Chapter 3 Episode Three

By noon, Elijah was pacing the living room, running his hands through his hair. Aria had changed into black jeans and a loose sweater.

When he caught her grabbing her bag, he frowned. "Where are you going?"

"To work."

"Work?" He sounded incredulous. "You're just gonna leave me?"

She met his gaze evenly. "I'm not leaving you. I'm leaving so I can think without you hovering."

He didn't argue, but the look in his eyes said he didn't believe her.

The subway ride to the gallery felt longer than usual. The clatter of tracks, the press of strangers, the stale smell of metal and dust, all blurred. Her mind kept replaying the conversation with Elijah.

By the time she arrived, the gallery was already buzzing with a new rotation of art going up for the weekend crowd. Cassandra was on the phone near the front desk, heels clicking against the hardwood as she paced.

When she spotted Aria, she ended the call with a quick, "We'll talk later," and crossed the room.

"I didn't know you would come in today," Cassandra said.

"I had to get out of the house."

The other woman arched a brow. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

Cassandra didn't press, but her gaze lingered. "Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me."

Aria gave her a tight smile, then slipped into the back room to drop her bag.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

She let it go to voicemail.

Then a text came in. "Tell your brother two o'clock means two o'clock".

She stared at it for a long moment before slipping the phone into her pocket, picking up the tablet and beginning to go through the art pieces available for display.

The gallery was quieter than usual for a Friday afternoon. No music, no hum of conversation, just the faint metallic clang of someone moving display frames in the back. Aria was in the office, scrolling through the invoice system, when she heard her colleague's voice in the front room.

"...yes, she's here. Hold on."

A moment later, her colleague , a petite young woman appeared in the doorway, her lipstick as sharp as her expression. "There's someone here to see you."

"I'm busy."

"You'll want to be un-busy for this one." Her tone carried a hint of amusement, the kind she usually reserved for trouble she secretly enjoyed.

Aria sighed, set the tablet down, and followed her out.

The man was standing near the center of the gallery, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the walls like he was cataloguing the space. He turned at the sound of her heels.

It was him. Teal suit, unblinking eyes, the man from last night.

Only this time, the suit was charcoal. And the stare was sharper.

"Miss Vale," he said, as if he'd been expecting her.

"You're back."

"I am"

She nodded, keeping her voice even. "I don't even know your name."

"Damian Cross." He didn't offer a handshake, just let the name hang there like it explained everything.

It didn't.

"Alright, Mr. Cross," she said, "what can I do for you?"

He glanced toward a nearby painting, one of the smaller ones, cheaper than the one he'd been asking about yesterday. "I was hoping you could tell me why this is worth five thousand dollars."

Aria folded her arms. "You like making people justify their price tags, don't you?"

"I want to make sure my money is not being wasted."

"You could just ask for a discount like a normal person."

"I don't believe in discounts."

Their eyes held for a beat too long before she stepped closer to the painting. "This one's about restraint. Minimal palette, subtle texture work. It's a piece that whispers instead of shouting. Which makes it more interesting when it finally says something."

He studied her instead of the art. "And what do you think it says?"

She gave him the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I guess you'll have to buy the painting to find out."

For the first time, he smiled. "I like you."

"That's nice. You still haven't told me what you want".

"Curiosity," he said, strolling toward another wall, his steps unhurried. "I wanted to see what you're like when you're not selling to someone who's already half-convinced."

"You think Phillip Lansing was half-convinced?"

"I think you had him before he even opened his mouth." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "And I think you're more dangerous than you let people believe."

She blinked once, caught off guard by the choice of words. "Dangerous?"

"Dangerous people always look harmless first. It's their trick."

"Sounds like projection."

His smile deepened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe."

He turned toward a larger piece across the room, pausing in front of it. "Your brother's taste in art is nothing like yours."

Aria froze for half a second, but her voice stayed light. "You know my brother?"

"No. But I make it my business to know things." He brushed invisible lint from his sleeve. "People. Their patterns. Who do they look out for? Who they'd bleed for."

Her heels clicked once as she closed the space between them. "Are you here to buy something, Mr. Cross, or just to play armchair psychologist?"

"Both, eventually." He let the pause hang. "And it's Damian."

She gave him a tight smile. "Mr. Cross works for me."

"Then I'll keep it," he said, still watching her in that way that felt both like a challenge and a warning.

Damian's gaze lingered on the painting for a few seconds longer, but he wasn't looking at it anymore. His eyes shifted back to Aria.

"Cassandra here?"

Aria nodded toward the back hallway. "Her office. But she's..."

He was already walking. Smooth, deliberate steps, like he owned the floor he was walking on.

The door to Cassandra's office clicked shut behind him, and that was it. No lingering glance over the shoulder. No explanation.

She turned and walked away.