Chapter 8

Violet arrived early the next morning, eager to prove herself. The studio space was quiet, the air filled with the faint scent of fresh paint and paper. She set her bag down and pulled out her sketchbook, determined to refine her designs before the team arrived.

The large floor-to-ceiling windows let in the soft morning light, casting a golden glow on the room. As she focused on her sketches, she became lost in the flow of lines and shades. For the first time in a while, she wasn't overthinking. She was simply creating.

"Your work is better when you don't overanalyze."

The unexpected voice startled her, making her pencil slip. She turned to find Ethan standing near the entrance, observing her with that same unreadable expression. How does he always appear out of nowhere?

Violet quickly straightened. "I—I was just adjusting a few details."

"Details are important. But the best art isn't calculated. It's felt," Ethan stepped forward, his gaze briefly flickering over her sketches. 

Violet swallowed, unsure how to respond. Before she could find the words, he nodded toward the meeting room. "The team will be here soon."

And just like that, he walked away.

The meeting was intense. Ethan, as usual, was direct and to the point, his critiques sharp but never unfair. Violet presented her refined sketches, her heart hammering in anticipation of his reaction.

He didn't say much, only gave a slow nod. "Better."

That was it. No elaborate feedback, no encouragement—just better. But Violet knew that, coming from Ethan Sinclair, it meant something. It meant she was improving, and that was enough to make her chest swell with pride.

Throughout the day, Ethan continued to push her, challenging her ideas and forcing her to step outside her comfort zone. It was frustrating, but she could tell he was paying attention. He wasn't just being difficult—he was testing her, and in a strange way, she liked the challenge.

Later that afternoon, Violet was organizing some materials in the storage area when she miscalculated a step. A tall stack of canvases wobbled dangerously. She let out a startled gasp just as a firm hand reached out, steadying the stack with ease.

Her breath caught. Ethan.

His other hand rested briefly on her shoulder, grounding her. For a moment, neither of them moved. His gaze, dark and unreadable, lingered on hers. The air between them shifted, tense and charged.

"You should be more careful," he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

"And you should stop appearing out of nowhere," Violet's heart pounded. 

The corner of his lips twitched—so subtle she almost missed it. Then, without another word, he released the stack and stepped back, his presence leaving the air noticeably colder.

Violet exhaled heavily as he walked away. What was that?

After work, Violet met up with Kathy and Liam at their favorite café. She stirred her drink absentmindedly as she recounted her day, carefully avoiding certain… moments.

"So, basically, your boss is a cold, demanding workaholic," Liam said, smirking. "Sounds like someone has a crush."

"Excuse me? Absolutely not," Violet nearly choked on her drink. 

"You're talking about him an awful lot," Kathy laughed. 

"Because he's impossible to work with!" Violet protested, but even she wasn't convinced.

She shook off the thought, focusing instead on their conversation.

Later, as she sat alone in her apartment, her fingers absentmindedly sketched the sharp lines of a coat, the intense depth of a familiar pair of eyes.

She stared at the sketch in horror. Oh no.

Meanwhile, Ethan sat in a high-end restaurant, barely listening to the investors discussing financial projections. His mind was elsewhere.

He had worked with many artists before, but none like Violet Harrington. She was unpredictable, passionate, and completely unlike the people he was used to dealing with. She didn't shrink under pressure. She pushed back.

He exhaled, loosening his tie as he returned to his penthouse. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey, he flipped through the project files absentmindedly. When he reached her name, he paused. His fingers hovered over the page for a moment longer than necessary before he set it aside.

He refused to let himself think about the way her eyes had looked up at him earlier, wide and full of defiance. He had no time for distractions.

But as he stood by the window, staring at the city lights, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that Violet Harrington was going to be a problem.

A problem he wasn't sure he wanted to solve.