The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Amelia Dubois's gallery and washed over the paintings on the walls. The energy from last night's exhibit still lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of the successful event that had drawn influential figures from Paris and beyond. Yet as Amelia journeyed through space, a sense of creeping dread started to set in, deflating her triumph.
She stood in front of one of her own favourites, a beautiful depiction of the Paris skyline at dusk, its hues dancing in an elegant tango of oranges and blues. It was a portrait of the city's soul and everything she adored about it. But today it seemed subdued, its beauty overwhelmed by a growing unease.
"Amelia! Pascal called out, his voice echoing in the gallery as he entered, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. "Look what I brought you! A little celebration for your success!"
Amelia faced him, the grin stretching as she accepted the flowers, breathing in the smell of fresh blossoms. "Thank you, Pascal! These are beautiful. You always know how to make me feel appreciated."
"Of course! You deserve it. 'Last night was a good night,' he said, resting against the wall, smug smile. "The guests were raving about your exhibit. Gerard Moreau himself remarked that you could be the next genius of the art world.
Her heart swelled with pride at his words, but a shadow of anxiety remained. "It's just one event, Pascal. We have a long way to go."
He waved her concerns away. "Nonsense! If you can and you want to, then it'll be. I just hope you're ready for what comes next."
"What do you mean? Amelia asked, tilting her head in confusion.
"Once you get noticed, you'll attract attention—good and bad. 'But be ready for the questions, and unsolicited advice,' he said, a grave tone creeping into his voice.
'I know, but I can handle it,' she added, stifling the rising discomfort. "I've been preparing for this moment my whole life."
"Good. 'Only don't let anyone bully you,' he said, eyes fixed. "Now, let's celebrate! Let's go eat at that cafe down the road. My treat!"
Amelia's laughter filled the room, momentarily dispelling her worries. "Sounds perfect! Just let me put these flowers in water first."
In the small kitchen area at the back of the gallery, as she walked there, Amelia saw a pile of mail on the counter. Above the regular stack of bills and ads, an envelope stood out. It was plain white, the handwriting elegant but unfamiliar.
Curiosity piqued, she put the flowers down, picked up the envelope. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it, an uncanny chill up her spine. Inside was a single piece of paper folded neatly. Unfolding it, she began to read.
Amelia Dubois,
Your success has attracted attention—both good and bad. Be cautious. And not everyone who loves your work loves you. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
—A Friend
Her heart thudded, blood turning to ice as the words hit home. 'Like something out of a thriller novel,' she thought, but there she was, in her gallery, the warning bearing down on her like a brick.
"Amelia? You okay? Pascal's voice snapped her out of it, and she hurriedly folded the letter back into its envelope, tucking it out of sight.
"Yeah, just… thinking, she replied, forcing a smile as she turned to him. "I'll be ready in a minute."
He stared at her for a long time, his face furrowed with concern. "You sure? You look a bit pale."
"I'm fine, really. 'A tiny bit hung over from last night, I guess,' she said, putting on a casual voice. "Let me just finish up here."
"Alright, but don't take too long. I'm starving!" Pascal exclaimed, his usual enthusiasm returning.
As soon as he'd left, Amelia's blood thumped as she held the letter in her hands. Who had sent this? And what did they mean by 'not everyone who loves your work is working on your behalf'? The words circled her brain like a gloomy weather report that dogged her every step.
She needed to talk to someone, to share her concerns. But who? Pascal would obviously laugh it off, and she didn't want to upset him. And yet there was something sinister in the note that she couldn't get rid of.
Glancing at the envelope, Amelia decided to let the thoughts go for now, tucking the envelope into her desk drawer, and locking it up for the moment. She followed and together they walked to the café, where the wind did little to alleviate her discomfort.
On the way, Pascal chattily described humorous scenes from the gallery, his giggles contagious. But Amelia's thoughts kept drifting back to the letter. Every cheerful chirp from the birds seemed foreboding, and the lively chatter from passersby felt distant.
By the time they got to the café, its colour could not lift her spirits. They sat at a small table outside, the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting through the air.
Alright, let's drink to you! Pascal offered, holding up his glass of sparkling water. "To many more exhibits and accolades!"
'To many more,' Amelia said, forcing a wan smile, tapping her glass against his.
As they ate light lunch, Pascal continued to explain his plans for the future of the gallery, his zeal infectious. Yet, Amelia found it hard to focus. The letter stalked her thoughts, a premonition of a threat that seemed to be just around the corner.
Later in the afternoon, Amelia suggested they return to the gallery. 'I have some work to do,' she said, trying to distract herself.
"Fine by me. 'Need to give some dealers a ring and find out what new shit I can get in here,' Pascal said, catching up with her.
As they entered the gallery, the familiar sights and sounds welcomed her. The art that surrounded her felt like home, grounding her in the present moment. Taking a deep breath as the atmosphere soothed her.
