Chapter 8: The Art of Deception

Amara Kingsley stood in the middle of her art studio, arms crossed as she studied the massive canvas before her. The commission piece for Liam Hargrove was almost complete—a masterpiece that would be his downfall.

Thick, bold strokes concealed a hidden message only a trained eye would recognize. It was layered beneath the abstract textures, hidden in the depth of the colors. It was a trap, just like her entire presence in his life.

Claire, her assistant, walked in, holding a clipboard. "The final touches on the exhibit are almost done. This piece is generating a lot of buzz, Amara. Everyone wants to know the inspiration behind it, especially Hargrove himself."

Amara smirked. "Let him wonder."

Claire tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You know, for someone who used to hate attention, you're handling all of this a little too well."

"I've changed," Amara said simply.

Claire sighed. "I just hope you know what you're doing. Liam Hargrove isn't someone you play games with."

Amara turned back to her painting, her grip tightening around the paintbrush. He wasn't someone people played with—until now.

The Dinner Invitation

That afternoon, Amara received the call she had been expecting.

Unknown Number.

She already knew who it was.

Answering, she pressed the phone to her ear. "Mr. Hargrove."

Liam's smooth voice came through the line. "Miss Kingsley, I assume your schedule is free tonight?"

She let the silence stretch just long enough to make him question. "Depends. Why?"

He chuckled, the sound rich and controlled. "I owe you dinner. A small token of appreciation for your work. I assume you won't refuse my invitation?"

Amara twirled a paintbrush between her fingers, considering. "You assume a lot of things, Liam."

"And yet, I'm never wrong," he countered.

She exhaled softly. "Fine. I'll be there."

"I'll send a car."

She ended the call before he could say more, a smirk playing on her lips.

Perfect.

Dressed for Battle

Amara stood before her mirror, her dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Deep emerald green—Liam's favorite color.

She applied a final touch of red lipstick before stepping into her heels. Tonight wasn't just about dinner. Tonight was about pushing him further into her web.

By the time she stepped outside, the sleek black car was already waiting. The driver nodded respectfully as he opened the door.

Settling into the seat, she exhaled, her mind sharpening for what lay ahead.

Dinner With the Devil

Liam's private restaurant was elegant, dimly lit with a breathtaking view of the city skyline. He was already waiting for her, dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit.

As Amara approached, Liam's eyes scanned her, lingering for just a second too long before he pulled out her chair. "You look stunning."

"Flattery won't get you a discount," she quipped, sitting gracefully.

He chuckled, taking his seat across from her. "I wouldn't dare. Your art is worth every penny."

Their wine glasses were filled, the scent of expensive cuisine lingering in the air.

Liam leaned forward slightly, fingers tapping against the glass. "Tell me, Amara, what truly inspires your work?"

Amara sipped her wine, her gaze steady. "Memories. The past shapes us, don't you think?"

Liam's expression didn't change, but she noticed the way his grip on the glass tightened. "The past is only useful if it doesn't hold you back."

She tilted her head, watching him closely. "And does yours?"

There it was—the flicker of something in his gaze. A moment of unreadable tension before he smiled. "Not anymore."

Liar.

The conversation shifted, but Amara noted everything. The way he studied her, the way he tested her responses. Liam was trying to figure her out.

Good. Let him chase a shadow.

A Night of Power Plays

After dinner, Liam escorted her to the balcony, the cool night air brushing against her skin.

"You intrigue me, Amara," he admitted, standing beside her. "You're unlike anyone I've worked with before."

She smirked. "Because I don't fawn over you?"

He chuckled. "Something like that."

A beat of silence. Then—

"Why did you accept my commission?"

She turned to him, her gaze unwavering. "Because power is fascinating, and you, Liam Hargrove, are the embodiment of it."

Liam's smirk deepened, but she saw the calculating gleam in his eyes. "And do you fear power?"

Amara stepped closer, her voice dropping. "Only when it belongs to the wrong person."

Their gazes locked, the tension electric. Liam wanted control, but he didn't realize he was already losing it.

Finally, he exhaled, stepping back. "You're dangerous, Amara."

She smiled. "You have no idea."

The Next Move

Back at her studio, Amara closed the door behind her, peeling off her gloves.

Claire, waiting inside, raised an eyebrow. "That was fast. How did it go?"

"Better than expected," Amara murmured, walking toward the hidden compartment in her desk.

She pulled out a folder—evidence she had gathered on Liam's dealings. Shady transactions, backdoor deals, names of people who had mysteriously vanished after crossing him.

Claire frowned. "Amara… why are you looking into him so much?"

Amara closed the folder, meeting Claire's gaze. "Because knowledge is power, and I intend to be the most powerful person in his world."

Claire didn't push, but she watched Amara with concern. "Just be careful."

Amara smiled. "Always."

As Claire left, Amara sat at her desk, staring at the painting once more.

She was close. So close.

By the time Liam realized the truth, it would be too late.