8

8

~Velma’s POV

I narrowed my eyes, unsure if I should trust him or be furious. “And you expect me to just… go along with this?” My voice trembled slightly, a mix of disbelief and irritation. I felt exposed, like I was being forced into something I couldn’t possibly control.

“What if they want us to get married as soon as possible? What will you do then?”

“That cannot happen,” He said immediately, shaking his head.

My heart thudded against my ribs. I had no intention of being trapped in this charade beyond tonight, no matter what.

He shrugged, entirely calm and unbothered, like my objections were minor inconveniences. “I’m asking, not demanding.”

I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension in my shoulders, hesitating. My mind raced through every possible outcome, and none of them looked good. I had no plan, no way to navigate this city alone. No friends, no family I could call on. If I refused, I’d be stranded, completely at the mercy of a world I barely understood. My chest tightened, panic blinking at the edges of my mind, but beneath it was a small, stubborn spark of curiosity. I’d always loved and hid behind art, always admired galleries, exhibitions, and the people who ran them. This… this could be my only way to step into that world, to see it up close, even for just one night.

I hesitated longer, weighing the bitter practicality of my situation against the strange pull of opportunity. My fingers clenched in my lap, nails digging into my palms as if grounding myself.

Finally, I muttered, almost reluctantly, “Fine. I’ll do it.” The words tasted bitter but practical.

Theron’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Thank you, Velma. That’s… smart.”

He gave a subtle hand signal, and almost immediately, the driver returned, carrying a thick, weighty file. The leather cover shone under the overhead lights, sleek and precise, and the driver placed it carefully in front of us, bowing once before stepping back. Theron took the file in his long fingers, turning it over in his hands as he inspected it briefly, then slid it across the table toward me.

“This is everything you need to know about tonight,” he said quietly, his eyes meeting mine with a calm, deliberate intensity. “About the event, about me, about what I’ve arranged… and about you.”

I frowned. “About me?” My voice was cautious.

He nodded once, slow and certain. “Yes. I’ve packaged information about you carefully, so everything appears real to my parents. Your background, your education, and even small details that will make the story believable. It’s all here.”

I opened the cover slowly, flipping through the pages. There were notes about him, about his family, even about the city, maps, descriptions, details I didn’t know if I could keep straight. And then, carefully written dossiers about me. Details about me that didn’t exist. Every word felt like a blueprint for a life I wasn’t living, a role I was being forced to play perfectly.

I swallowed hard, the room suddenly feeling too small, too quiet, too charged. “When… when does this event start?” I asked, my voice tight with anxiety.

Theron glanced at his watch, the sharp click of his movements filling the silence. “Within two hours,” he said.

I exhaled shakily, closing the file with a soft snap. “Two hours?” I whispered to myself. “I can’t possibly learn all of this in two hours.”

He leaned forward, dark eyes steady, voice calm but firm. “You don’t need to memorise everything. Just… follow my lead, observe, and trust me tonight. That’s all I ask.”

“I honestly have no idea if I can do this.”

I opened the book again, flipping through pages, trying to grab some of the notes and details that Theron had painstakingly put together. My fingers hovered over descriptions, my mind racing to remember anything, even a fragment.

“Velma, come on,” Theron said softly, taking my hand. “It’s time.”

I nodded, trying to steady myself, closed the book, and followed him. The drive was quiet. When we arrived, he led me inside, past the bustling crowd and into a beautifully decorated hall. He introduced me to his parents, and I was surprised. They didn’t grill me with questions. They didn’t probe or test me. They smiled warmly, welcomed me into their space, and treated me like someone they had known forever. My heart eased a little.

Then the art auction began. This was my world. I found myself moving closer to the pieces, studying them, my eyes scanning every stroke, every shade, every detail. Theron noticed immediately. “Velma… what are you doing?” he whispered.

“I’m analysing them,” I said softly, pointing out textures, styles, the emotion behind the brushwork. “See this? This artist was influenced by… and this one’s composition reflects…”

His eyes widened, stunned, as I continued, explaining techniques, histories, and hidden meanings in each piece. I could feel him watching me, impressed, maybe even a little shocked that the quiet woman beside him had such depth and insight.

Then, another piece was brought up for auction. My eyes scanned every detail, the way the light and shadow moved across the canvas, the tiny strokes that only someone who understood art deeply could notice.

“I once drew something very similar,” I murmured, my voice low, almost a whisper, though I wasn’t sure if anyone even heard me over the murmur of the crowd.

“It was years ago. I tried to capture the same feeling, the same play of colours, but from my own view. Back then, it was just a sketch, a small thing hidden in my notebook, but the feeling stayed with me. The way the painter captured it… It reminds me of that moment, that emotion.”

Theron, standing beside me, tilted his head slowly, his eyes wide and fixed on my face. “Wait… what do you mean? Can you explain to me,” he said softly, but his voice had that edge of disbelief that made my chest tighten.

I took a careful breath and described it, pointing subtly with my finger to sections of the painting from where I stood, tracing lines with my words, explaining the subtle shades, the hidden textures, the way the emotion felt in my bones. Theron’s hand shook slightly as he pulled out his phone, scrolling through images, until he found the painting in question and held it up to me.

I froze for a moment, blinking against the bright lights of the gallery, the murmuring of the crowd fading into nothing. Then I let a small, almost shy smile cross my lips. “Yes… That’s the one. That’s what I drew.”

Theron’s eyes widened even more, his jaw tightening, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing or hearing. “You… you are the legendary V?” His voice was almost a whisper, as if saying it louder would shatter the fragile air around us.