Chapter 3: That Feeling Again

(Rhea's POV)

I knew today was going to be a long one, but I didn’t expect every second of it to feel this strange.

I tried to shake off my thoughts and quickly went to check the paintings on display before the guests started arriving.

Out of all the pieces exhibited tonight, the Moon Painting always pulled at me the most. But for some reason, when I looked at it tonight, something felt... different.

I only glanced at the canvas as I crossed the hall—but in that brief moment, I saw something. A pair of eyes in the painting shimmered, like they were reflecting actual moonlight.

I froze. My steps halted.

Was I hallucinating?

My eyes scanned the room, hoping someone else had seen it too. The guests were still admiring the painting, but their faces looked normal. They were just smiling, nodding, or chatting about colors and techniques. No one looked surprised. No one seemed to notice what I just saw.

My heart thudded unevenly in my chest.

I forced myself to stay calm as I explained the Moon Painting to the next group. My smile stayed, my voice steady, my steps measured. But underneath all of that, I just wanted to close my eyes and take a deep breath. Unfortunately, that would’ve looked weird.

I glanced elsewhere among the arriving guests, and there he was... that national hockey player—Kaelan Viero. He was standing there. Still. Blending into the crowd. But the way he looked at me felt piercing. Not because his stare was sharp. But because—somehow—I felt like he was way too close.

More guests arrived and started forming small discussion circles. I guided them toward other parts of the gallery and answered a few technical questions about the restoration methods used on the displayed artworks. But I couldn’t shake the Moon Painting out of my head—or the man who had stood near it just minutes ago.

Once I finished with the last group, I returned to the Moon Painting with another set of guests.

One middle-aged man from the group stepped closer and asked, “Did the painter have a spiritual background?”

I gave him a polite smile. “I can’t say for sure, Sir. What I do know is that this piece came from the collection of an old noble family. I only restored it. But judging by the brush technique and the materials used, yes... there is a certain energy that feels different about this painting.”

“Exactly. I felt like... there’s something hidden behind it,” his wife whispered.

I didn’t respond to that directly. Because deep down... I felt the same.

I continued explaining the other paintings to them. After they walked off, I returned to the Moon Painting. I needed to take a closer look—just to make sure what I saw earlier wasn’t just a shadow.

This time, I inspected it more carefully. My fingers traced the back corners of the canvas, pretending I was checking for last-minute touch-ups, when really, I was just staring at the image on it. But when I touched the bottom edge of the frame, I felt something thin slip between the wooden layers.

An old piece of paper.

I frowned slightly, then pulled it out slowly. It was yellowed, the edges brittle like it had been left in a damp place for too long. There was no visible writing—at least, not at first. But when I held it under the display light, faint patterns appeared—circles and strange lines in the center. Not writing. More like... engravings resembling symbols or specific images.

My index finger touched the surface. Instantly, a cold sensation shot through my arm. Not just any cold. A chill that pierced right into the bone. It felt... like a jolt of electricity.

I held my breath. “Is this part of the original piece?” I whispered, though I didn’t expect an answer.

But before I could examine it further, footsteps echoed from the hallway. Instinctively, I slipped the paper into my notebook and closed it quickly.

I looked back at the painting.

And right then—again.

The faint pair of eyes etched into the fog of the painting shimmered for a second. Like dew reflecting the dim light of the hall. Just a blink. But it was clear.

My jaw dropped slightly. I looked around again. And once again... no one reacted. No one noticed anything.

Was this some kind of restoration effect? Or...

I turned toward where Kaelan had been standing. And he was still looking at me.

His gaze wasn’t calm anymore. This time, there was confusion. A hint of worry. But also... something like recognition?

My heart sank.

Could it be that... he saw it too? Did he know something about this painting?

I looked away, trying to refocus on my duties. But the questions wouldn’t stop spinning in my head.

***

It was almost 9 p.m. now. The number of guests was thinning. Classical piano music still played softly in the background, mixed with the occasional clink of glasses and quiet conversations.

I thanked the last group of guests, then walked to the drinks table. My hand trembled a little as I poured water. Maybe from exhaustion. Or... maybe something else.

“Rhea, are you okay?” asked Kira, one of the young curators who’d been helping me tonight.

I nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just a bit sore,” I said, gently massaging my shoulder.

“That last group was a little intense, huh? Asking about the painter’s inspiration and all that—even though you clearly said you only restored it.”

I chuckled softly. “Happens all the time. You know how it is—people who love art always want to dig into its backstory before they buy anything.”

“You’re right.”

I went quiet again, just playing with the glass in my hand.

Kira must’ve noticed, because she gently touched my arm. “You look really uneasy, Rhea. Did something happen? Did one of the guests make you uncomfortable?”

I turned to her. I almost told her that I’d seen something strange. That the famous guy standing in front of the painting made my heart race in a way I didn’t understand. That afterward, my thoughts went completely haywire. But of course, I couldn’t say any of that to Kira. I just gave her a small smile instead.

“No, Kira. I’m fine. I just need some fresh air. You know I’m not used to being in crowded places. That’s why I’m drained.”

She nodded understandingly. “Take a break and recharge. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

I nodded and quickly left the main hall, walking down a narrow hallway toward the storage room. It was quieter there. No music, no eyes on me. Just the sound of my own breathing.

I sat down and leaned against the wall, trying to calm the racing beat of my heart. I closed my eyes, but the moment darkness settled in, I found myself thinking about Kaelan’s gaze—and... that scent. The scent that, for some reason, felt so warm yet also gave me goosebumps.

Then, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned instinctively, like I was expecting someone.

And damn it, I was hoping it was Kaelan.

I let out a deep sigh. It was just a gallery staff member passing by with a box of catalogs. And when I realized that, I suddenly felt... disappointed.

Why would I feel disappointed? Kaelan and I don’t even know each other.

“What’s happening to me...?” I whispered, shaking my head a little.

I’ve never believed in anything metaphysical. I believe in art. In time. In restoration through clear, measurable techniques. Those things are real to me.

But tonight... it felt like I was being pulled into something I couldn’t explain.

That painting. That man. That feeling. And... that scent.

***

After I calmed down a bit, I returned to the main hall. Most of the guests had already left. Just a few people lingered near the buffet or took photos to capture the moment.

I looked at the Moon Painting once more. I stood close enough to see the details of the mist spreading across the canvas edges. That scent... came back... faint, but still there.

“Looks like the guests are starting to leave,” I said to Kira and Lina.

The two women, who had been standing near an abstract painting by a famous Spanish artist, came over to me. “Yeah,” Kira replied.

Lina nodded too. “I think Kaelan’s already gone.”

“That hockey player?”

Lina nodded again. “Yep.”

Kira turned to me, as if remembering something. “Oh... right, I almost forgot. He actually came up to me earlier.”

“Did he want to buy a painting?” Lina asked.

Kira shook her head. “Nope. The painting stuff was already handled by his manager. He came to me for something else."

“What kind of something?” Lina asked, confused.

Kira looked back at me—her gaze more intense now. “He asked for your phone number, Rhea.”

“Mine? Why?” I asked, equally confused.

“He said there was something important he wanted to talk to you about—something to do with the painting’s restoration. So... I gave it to him.”

Right after Kira said that, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.

[No Name]

No Name: We’re not done yet, Miss Hale.

—K

I stared at the screen for a long time before even thinking about replying or closing it. My heart had already started pounding again.

I didn’t know who he really was. Or what that message meant.

But for the first time... I wanted to find out.

And that was the scariest part of all.

***