But just as she began to immerse herself in the organization, her phone buzzed with a message. It was from Olivier.
"Hey! Great job last night. I'd really like to get together and talk about the exhibit and perhaps have dinner. Are you free later?"
Amelia's heart skipped a beat, excitement bubbling within her. But then again, perhaps she will share this strange thing with him and seek his opinion. He seemed grounded and intelligent, someone she could trust.
"Yes, I'd love that! How about 7 PM at that Italian place we talked about? she replied, her fingers dancing over the screen.
"Perfect! I'll see you then."
As she stopped looking at her phone, suspense started to build. She had always felt a connection with Olivier, and now, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore it further.
"Hey, what's with the smile? Pascal asked, noticing the change in her demeanor.
"Olivier wants to meet up tonight. I'm excited to discuss the exhibit with him, she said, her heart racing at the thought of their dinner.
"Nice! 'You two take to each other,' he said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Just be careful, okay? I hope you do not get too distracted by all this fame.
"Don't worry, I can handle it, Amelia replied, rolling her eyes playfully.
The gallery emptied, hour by hour, and Amelia drifted off into reverie. She could not get rid of the sense of disquiet that the letter had aroused in her.
She pulled into the Italian restaurant a couple of hours later, the warm atmosphere enveloping her like a hug. The smell of garlic and fresh herbs simmered the air, her heart beat fast with anticipation.
"Amelia! Olivier stood up to pull out a chair for her and gave her a friendly smile. His presence felt reassuring, and she couldn't help but smile back.
'Thank you for coming,' she said, slumping into her chair.
"Of course! I wouldn't want to miss out on your triumph, he said, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
They lapsed into chat, discussing the exhibition, the artists, their shared love of art. Olivier was romantic and Amelia found herself swept up in his intensity.
'Your gallery is a real gem in this town,' he said, leaning in. 'I can see it being an obsession of contemporary art.
"Thank you! 'I hope so,' she said, her confidence growing.
Yet as the speech went on, the letter found its way back into her mind, shading her euphoria. She hesitated, torn between sharing her concerns with Olivier or enjoying the moment.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, noticing her momentary silence.
'You know, I got this weird letter today,' she admitted, biting her lip. "It warned me to be cautious."
Olivier's expression shifted, concern etching his features. "A letter? What did it say?"
Amelia explained the contents of the note, watching as his brow furrowed deeper. "That's unsettling," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Have you thought about who might have sent it?"
"No. I mean, I have no idea. 'It could be a prank, or somebody trying to scare me,' she said, a coil knotting in her stomach.
"Don't let it get to you. 'You've fought too hard to have your success be tarnished by some nameless note,' he told her, his voice even.
"I know, but it feels… personal. Like someone is watching me, she admitted, her heart racing at the thought.
"Then let's turn the tables. 'We'll look out and not let this ruin your night,' he said, his face easing. "You have every right to celebrate your achievements."
Amelia felt a swell of gratitude for his support. "Thank you, Olivier. That means a lot."
And on, and on, and Amelia felt at ease with Olivier. The way he listened, the way he explained things, the way he cared for her, made her feel secure. But as the evening progressed, the unease of the note persisted in the back of her mind.
After dinner, Olivier pressed her to walk her home. "It's a beautiful night. Let's enjoy it," he said, extending his arm.
Amelia gave a nod, her excitement and fears battling within her as they walked along the cobbled streets of Paris. The city felt alive, illuminated by the glow of streetlamps and the laughter of people enjoying their evening.
'Thank you for a lovely evening,' she said, gazing up at him.
"Thank you for sharing your world with me, he replied, his gaze warm and inviting. "I feel like I've discovered something special."
As they approached her gallery, the tension in her chest began to ease, replaced by a sense of comfort in his presence. Yet, when they reached the entrance, her heart raced as she noticed something unusual.
The door was left ajar, a spark of discomfort flaring inside her. "Did you leave the door open? she asked, glancing at Olivier.
"No. I thought I locked it earlier, she murmured, her instincts kicking in.
Treading carefully, they stepped into the gallery, and Amelia's heart thumped as she surveyed the room. Everything appeared as it should be, but a lingering sense of wrongness permeated the air.
'Perhaps it was the wind,' Olivier said, but with an edge of alarm.
"Maybe," she replied, but her gut told her otherwise.
The deeper they continued, she couldn't help but feel observed, the feeling crawling over her like a cold. Suddenly, her phone buzzed in her pocket, making her jump.
'Only a notification,' she told herself, trying to calm down. But as she pulled it out, she noticed a new message.
"Be careful, Amelia. Someone is watching you."
Her heart sank, dread pooling in her stomach. 'Olivier, I think I have to call the police,' she said, her voice shaking.
