A Glimpse of Perfection

Julian Lee couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted—something unspoken but powerful. Lexi's brief smile, the way she had looked at him before disappearing upstairs—it had left him breathless.

He was still trying to process it when Mrs. Jenkins strode up to him, her usual stern expression in place. "Julian, I need you to take some supplies to room seventeen upstairs."

Julian blinked, snapping back to reality. "Room seventeen?"

Mrs. Jenkins nodded impatiently. "Yes. One of our students needs additional materials. Take them up right away."

Upstairs.

Julian's pulse quickened. Could it be her?

Without asking any more questions, he hurried downstairs to gather the supplies. As he climbed back up, he couldn't help but wonder who was inside that room.

When he reached the door to room seventeen, Julian hesitated for a moment, shifting the box of supplies in his arms. But just as he raised a hand to knock, three burly guards stepped in front of him.

"Halt," one of them barked. "Who are you, and what's your business here?"

Julian swallowed hard. He wasn't used to being stopped by security just for delivering art supplies. Holding out the note from Mrs. Jenkins, he said, "I'm Julian Lee, from Kim's Art Supplies. Mrs. Jenkins sent me with these supplies for... whoever is in this room."

The guards exchanged looks, then scrutinized the note. After what felt like an eternity, one of them nodded. "You're clear to enter."

Julian exhaled in relief and stepped inside.

The room was empty.

Julian glanced around, taking in the high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed the space in golden afternoon light. Unlike the bustling studio downstairs, this room felt private, almost sacred.

Then, his gaze landed on something that stopped him in his tracks—a half-finished painting on an easel.

Without thinking, he walked toward it. The strokes were hesitant, uncertain. Whoever had painted this had talent, but they were holding something back, afraid to let go completely.

His fingers itched to fix it.

Before he knew it, Julian had picked up a brush. He dipped it into the paint and began to work, his strokes instinctive, fluid. Time melted away as he lost himself in the canvas, making bold corrections, adding depth, giving life to the piece in a way he knew the artist had wanted to but hadn't dared.

Then—

A soft gasp.

Julian froze, his brush hovering over the canvas. He turned slowly, his heart slamming against his ribs.

Lexi stood in the doorway.

Her eyes were wide with surprise, but something shifted in her expression as she took him in. This time, she really saw him.

Julian Lee wasn't just some errand boy from an art supply store.

He was striking—his features a seamless blend of his Korean and American heritage. His deep brown eyes held an intensity that was impossible to ignore, framed by thick lashes. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell in effortless waves over his forehead. The golden undertones of his skin glowed under the soft light, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline, the high cheekbones that gave him an almost sculpted appearance.

Lexi felt her heart skip a beat.

She had met plenty of attractive people in her world—flawlessly styled, polished, wealthy. But Julian was different. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He was raw. Real.

And it was captivating.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Julian, oblivious to the effect he had on her, turned back to the painting. But now, he could feel it—that charged awareness, the weight of her gaze lingering on him.

When he turned back, their eyes locked.

The air between them grew thick with something unspoken, something electric.

And then—

Lexi took a step forward.

Her eyes never left his as she crossed the room, stopping just inches away. Her presence was magnetic, her confidence both bold and hesitant at the same time.

Julian felt his pulse hammering.

She was close enough that he could see the slight rise and fall of her breath, close enough that if he reached out, his fingers would graze the soft fabric of her dress.

Something was happening between them.

Something that neither of them could ignore.