Chapter 3: The Invitation

The next few days passed in a blur of paint-stained hands and restless nights. Amara threw herself into her art, channelling her confusion and curiosity about the mysterious man into her work. She painted furiously, her brushstrokes bold and unrelenting, as if the canvas could somehow hold the answers she was searching for.

By Thursday evening, she was exhausted but satisfied. A new piece was taking shape on her easel a cityscape drenched in neon lights, with a lone figure standing at the edge, staring into the abyss. It was raw and emotional, a reflection of her inner turmoil.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her creative trance. It was Lila.

Lila had texted: Girl, you're not going to believe this. I found him.

Amara's heart skipped a beat. She typed back: What do you mean you found him?

Lila's response came quickly: My friend at the club pulled the security footage. His name is Ethan Cross. And guess what? He's a BIG deal.

Amara's fingers trembled as she replied: What kind of big deal?

Lila's next message made her stomach flip: Real estate mogul. Like, billion-dollar projects, fancy skyscrapers, the whole nine yards. Oh, and he's hosting a gallery opening tomorrow night. You should go.

Amara stared at her phone, her mind racing. Ethan Cross. The name sounded important, almost intimidating. And now he was hosting a gallery opening? It felt like too much of a coincidence.

She hesitated before typing: I don't know, Lila. What if he doesn't even remember me?

Lila's response was immediate: Are you kidding? He gave you a hundred-dollar tip and called it an investment. Trust me, he remembers you. Besides, this could be your chance to network. You've been wanting to break into the art scene, right?

Amara hesitated. Lila was right this could be a huge opportunity. But the thought of walking into a room full of wealthy, influential people made her stomach churn. She wasn't exactly gallery-opening material.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed: Okay, I'll go. But you're coming with me.

Lila's reply was enthusiastic: Obviously. I wouldn't miss this for the world. Wear something fabulous. Meet you at your place at 7 tomorrow.

Amara set her phone down and took a deep breath. This was it. Her chance to step out of the shadows and into the spotlight. But as she looked around her cramped apartment, at the unfinished canvases and the half-empty coffee cups, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was in over her head.

The next evening, Lila arrived at Amara's apartment with a garment bag slung over her shoulder and a determined look on her face.

She unzipped the bag to reveal a sleek black dress. I borrowed this from a friend. It's designer, so don't spill anything on it.

Amara held up the dress, her eyes widening. Lila, this is… way too fancy. I can't wear this.

Lila was firm. Yes, you can. You're going to walk into that gallery like you own the place. Now put it on.

Reluctantly, Amara slipped into the dress, the fabric hugging her curves in all the right places. Lila helped her with her hair and makeup, transforming her from a frazzled artist into a glamorous vision.

When Lila stepped back to admire her handiwork, she grinned. You look amazing. Ethan Cross won't know what hit him.

Amara glanced at herself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her. She looked confident, sophisticated, and completely out of her element.

Let's just get this over with, she said, grabbing her clutch and heading for the door.

The gallery was located in the heart of the city, a sleek, modern building with floor-to-ceiling windows and a line of luxury cars parked out front. Amara's stomach twisted into knots as she and Lila approached the entrance, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses spilling out into the night.

Lila whispered as they stepped inside: Remember, you belong here.

The gallery was packed with people dressed in their finest, sipping champagne and admiring the artwork on display. Amara scanned the room, her eyes landing on a large abstract painting that reminded her of her work.

Lila followed her gaze. That's a Marcus Steele piece. He's one of the hottest artists in the city right now.

Amara nodded, her nerves momentarily forgotten as she took in the vibrant colours and bold strokes. She was so engrossed in the painting that she didn't notice the man approaching her until he was standing right beside her.

His voice was smooth and confident. It's captivating, isn't it?

Amara turned, her breath catching in her throat. It was him. Ethan Cross.

Up close, he was even more striking than she remembered. His tailored suit fit him perfectly, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to see straight through her.

Amara, he said. I was hoping you'd come.

She blinked, surprised that he remembered her name. You were?

He smiled a hint of amusement in his eyes. Of course. I don't make investments lightly.

Before she could respond, he gestured to the painting. What do you think of this piece?

Amara hesitated, then decided to be honest. I love it. The colours, the energy… it's like the artist poured their soul into it.

Ethan nodded, his expression thoughtful. I agree. Art should be raw, and unfiltered. It should make you feel something.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the noise of the gallery faded away. Amara felt like she was standing on the edge of something, teetering between fear and excitement.

I'd love to see your work sometime, Ethan said, breaking the silence.

Amara's heart leaped. You would?

Absolutely. I have a feeling you're exactly the kind of artist this city needs.

Before she could respond, a man in a suit approached Ethan, whispering something in his ear. Ethan's expression darkened, but he quickly masked it with a smile.

Excuse me, he said to Amara. Duty calls. But I'll be in touch.

As he walked away, Amara felt a mix of emotions relief, excitement, and a lingering sense of unease. She turned to Lila, who was grinning like she'd just won the lottery.

Told you, Lila said. This is your moment, Amara. Don't let it slip away.

Amara nodded, her mind racing. This was just the beginning, and she had no idea where it would lead. But one thing was certain: her life would never be the same.