Chapter 3: A Game of Masks

Early morning sunlight filtered through the lace curtains of Sophie's small studio apartment, casting gentle shadowy patterns on the cluttered table where brushes, paint tubes, and half-finished canvases fought for space. She sat cross-legged on her couch, sipping lukewarm coffee while Clara, her best friend and co-conspirator, paced in front of her with the energy of a woman on a mission.

"I can't believe you met Ethan Hayes," Clara said for the third time, her arms waving like a crazy person. "And not only did you meet him, but you talked to him! For hours!"

Sophie set her mug down, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Keep your voice down, Clara. My neighbors don't need to know about my covert mission."

Clara rolled her eyes. "Your neighbors are probably at work, like normal people. Anyway, spill. What's he like? Is he as devilishly handsome as they say?"

Sophie hesitated, memories of the previous night flashing through her mind. "He's different. Not what I expected. He was polite, even kind. But I can't let myself be distracted by that.

Clara plopped onto the couch beside her, pulling a pillow into her lap. "Sophie, you do realize you're playing with fire, right? This is Ethan Hayes we're talking about. Billionaire. Corporate shark. One wrong move, and he'll eat you alive.

Sophie sighed and leaned back against the cushions. "I know. But this is the only way. If I can get close enough to him, I can figure out what really happened to my dad's company. He's the key, Clara."

Clara's expression softened. "I get it, Soph. I do. But just be careful, okay? Don't let him get under your skin.

Sophie forced a smile, trying to block out the memory of Ethan's piercing blue eyes and how his voice lingered in her mind long after she left the gala.

Sophie Clarke was up to her elbows in paint the moment the email came through. Her laptop, precariously perched on the corner of her cluttered desk, dinged with a notification. She glanced over but didn't move, her brush poised midair as she studied the canvas in front of her. The piece-a swirling abstraction of bold reds and icy blues-was almost complete. Almost.

Her phone buzzed next, rattling against a jar of paintbrushes. She sighed, setting the brush down and wiping her hands on her already-stained apron before grabbing the phone.

Subject: Commission Inquiry

The name on it made her pause. Ethan Hayes. She blinked, and that name pulled something in her brain. A second later, it hit: Ethan Hayes, the billionaire CEO of Hayes Enterprises-he was a myth in the art world, not because he himself was an artist but because of his patronage. Word had it he had one of the most exquisite private collections in the country, the rival of any public museum.

Curious, Sophie opened the email.

Dear Ms. Clarke,

I recently saw your work at the Ashford Gallery and was impressed by your different perspective. Currently, I am in search of an original for my collection and feel that your talent is in line with what I am looking for. If you're interested, I'd like to discuss a potential commission as I promised you earlier on. And don't forget to come along with a few samples of your art pieces. Please let me know your availability.

Best regards,

Ethan Hayes

Sophie read the email twice and then a third time, her heart suddenly racing. It had been only last month that she could finally get a small exhibit at Ashford Gallery; now Ethan Hayes wanted to commission her? It was almost too good to be true.

"Clara!" Sophie called, her fingers already flying across the keyboard.

Her friend Clara poked her head into the studio, holding a slice of pizza. "What's up?

Do you remember that billionaire art collector I told you about? Ethan Hayes?" 

Clara frowned, then nodded. "The one you visited recently, and the one who bought that ridiculous Monet for, like, a gazillion dollars? It looks like your cover is doubly paying off."

"Yeah, that's him. He just emailed me. He wants to commission a painting." Sophie hit send and leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen like it might disappear.

Clara stepped inside, chewing thoughtfully. "So he's rich and he has good taste. Lucky you."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "It's not luck. It's timing. This could be huge for me-if he's serious. I could kill two birds with a stone.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Clara asked.

Sophie hesitated. "Because people like him don't usually come looking for artists like me. He could have anyone-big names, established names."

"Maybe he's tired of the big names," Clara said with a shrug. "Maybe he wants something real. And, honestly? You're insanely talented. Stop second-guessing yourself."

Sophie smiled, though doubt still simmered beneath the surface. "We'll see. I just agreed to meet him."

Later that afternoon, Sophie found herself standing outside Hayes Tower, a gleaming skyscraper that seemed to pierce the clouds. She clutched a portfolio of her artwork, her palms damp with sweat. Clara had insisted she use this opportunity to make her artist cover story more convincing, and Sophie knew she couldn't afford to waste the chance.

The lobby had been everything there was to modern-day luxury: marble floors to glass walls and an enormous abstract sculpture right in the middle. Sophie moved toward the receptionist, who was a polished woman with her hair tied in a sleek bun and a professional smile.

"Good afternoon, I am here to see Mr. Hayes," Sophie said in a firm voice, even as her heart raced.

The receptionist smiled without looking at her screen. "Do you have an appointment?

Sophie hesitated. "Not exactly, but he asked to see my work. I'm an artist."

Before the receptionist could respond, a familiar voice interrupted. "Sophie Clarke?"

