Five Days Later…
Chris stood in front of the glass wall behind his desk, a glass of wine in hand. He stared down at the bustling city below. Cars streamed along the roads, weaving through traffic. Pedestrians filled the sidewalks—some frowning, others laughing, a few whispering and chuckling as they walked by.
He let out a long sigh, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked weary, as if the world's endless motion drained him.
Isa had announced that the paintings people had been buzzing about online weren't the ones to be revealed at the exhibition. What she didn't mention was that one of them—Chris's personal piece—had been leaked without his consent. The internet had erupted with speculation, critique, curiosity, anticipation and wild theories. It brought attention to the upcoming showcase, which should've been a good thing. But for Chris, it was a nightmare.
Chris rubbed his forehead, a deep crease forming between his brows.
Things weren't going well for him. He had poured all his hope into those leaked pieces, and now, he didn't have the slightest idea what to paint. His canvas sat untouched. Each morning he stared at it, brush in hand, until evening fell and he walked away again. The public's demand for Nova's work weighed heavily on him. He couldn't just throw anything out there—not when the name "Nova" meant so much.
That same pressure, the one crushing his chest, was what he passed on to his artists. He'd told them to create something real—something alive and full of emotion. But he, the one demanding greatness, had nothing himself.
Chris gently tapped his fist against the glass. His gaze turned distant.
A knock on the door snapped him from his thoughts. He turned.
Isa entered with a bow and stepped toward his desk.
He sipped his wine, watching her approach, her fingers nervously twined together. His thoughts flickered to her smile in the hospital, but he quickly shoved the memory aside and downed the rest of his drink.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," she said, straightening her collar. "I'm here to make a request."
Chris tilted his head slightly. A request? Interesting.
A moment of silence passed before she cleared her throat.
"I'd like to finish this week's work by Friday. I—I have somewhere to be on Saturday."
He studied her, noticing how tightly her fingers locked together. He gave a small nod. "Fine," he said, turning back to the window. "That place must be important if you're this eager to clear your schedule."
Isa forced a smile. "Yes, sir."
Chris nodded again, barely audible. "Okay." His eyes shut as he exhaled slowly, clearly too tired to speak further. He only moved once he heard the soft click of the door closing.
Chris stepped out to get some fresh air at the balcony beside his office. As he passed Isa's desk, he stopped. Papers, scattered pens, and empty snack wrappers cluttered her workspace. She'd been working hard—too hard—to make up for her earlier mistakes.
He sighed at the sight and pressed his lips together, not entirely pleased by how hard she was pushing herself.
Something white caught his eye.
A small card tied with a red ribbon sat tucked between folders. Chris reached for it and flipped it open.
Silver Crest's 40th Anniversary. All alumni are invited. Saturday, May 18, 2024.
His brows furrowed. So this is where she's going. A smirk tugged at his lips—until his eyes shifted to the note scrawled above the invitation.
You must come with me – Alex.
Chris froze.
Alex?
The card slipped from his fingers and fell back onto the desk. He stared at it, body rigid.
Alex went to Silver Crest? No way.
His fingers pressed into his temples. His head throbbed.
The scent… almond perfume.
His jaw tightened. Alex knew Isa too? Were they… lovers?
Chris's fists tightened. He saw it—Alex's fingers brushing her hair aside, the way she smiled without hesitation. That ease between them. Too easy.
Did Isa love him? Are they dating?
His pulse quickened. His breath came faster. He gripped the edge of her desk, trying to steady his shaking hands.
Get a grip, Chris. Don't be unreasonable.
But then the memory returned—of them beneath the dark night sky in the woods, holding hands. Their lips met in a gentle rhythm, and he could still feel the warmth of her breath lingering on his skin. The image shifted to a girl in a school uniform, singing alone as her slender fingers strummed the guitar. But then—another vision tore through his thoughts: teary red eyes, trembling hands reaching out through a cloud of smoke and flame.
Chris's breath hitched. He shut his eyes tightly, pressing a hand to his chest, as if to calm the thunder rising within him. Slowly, he inhaled, trying to steady the storm inside.
"Boss!"
Chris jerked at the sound of Isa's footsteps approaching fast.
"Are you okay, boss?"
His eyes snapped open. He looked around, confused—like he'd forgotten where he was. What am I doing here?
He quickly pulled his hand away from her desk and cleared his throat, but pain clenched his chest.
When he turned to Isa, her eyes widened. She stepped back instinctively. Chris cursed himself internally. She'd noticed his clenched fists. He tried to loosen them, but when they trembled, he balled them back up and turned away.
He opened his mouth to withdraw the permission he'd granted her earlier—but stopped himself.
"Do… do you need anything?" Her voice was gentle, but it sent another ripple through his nerves.
What is this? Whyam I losing it?
Without a word, Chris stormed back into his office and slammed the door behind him. He leaned against it, shutting his eyes as he fought to calm his ragged breath.
This can't be real.
He let out a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against the door.
I'm not. It doesn't matter what they are to each other… does it?
But even as he told himself that, his thoughts spiralled, restless and wild.
Isa blinked as the door slammed behind him.
What's wrong with him?
She turned to her desk, eyes scanning over it. She thought about the way he'd looked at her—his eyes dark, fists clenched.
She searched her things, rifling through papers and wrappers. Nothing seemed out of place. What had upset him?
Her hand pressed over her chest.
"I hope I didn't mess things up again…" she whispered.
She glanced at the office door.
"But why… why did he seem so upset?"