༶•┈┈❦Master Pieces And Warning❦┈┈•༶

✦ ❦ ✦ Selena Pov ✦ ❦ ✦

Sunlight poured through the master bedroom windows, warm and golden across the silk sheets. I was buried deep in the cloud-like bed, curls wild, one leg kicked out from under the covers. This mattress was dangerous and too comfortable for a girl who used to wake up to cheap alarm clocks and neighbor dogs barking.

A firm hand shook my shoulder.

"Selena. Wake up."

I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow. "Mmm… five more minutes, please. Just five minutes more. The bed is too good."

Matthew's deep voice came again, a little impatient. "We have an art exhibition event this morning. It's an important event. Get up."

I peeked one eye open, squinting at him. Already dressed — sharp black shirt, tailored pants, hair perfect. He'd probably been up for hours doing whatever billionaires do. I groaned again, dramatic and soft, stretching like a cat. "Ughhh, why so early? Rich people don't sleep or what? Fine… I'm up, I'm up."

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes, my silk pajama top slipping off one shoulder. I felt Matthew's gaze flick over me for a second taking in the curves, the bare shoulder — before he looked away. I smirked to myself.

"Ten AM," he said, already moving into business mode. "We need to show up together. The press will be there."

"Got it," I said, already planning my outfit as I dragged myself to the bathroom. "I'll make it look good."

After a hot shower that woke me up properly, I spent time on my look with precision. Light makeup that looked like no makeup but took thirty minutes. Glowy skin. Sharp lashes. Glossy lips in a neutral tone.

I pulled out a sleek cream-colored jumpsuit and gold accessories. My curls are loose and bouncy, falling past my shoulders. I looked in the mirror and nodded. This was the aesthetic. This was what ten million dollars looked like when you had the confidence to back it up.

Downstairs, the chef had breakfast ready — fresh fruit, avocado toast, strong coffee.

Matthew was already there, checking emails, barely looking up as I sat down. The silence between us wasn't awkward anymore. It was charged. Like we both understood exactly what this was.

I ate slowly, scrolling through my phone. My girls were hyping up my new life based on the wedding photos. *"Girl you really married rich?" "Mrs. Kingland serving looks 💅"*

I posted a teaser of my outfit with the caption: *"Art exhibition day with hubby 🎨✨"*

Matthew glanced at my phone but said nothing. Just went back to his emails.

The drive was smooth in his luxury car. Through the tinted windows, the city moved past us. People with regular money problems. Not me anymore.

"The exhibition is a fundraiser for the contemporary art museum," Matthew said, breaking the silence. "We need to look genuinely interested. Ask questions. Engage with the pieces."

"I do belong," I said casually. "And I can fake interest in art. Rich people just say it's bold or has good energy."

He glanced at me, and I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Almost a smile. "Don't fake it too obviously."

"No promises," I said, looking out the window.

          ༺✿༻ ༺✿༻

When we arrived, the gallery buzzed with energy. Elegant people in designer clothes moved between white walls and expensive art. Champagne flutes clinked softly. Cameras clicked discreetly. The lighting was perfect that soft gallery lighting that made everyone look more attractive than they were in regular life.

I stepped out of the car and shifted into the energy. Shoulders back, confident walk. Matthew placed his hand on my lower back as we entered, possessive in a way that felt deliberate. *The new wife. The new Mrs. Kingland.*

Inside, high ceilings and white walls. What caught my attention first wasn't the art — it was the light. The way the morning sun came through the skylights, creating a subtle glow that made everything feel elevated. This was the kind of space that would photograph insanely well.

I made a mental note to get shots before we left.

Matthew excused himself to talk to investors, squeezing my hand briefly. A subtle reminder. I gave him a smile that said I understood, then turned my attention to the paintings.

I was admiring a bold abstract piece — deep blues and golds — when I felt that familiar spark.

Alexander walked up beside me, hands in his pockets, looking effortlessly fine in a dark button-up. He wasn't dressed as formally as Matthew. That kind of confidence came from somewhere real.

"Selena," he said, voice warm and low. "You look incredible. This place suits you."

I turned to him with a genuine smile. "Alexander. Second time seeing you this week. Why weren't you at the wedding?"