"Let's not jump to conclusions. We can investigate a bit first. 'Well, just stick with me,' he said, his voice calm.
Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow in the corners, made Amelia's heart pound as they walked through the gallery. The world felt eerily silent, and the atmosphere was thick with tension.
"Do you have any security cameras? Olivier asked, his brow furrowing in concentration.
'Only a couple,' she said, guiding him to the little control panel. 'They block the front entrance and some places inside.
When she turned it on, they monitored the feed intently, looking for anything amiss. But the video captured only the aftermath of the display, the gallery vacant save for the ghosts of the evening.
Amelia sighed, frustration mingling with anxiety. 'I thought I saw something strange earlier but that might have been just my imagination,' she confessed.
'Let's go and have a peep outside,' Olivier said, very soberly.
They walked out together into the cool night, searching the street for signs of disruption. The peacefulness of the neighborhood felt almost mocking, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions brewing inside Amelia.
'Perhaps it was just a joke,' Olivier said, attempting to lighten the mood. "You've made waves, and not everyone is ready for your success.
"Yeah, but it feels different, Amelia replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't like this."
As they turned back toward the gallery, Olivier reached for her hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "We'll figure it out together," he promised.
A warmth bloomed through Amelia at his touch, a momentary relief from the maelstrom of confusion raging around her. But as they walked through the door of the gallery, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she caught a glimpse of something in her peripheral vision.
A figure stood in the shadows, cloaked in darkness. Panic coursed through her body, as she strained to see the shape.
"Who's there?" she called, her voice trembling.
The figure moved forward, a smile on their face. 'Just a friend dropping in,' they said, with a dripping sarcasm.
Amelia's breath hitched in her throat as she recognised the familiar face. It was the guy from the display ᅳ the strange man who had put her off several nights before.
"What do you want? Olivier demanded, stepping in front of Amelia protectively.
'Oh, just checking how the night went,' the man said, innocently. "Heard it was quite the event."
'Go away,' Amelia said, her heart pounding, fear flooding through her.
"Now, now. 'No need to be aggressive,' the man said, his voice velvety low. "I'm just here to ensure you're well-protected, considering all the attention you're attracting.
"Protected? By you?" Olivier scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "You're not welcome here."
"Is that so? the man replied, amusement flickering in his gaze. 'But you know, I want to keep Amelia in one piece. After all, there are many who would envy her success.
On one hand, the tension hung heavy, and Amelia's heart pounded. She felt trapped, caught between the two men, each representing different sides of her world.
'Get away,' she said, her voice trembling with terror.
"Fine. Just remember, Amelia, I'll always be watching, he said, his smile widening before he slipped back into the shadows.
As he vanished into the night, Amelia felt a wave of relief wash over her, but it was quickly followed by an overwhelming sense of dread.
"Are you okay?" Olivier asked, concern flooding his features.
'I… I guess,' Amelia stuttered, her heart still pounding.
'I'm going to call the police,' he said, digging out his phone.
'I don't want to make this worse,' she said, shaking her head. "What if it's just someone trying to scare me?"
Olivier's expression softened as he regarded her, the warmth of his presence grounding her. "Then we'll find out. You deserve to feel safe in your own gallery."
As he made the call, Amelia took a deep breath, the weight of the night pressing down on her. She had been too busy to let fear take over.
'Tell them everything,' she implored, her heart racing, gripping the table to steady herself.
When Olivier finished the call, he turned to her, determination etched in his features. "They'll send someone over. Meanwhile, let's lock the gallery, and watch for anything out of place.
Amelia assented, feeling a new surge of strength as they pooled their efforts. Their friendship strengthened and bound them together despite the adversity.
While they set about cleaning the gallery, checking locks and making sure everything was in place, Amelia couldn't help feeling that this was only the start.
The mysterious letter, the strange figure, and the warning—each piece fell into place, intertwining her life with danger and intrigue.
And yet, amidst the chaos, there was a spark of excitement that ignited within her. It was her story, and she wasn't going to let it control her.
When the police did turn up, they listened carefully to Amelia's worries, scribbling notes and surveying the gallery. The officers would assure her that they would patrol the neighbourhood more and look for anything out of the ordinary.
As they departed, Amelia breathed a sigh of relief, but also a breath of dread. She glanced at Olivier, who stood beside her, his presence a comforting anchor. 'Thank you for coming,' she said, genuinely.
"Always. 'We'll sort it out together,' he reassured, his eyes fixed and calming.
At that moment, Amelia felt a swell of gratitude for the relationship they were developing. Despite the question mark, she would not be alone in confronting it.
As the evening passed and the gallery calmed Amelia's mind whirred. This was her chance to write her own narrative, to reclaim her power amidst the chaos.
And as she looked at Olivier, she felt a sense of hope. Together, they would navigate the challenges that lay ahead, turning fear into strength and uncertainty into adventure.