can think whatever they want," I shrugged, saying to him, "I'm just glad I got to show off my artwork here, in my opinion."

Isabella's skills are, in fact, brilliant. I am certain that her work will be acknowledged globally. Mr. Knighton said, reprimanding his son in the process.

As Mr. Knighton's words hung in the air, Lorenzo seemed taken aback by his father's unwavering support. His skepticism wavered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. Could it be that my determination was starting to chip away at his stubborn façade?

Lorenzo's emerald eyes bore into mine, his gaze intense and searching. "Show me," he finally uttered, his voice tinged with a hint of genuine interest, surprising both his father and me.

He picked up the canvas slowly and slammed it on the floor.

I was dumbfounded as I watched him disappear into the crowd, his emerald, dark and mysterious eyes still etched in my memory, I couldn't help but wonder who this silly man is

Little did I know that a life of hell had only just begun for me...