He gave a small, wry laugh. "My cousin and I keep our distances at family events. I didn't want to make it awkward for you on your big day."

I understood the rivalry without needing the full story. "Makes sense. But I'm glad you're here. I like seeing you."

"I like seeing you too," he said, gesturing at the painting. "What do you think about this one? Be honest."

I looked back at the abstract piece. "The colors feel chaotic but somehow perfect. Bold without being aggressive."

Alexander's expression shifted into respect. "Exactly. Most people just say it's nice. But you actually looked at it."

"I studied architecture for a bit," I said. "Before I had to pivot. So I'm always thinking about composition, balance."

"You studied architecture?" He leaned against the wall, fully engaged. "That's sick. Why'd you stop?"

"Life stuff," I said. "I needed to work instead, but I'm trying to get back into it. Design, at least."

We fell into easy conversation. He asked about design movements I liked. I teased him about how rich people talked about modern art. He laughed — actually laughed. 

"So what's your design style?" he asked. "If you were designing a space, what would it look like?"

"Something like this, but warmer. The minimalist aesthetic is beautiful but it can feel cold. I'd add texture. Plants. Warm lighting. Colors that feel alive. Spaces where people actually want to live."

"I think I would want to see that space," he said quietly, and there was intensity in his eyes.

I smiled, biting my lip slightly. "Maybe one day."

             ༺✿༻ ༺✿༻

Matthew appeared maybe five minutes later. He materialized beside me like he'd been watching, and his arm slid around my waist possessively. His body was tense, energy radiating off him. Alexander's expression shifted immediately. The warmth got covered with cool professionalism.

"Matthew," he said. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"This is my gallery." Matthew said, his voice tight.

"Public event, cousin," Alexander said smoothly. "You can't avoid me forever."

They looked at each other for a second. Years of rivalry, thick and heavy, made the space feel smaller.

Alexander looked at me with understanding, then smiled politely. "I'll let you two enjoy the exhibition. Selena, it was really good talking to you."

"You too," I said, and I meant it.

He walked away, and the moment he was out of earshot, Matthew turned to me.

"I told you to stay away from him, Selena."

I pulled back slightly, meeting his stare. His grey eyes were dark, intense, possessive. This wasn't the cold businessman from the office.

"Stay away from him?" I raised an eyebrow. "Matthew, he just walked up to me. I didn't throw myself at him."

"He's trouble," Matthew said, his jaw working. "He'll use you against me. Don't get dragged into our issues."

His possessiveness was showing, and I should have been annoyed. But part of me was into it. The fact that seeing me talk to Alexander had bothered him enough to come claim me.

I pushed that thought down hard.

"It's none of my business what problems you two have," I said, my voice clear and unbothered. "That's between you and your cousin. I talk to whoever I want. I'm not picking sides in your family drama."

Matthew's grey eyes darkened. For a second I thought he'd say something sharp. Instead, he took a breath, composing himself. His posture straightened, that CEO confidence settling back into place like armor.

"Fine," he said, his voice icy and controlled. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

I smiled sweetly, putting my hand on his chest. "Noted, husband. Now let's go look at more art before you scare all the rich people away with that face."

He looked at my hand on his chest, then back at me. His expression was unreadable. Then he let out a short breath and nodded, offering his arm like a gentleman.

I took it, linking my arm through his, and we moved deeper into the exhibition.

The rest of the afternoon played out like a careful dance.

Matthew stayed close — hand on my back, arm around my waist, constantly touching me. He introduced me to people in the art world, told them I had an eye for design, asked my opinions on pieces in a way that made me feel included rather than paraded.

But I was super aware of Alexander across the room. I kept catching glimpses of him talking to someone about a sculpture, his warm energy standing out. A few times our eyes caught. He'd smile, genuine, and I'd feel that flutter before Matthew would guide my attention back.

On the drive home, Matthew was quiet. 

I pulled out my phone and started editing photos from the exhibition. The lighting had been perfect. By the time we got back to the mansion, they were up on I*******m, tagged with the gallery location. My girls were already losing their minds in the comments.

This year was going to be complicated. Alexander and Matthew's rivalry. The way I felt when Alexander looked at me. The way Matthew reacted when he saw us talking.

But complicated or not, I was still getting paid.

And that was what mattered.