Claire’s POV

Two days later

I stand by the door with my small box packed and ready. Mom…my sweet mom pours two cups of coffee and hands me one. Little bits of fresh bread and a strong coffee aroma fill the kitchen.

“You’re really leaving today huh? You didn’t even spend a week baby,” she says. “Yeah, Mom. I have to get back to Ashford. The art event is coming up and Damian’s invitation feels like a door I can’t ignore.”

She looks at my face carefully. “I know that world pulls you hard. But vow not to become lost while in pursuit of it.”

I sigh while holding my cup tightly. “I’m scared Mom. I love Ethan but this chance… It is exactly what I dreamt of. I do not want to hurt him again.”

“Sometimes the hardest choices are the ones that make us grow. Just remember love isn’t a weakness. It’s your anchor.” She touches my hand and squeezes it.

“I wish I had your strength,” I say and nod.

“You have it. You’re just learning how to use it. No matter what happens you’ll always have a home here,” she replies.

I take a deep breath feeling the weight of the moment. “Thank you, Mom. For everything.”

She smiles. “Now go prove to them what you are made of. But don’t forget who you are.”

I hug her tightly then pick up my box and head out. At this point, the morning sun casts long shadows behind me. My ride is already waiting. I will be in Ashford in only a few hours.

Turning my head, I see Mom over the porch as the car drives away. With a soft wave, her hand moves as though she is saying both goodbye and a silent hope that I would come back well.

I hold Damian’s card tightly. I can still hear Ethan pleading with me at the hometown diner yet my ambition pushes me toward Ashford City’s glittering lights.

The driver utters not a single word till we reach my apartment in Ashford city. I have never experienced that kind of quiet 3 hours in my entire life. But here I am, back at the apartment I rented.

We drop my small box at my apartment and my mute driver surprisingly agrees to take me to the Avant-Garde Gallery. I simply tell the driver to wait for me while I change and do a little bit of makeup. Girl stuff.

30 minutes later.

The driver honks outside. I open the door and step out. It was already 3:15 pm.

He shakes his head with a weird smile. “You know that waiting thirty minutes in this city is not exactly my idea of a quick break?”

I smile and push a strand of hair back. “I am sorry; had to do some girl stuff.”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. Only just don’t make a habit of it. Still headed to the gallery right?”

“YES!” I reply but this time with a lot of clarity. I want to meet Damian.

So, we drive through crowded streets to reach the avant-garde gallery where Damian waits.

When we arrive, my simple dress feels wrong for this world of wealth but I am not bothered.

The driver drops a message that pushes my drive even further. “People don’t just get invited to The Art. Good luck in there.”

“Thanks,” I reply nodding and feel both anxious and excited.

I step inside anyway.

The long shadows of the lights are all over the marble floor of the gallery. Bold paintings hang on polished walls and their colours scream passion. Guests in sharp suits sip wine from fancy glasses yet the air carries a cold edge. I look around and see Damian standing in front of a huge canvas. He is definitely in his 50s, I tell myself

“Claire you are here,” Damian says and walks toward me with confidence. His tailored suit catches the light, and his cedar scent hits me at the same time. I stay quiet and put stray hair behind my ear because his presence makes my heart race.

“This place shows who I am,” he says and gestures to the art.

I follow him in awe. A painting of a stormy sea stops me and its waves seem to roll.

“This one speaks to me,” Damian says and his hand brushes mine lightly. My fingers shake but I stay still and let the moment stay.

A young lady appears suddenly from the crowd and her eyes meet mine. “You do not belong in our world,” she says sharply and her voice cuts through the gallery’s hum.

Her hostility feels so personal but I have never met her before now. She stands tall and her sleek dress matches her cold beauty.

Tension thickens around us. I want to speak yet fell stuck on words.

“Elise stop,” Damian says firmly and his hand grazes my arm. I feel his warmth but Elise’s stare burns into me.

“Dad! She is an outsider,” Elise says and steps closer. Her words hurt me but Damian’s presence helps me.

“Claire is my guest,” he says and his voice softens for me.

There is a heavy silence as Elise glares. Guests nearby whisper but Damian leads me to another painting.

“Ignore her. She is my daughter. You know you girls can get protective at times. I divorced her mom 4 years ago. It's a lot for her,” he says and his breath brushes my ear.

My heart begins beating faster and I just shake my head regardless of my doubts.

A Canvas showing an image of a single figure in an urban setting attracts my attention.

“This feels like me,” I say quietly and my fingers trace the frame. Damian’s eyes are on mine and hold a spark I cannot name.

Curiosity pushes me to ask more. “Why did you invite me here?” I say and my voice wavers.

He smiles. “You have fire, Claire,” he says and leans closer.

Elise watches from across the room with her arms crossed tightly. I turn back to Damian and ignore the warning in Elise’s eyes.

“What does fire mean to you?” I ask and my hands adjust my black dress.

“Fire builds empires,” Damian says and his voice is low. His words light something dangerous inside me. I want to step back but my ambition holds me in place.

Moments pass and the gallery buzzes with voices. Another man named Marcus comes out nodding respectfully.

“Mr Ashford, this collection is stunning,” he says and adjusts his glasses. I am uncomfortable and out of place but his... Damian's smile holds me down.

“Marcus, meet Claire,” Damian says and gestures toward me. I shake Marcus’s hand and feel my palms sweat.

“She is new to this world,” Damian says. Marcus nods and moves on but I feel exposed.

Guests start to reduce and the gallery becomes quieter. I stand by the stormy sea painting again.

“I want to see you again,” Damian says and his hand stays on mine. My heart skips but I hear Ethan begging in my mind. Ethan is a lover boy but I am sure he won’t come back.

“I am not sure. You spoke about working for you,” I say and my fingers brush the painting’s edge. His smile stays steady and draws me in.

“Yes. I want you to work in my real estate firm and let’s see how it goes. Claire, take this chance,” Damian says and his voice is warm.

“With pleasure sir. I do not mind starting as soon as possible.” I nod and my decision feels like stepping off a cliff.

“Just call me Damian. Okay?” he replies.

“I will text you with details. You know how office ethics can be.” Damian adds.

Damian asks for my phone number which I type into his smart phone. Across the hall, Marcus is visibly surprised that I could get that close to Damian but it does not matter to me. My eyes are on my goals.

It is already nightfall in Ashford City as I step out of the gallery. Damian asks one of his drivers to drop me off at my place. This shocks me.

“Could Damian want more? Why is he this nice?” I ask myself. At this point, Elise’s warning rings and my mom's advice rings loud in my ears. I walk to the car and ask myself why these decisions are tough to make but no answer comes. Adulthood I guess.

We drive back to my apartment. It seems that I will be staying longer than I planned. When I get home I see a frame of my photo with Ethan resting on my bag yet Damian’s words fill my mind.

Tonight I try to hold my tears as I hold the photo and feel my heart torn in two.

Later in the night. Around 11 PM that day. After a stressful day considering that I had travelled back to Ashford and then to the Gallery. The text I had been waiting for arrives. It is from Damian but not about any job. It is another invitation to a Gala event at his mansion tomorrow.

“You are invited to a Gala event at my home. I hope we can talk more about how you can help our company there. 8 PM tomorrow. More details below. I need your reply to know if you are coming,” the text says.

“YES. I will come. I will be there,” I reply with my mind racing.

I stand before the mirror with my fingers shaking and thinking about the past four days. I ask myself one question: Am I ready for this?