She turned to see Ethan Hayes striding toward her, his tailored gray suit emphasizing his broad shoulders. He looked just as composed as he had been at the gala, but there was a hint of surprise in his expression.

"Mr. Hayes," Sophie said, forcing a smile.

"I wasn't expecting to see you so soon," Ethan said, his voice warm. "But I'm glad you're here." He turned to the receptionist. "It's okay, Mia. I'll take it from here."

Mia nodded, her smile widening slightly. "Of course, Mr. Hayes."

Ethan gestured for Sophie to follow him, and they stepped into a private elevator. As the doors closed, Sophie's nerves kicked into overdrive.

"I shouldn't have shown up unannounced," she said in haste. "It's just that you seemed quite interested in my work, and I wanted to follow up on that."

Ethan turned slightly toward her; the ghost of a smile tagged at the edge of his mouth. "There's no need to explain. I appreciate initiative. Most wait for an invite, but the ones I end up liking often take action.

She forced herself to relax, reminding herself that this was all part of the plan.

The doors finally opened to show Ethan's office, a very large, open room with floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed an amazing view of the city. Sleekly decorated in shades of gray and white, the room had a huge desk near the window, but on the walls, the main focus for Sophie was bold, abstract art that seemed to scream of Ethan's personality-controlled and also a powerhouse.

"You have an impressive collection," Sophie said, lingering on a striking black-and-red canvas.

"Thank you," he replied, his eyes intently locked on hers. "Art has always been a passion of mine. It's one of the few things that can strip away pretense and reveal truth."

Sophie nodded, her fingers tightening around her portfolio. "That's exactly how I feel."

Ethan nodded toward the seating area near the windows. "Why don't you show me what you've brought?"

Sophie took a deep breath and opened her portfolio, laying out her pieces carefully on the glass coffee table. The collection included landscapes, portraits, and abstract works, each one a testament to her skill and emotional depth.

Ethan watched them in silence, his expression contemplative. "These are incredible," he said finally, his voice low. "You have this rare ability to bring emotion into your work. It's raw, but polished."

Heat rose to Sophie's cheeks from the compliment, as much as the intensity of his gaze. "Thank you," she said softly.

Ethan looked up at her, his blue eyes sharp. "Tell me, Sophie. What motivates you? Why do you create?

It was a question Sophie couldn't help but be thrown by. She had prepared answers to literally dozens of different kinds of questions, but this one felt personal-just about too personal.

"I create because it's the only way I know how to process the world," she said finally. "Life is messy, complicated, and sometimes painful. Art helps me make sense of it."

Ethan nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "I respect that. Too many people are afraid to face the messiness of life."

For a moment, there was silence in the room, the air between them charged. Then Ethan leaned back, breaking the tension. "I'd like to commission a piece," he said.

Sophie blinked. "You would? 

"Yes," Ethan said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Something personal. I'd like to see how you interpret it.

"What kind of piece are you looking for?" Sophie asked, her mind racing.

"Surprise me," Ethan said, his tone enigmatic.

"Your piece at the Ashford Gallery—Fractured Reflection—was remarkable. It's rare for a painting to make me stop and feel something. But yours did."

Sophie felt her cheeks flush. "Thank you. That means a lot."

"I'd like to commission a piece in a similar vein," Ethan said, continuing. "Something that explores duality-conflict and harmony, light and dark. I'm not an artist, so I can't articulate it as well as you can, but I trust your instincts."

Sophie nodded slowly, her mind already racing with ideas. "I can work with that. Do you have a specific size or color palette in mind?"

"Not particularly," Ethan said. "I want it to be yours. Whatever that means to you."

She studied him, searching for any signs of pretense, but his expression was earnest. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his interest than he was letting on.

"I'll need a few weeks," Sophie said. "Possibly a month, depending on the size."

Take all the time you need," Ethan said, pulling out an expensive-looking black cardholder. He slid a business card across the table. "If you have any questions or need anything-materials, inspiration, whatever-don't hesitate to reach out."

Sophie took the card, her fingers brushing his in the transaction. It was nothing, really, but it left her strangely unnerved.

"Thank you," she said and tucked the card into her bag.

Back in her studio, Sophie spread her sketches across the table in search of inspiration. If she was going to pull this off, the painting had to be perfect-not just as a work of art, but as a way to keep Ethan's attention, and thus his trust.

Clara called later that evening, her voice humming with excitement. "Tell me everything. Did he love your work? Did he say anything weird? Is he secretly a robot?"

Sophie couldn't help giggling. "He liked my work, and no, he is not a robot. Clara, there's just something with him. Not exactly what I thought.

Careful, Soph, Clara warned. That's how it starts. First, you think he's not so bad, and next thing you know, you're falling for him.

"That's not going to happen," Sophie said firmly. "I'm here for answers, not romance.

But as she replaced the receiver and stared at her blank canvas, Sophie couldn't shake the memory of Ethan's eyes and how he had looked at her-as if he saw not just her art, but her.

And that was one danger she was not prepared for.