MasamiSu_Na

Here’s a potential synopsis for your story:

"Milo Winter, an independent artist with a passion for creating, steps into the high-stakes world of Victor Kingsley, a ruthless businessman who sees art as just another commodity. When Milo rejects Victor's offer of fame and fortune in exchange for creative control, he finds himself locked in a battle of integrity versus power. As Milo fights to protect his art and his identity, he must navigate the dangerous game of ambition and influence, proving that true artistry cannot be bought or sold. Would they fall apart or end up together..stay tuned."

FATED STROKES

The next morning, Milo arrived at his studio early, ready to dive into his work. The familiar smell of paints and turpentine greeted him as he opened the door, a soothing balm to his restless mind. He sighed, settling in front of his canvas. The unfinished painting of the nine-tailed fox stood before him, an intricate yet haunting piece that demanded his full attention. Milo welcomed the distraction, hoping it would help him bury the whirlwind of emotions that had taken root during his time away.

As he picked up his brushes, his mind wandered momentarily to Victor. A pang of guilt struck him for not returning Victor's texts or calls. But Milo shook it off. He's busy. He probably doesn't even care that I was gone, Milo told himself, though the hollow feeling in his chest suggested otherwise.

Victor arrived at the company later that morning, his jaw set, his movements sharp with irritation. He'd barely slept the night before, the memory of seeing Milo with that stranger still vivid in his mind. The lack of communication from Milo was eating at him, a frustration he didn't fully understand.

Slamming his office door shut, Victor sat behind his desk and checked his phone for the umpteenth time. Still no text. No call. Nothing. He clenched his jaw, throwing the phone onto the desk. He's back, he's in the building, and yet he hasn't come to see me, hasn't even acknowledged me?

Victor ran a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair with a scowl. This isn't like him. He always checks in. Why isn't he—

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, your meeting starts in ten minutes," his assistant informed him. Victor nodded curtly, dismissing her with a wave. He straightened his tie, plastered on a neutral expression, and strode out to the meeting room.

Throughout the day, Victor threw himself into work, holding back his simmering emotions. Meeting after meeting passed, but the gnawing irritation didn't fade. Every time he thought about Milo, his stomach churned. Why didn't he come to see me? Is he avoiding me again?

The thought stung more than Victor cared to admit.

Meanwhile, Milo stayed in his studio, completely absorbed in his work. He hummed softly to himself, layering colors on the fox's fur, adding depth to its ethereal glow. For once, he managed to push Victor out of his thoughts, losing himself in the art.

But Victor, on the other hand, couldn't escape Milo's absence. Every time he walked past the studio, he hesitated, considering stopping by. But pride held him back. Why should I be the one to go to him?

By the end of the day, Victor was seething. Milo hadn't reached out once—not even a casual text. It was unlike him, and the lack of communication felt like a slap to Victor's face.

As he arrived home that evening, Victor's mood was darker than ever. He tossed his jacket onto the couch, poured himself a drink, and paced the room, muttering under his breath.

"Why didn't he come to me? What the hell is going on with him?" Victor grumbled, downing the drink in one go. His chest felt heavy, frustration and confusion swirling inside him. "He's avoiding me. Again."

He ran a hand down his face, collapsing onto the couch with a defeated sigh. The silence of the mansion only amplified the chaos in his head. He hated this feeling—the strange ache that came with Milo's absence.

A Silence Distance