Chapter 3 Alexa

The morning after the exhibition, Lily awoke with a sinking feeling in her chest as she strutted across her room to her small studio, and sat on the floor surrounded by her unfinished sketches. She held her coffee cup tightly, staring at Lost Horizons, now tucked safely against the wall as the events of the night before replayed in her mind like a bad dream, the accusation, the whispers, and Jake's insistence that he wanted to help her. She had barely slept, and the weight of the mysterious man's claim hung over her like a storm cloud.

"Good morning, superstar!" Alexa burst in, holding a brown bag of pastries in one hand and her own coffee in the other. She set them down on the counter and sat onto a chair. Lily shook her head. "Superstar? Hardly. Yesterday was a disaster."

"Don't say that," Alexa said firmly, unwrapping a croissant and tearing off a piece. "People loved your painting. One cranky old guy doesn't change that."

Lily sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees. "He called me a fraud, Alexa. In front of everyone. And now I'm wondering... what if there's some truth to it? What if my painting really does look like something stolen? How could that even happen?"

Alexa leaned forward, her tone hard. "Lily, listen to me. You are not a fraud. Your art is real, and so are you. Don't let one guy with a loud voice make you doubt yourself."

Before Lily could respond, her phone vibrated on the table. She reached for it and frowned at the unfamiliar number flashing on the screen.

"Are you going to answer that?" Alexa asked, chewing.

"I guess," Lily said hesitantly. She pressed the button and brought the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

Jake McDernaunt had faced boardrooms full of ruthless businessmen, negotiated billion-dollar deals, and built an empire from nothing. He had mastered control of himself, of his company, of his world. But for the first time in years, he felt unsettled.

The exhibition had ended hours ago, yet Lily Collins was still on his mind.

He stood at the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at the city lights. His penthouse was silent, but inside him, something stirred, a restlessness he hadn't felt in a long time.

Lily.

Her name played over and over in his mind like a song stuck on repeat.

She wasn't like the women he usually encountered.

She wasn't dressed in designer labels, wasn't fighting for his attention, wasn't trying to impress anyone.

She had felt real.

And her art...

Jake had seen countless paintings, some technically brilliant, others wildly abstract, but Lost Horizons had been different. It had spoken. Not just to the crowd, not just to collectors, but to him.

It had reached inside him, touched something raw, something he hadn't acknowledged in years.

And then...

The accusation.

The way Lily's face had gone pale, the way her fingers had trembled as whispers spread like wildfire. Jake had wanted to shield her from it. He had never been a man who jumped to defend others. In his world, people stood on their own, or they fell.

But with Lily? He had moved without thinking. And when she had fled to the balcony, he had followed.

Jake closed his eyes, replaying the moment on the balcony.

The way the night air had tousled Lily's curls as she stood against the railing, gripping it like she needed something solid to hold onto. She had looked so fragile, yet there was strength in the way she held herself.

"I didn't mean to cause a scene," she had whispered, voice small, uncertain.

"You didn't," Jake had said, stepping closer. "That man doesn't know what he's talking about."

She had turned to him, her eyes full of doubt.

"But what if he's right?" she had asked, her voice shaking. "What if my painting really does look like something stolen?"

Jake had seen the fear in her eyes, and it had made something in him tighten.

She had no idea how good she was. She had no idea that she was different. "You're not a fraud," he had told her. "I can see it in you." She had searched his face then, like she was trying to believe him but couldn't quite let herself.

And then, Carmela appeared. Jake's jaw clenched at the memory of his ex's sharp voice cutting through the moment.

"You shouldn't be out here," Carmela had said, her arms crossed, eyes full of calculated judgment.

She had been watching, of course she had, and she had known exactly what she was doing when she had turned to Lily and said: "people like you don't belong to our world."

Jake had seen the flicker of doubt in Lily's eyes after that. Carmela's words had planted something there.

And now, hours later, as he stood alone in his penthouse, he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to fix it.

He needed to call her, he never did this, women called him, women chased him. But tonight, he was the one picking up the phone.

Jake exhaled and pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen before he finally pressed call.

The line rang.

Once.

Twice.

Then "Hello?" Lily's voice was soft, hesitant.

Jake realized then just how much he had wanted to hear it. "Lily, it's Jake."

There was a pause.

"Oh," she said, sounding surprised. "Hi."

He could tell she wasn't expecting his call. That made two of them.

"I just wanted to check on you," he said, keeping his voice even. "I know last night wasn't easy."

Another pause. Then, a small sigh.

"No, it wasn't," she admitted. "I haven't stopped thinking about it." Jake felt something shift inside him. She wasn't pretending, she wasn't brushing it off. She was honest.

"That's why I'm calling," he said. "I'd like to help you figure this out." "Jake, I don't know..." she trailed off. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

He heard the hesitation, the doubt, the fear. He had felt those things before.