Chapter 2: The Offer
Valeria sat at the small kitchen table, staring at Adrian Sinclair's business card as if it might suddenly burst into flames.
Sinclair Enterprises.
A name that carried weight. A name she had only heard in passing—whispers among struggling artists, envious gallery owners, and collectors who spoke of wealth and influence beyond imagination.
But why her?
Her gaze drifted to the stack of overdue medical bills on the counter. Ten thousand dollars. That kind of money could buy her mother's medication for months, pay off rent, and even allow her to breathe—just for a while—without the weight of financial suffocation pressing against her chest.
She traced her thumb over the embossed letters on the business card, her mind spinning.
Adrian Sinclair.
The man had walked into her life like an unfinished brushstroke—sudden, unexpected, and now impossible to ignore.
With a steadying breath, she reached for her phone and dialed the number.
It barely rang before a crisp voice answered. "Adrian Sinclair."
Val swallowed. "It's Valeria. Valeria Hart."
A pause. Then, "You've made a decision."
"More like I have questions," she said, gripping the phone tighter.
Adrian chuckled, low and composed. "I expected as much. Would you prefer to meet in person?"
She glanced at her mother, who was dozing lightly on the couch. The soft rise and fall of Eleanor's breathing reassured her, but there was no telling how much longer her strength would hold.
"Yeah," Valeria said, steeling herself. "Let's meet."
---
The café Adrian had chosen was the kind of place Valeria had only seen in movies—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows and servers dressed in crisp uniforms. The soft murmur of low conversation hummed in the background, interrupted only by the quiet clink of fine china against marble tabletops.
She felt out of place in her worn jeans and paint-streaked sweater. Her hands—stained with the remnants of last night's work—contrasted starkly against the polished elegance of the space. But Adrian, seated at a corner booth, didn't seem to care.
He stood when she approached, offering a polite nod. "Miss Hart."
"Just Valeria," she muttered, sliding into the seat across from him.
A waiter appeared almost instantly, setting down a menu. She ignored it, folding her hands on the table instead. "Alright, let's talk. What exactly do you want me to paint?"
Adrian leaned back, studying her with the same quiet intensity as before. His presence was composed—deliberate, measured—but something in his gaze made her feel like she was being analyzed, like he was deciding whether she was worth his time.
"It's for my brother," he said finally.
She hadn't expected that.
"He passed away a year ago," Adrian continued, his voice carefully controlled, though something unreadable flickered beneath the surface. "I want something… real. Not just a portrait, but a piece that feels alive."
Valeria frowned. "That's a tall order."
"I know." His blue eyes darkened. "That's why I came to you."
She hesitated. "You could have hired anyone—someone with a big name, a gallery reputation. Why me?"
Adrian tilted his head slightly. "Because your work has soul."
The words struck something deep inside her.
No one had ever put it like that before.
She exhaled. "Okay. But if I'm going to do this, I'll need details—photos, memories, anything that tells me who he was."
Adrian slid a sleek black folder across the table. "It's all in there."
She hesitated before opening it. The first photo made her chest tighten—a young man, maybe mid-twenties, with a broad smile and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Unlike Adrian, who carried himself with a quiet, restrained confidence, his brother looked like the kind of person who lit up every room he entered.
"His name was Oliver," Adrian said softly. "He was the best person I knew."
Valeria looked up. There was something raw in his expression—something vulnerable, despite his polished exterior.
She closed the folder. "Alright," she said. "I'll do it."
Adrian nodded, as if he had never doubted her answer. "Good. I'll have the first half of the payment sent to you by the end of the day."
She nearly choked. "That fast?"
A small smirk tugged at his lips. "You'll find that I don't waste time, Valeria."
Her heart pounded. This was real. This was happening.
And somehow, she had the feeling that working with Adrian Sinclair was about to change everything.