Chapter 4: Cracks Beneath the Surface
The sunlight streaming through Aria's apartment window did little to lift her spirits as she stared at the folder in her lap. The bold, black letters at the top read Blackwell Enterprises Contractual Agreement. Beneath it lay the terms that bound her to Lucas Blackwell, a man who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders—and now, she carried a piece of it too.
Her phone buzzed on the cluttered kitchen table, jolting her from her thoughts. She picked it up to see a message from an unknown number:
Car will pick you up at 8 a.m. sharp. Don't be late.
She rolled her eyes. Of course Lucas would micromanage her schedule, but this wasn't the time to rebel. Not yet, at least.
By 7:50 a.m., Aria stood outside her apartment, clutching her worn leather bag. The sleek black car arrived precisely on time, the same one that had taken her to Blackwell Enterprises the night before.
The driver nodded politely as she climbed in. "Good morning, Ms. Sinclair."
"Morning," she mumbled, her nerves bubbling under the surface.
The ride was smooth but silent, giving her too much time to think. When they arrived at the Blackwell building, she was ushered to a private elevator that took her directly to the art restoration studio.
She stepped out into a room unlike anything she'd ever seen. Bright, natural light flooded the space from massive windows, and the air smelled faintly of turpentine and varnish. Canvases of varying sizes leaned against the walls, and tools she could barely name were neatly arranged on tables.
"Welcome," Lucas's voice echoed from across the room.
She turned to find him standing near the painting he'd assigned her. His tailored suit seemed out of place in the artistic chaos, but his commanding presence made him fit nonetheless.
"You're early," he noted, a faint smirk playing at his lips.
"You said not to be late," Aria replied, tilting her chin slightly.
"Fair enough." He gestured toward a tall, willowy woman with auburn hair tied into a loose bun. "This is Ingrid. She's one of the best restorers in the field. She'll guide you."
Ingrid stepped forward, offering a warm smile. "Nice to meet you, Aria. Lucas has told me about your…unique situation."
Aria flushed, but Ingrid's tone lacked malice.
"Let's start with the basics," Ingrid said, gesturing toward the painting. "This piece is old, as you can see. Your job is to clean the surface without damaging the original work. It's tedious, but it's critical. I'll demonstrate."
Aria watched as Ingrid carefully dipped a small cotton swab into a solution and dabbed it against the corner of the canvas. Years of grime lifted away, revealing brighter colors beneath.
"Now you try," Ingrid said, stepping back.
Aria's fingers trembled as she picked up the swab. She mimicked Ingrid's movements, holding her breath as she touched the canvas. A small section of the painting brightened, and for the first time in hours, Aria felt a flicker of confidence.
"Good," Ingrid said. "You'll need patience, but you'll get there."
Lucas observed from the corner of the room, his arms crossed. "She'll need more than patience," he said.
Aria looked up, meeting his gaze. "I'll get it done. Don't worry."
"See that you do," he replied coolly. "Failure isn't an option."
Aria's jaw tightened, but she returned to her work. As the hours passed, she lost herself in the rhythm of cleaning the canvas. For a moment, the weight of her debt faded, replaced by a quiet satisfaction she hadn't felt in years.
When the day ended, Ingrid clapped her on the shoulder. "Not bad for your first day. You've got potential, Aria."
"Thanks," Aria said, smiling faintly.
Lucas approached as Ingrid left. "You've made a decent start," he admitted, though his tone was far from kind. "But there's still a long way to go."
Aria met his gaze, her exhaustion overshadowed by determination. "I'll finish it. And I'll prove I'm more than just a debt to you."
His expression flickered, just for a moment, with something she couldn't name. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual cold mask.
"We'll see," he said simply. "Same time tomorrow."