"You're not supposed to be here."
Amira froze in place. The gallery lights were dimmed, the exhibition hall empty but his voice was unmistakable.
Zion Carter stood in the shadows beside The Water Lily Pond, arms crossed, posture relaxed yet commanding. His presence filled the room like a storm waiting to break.
"I own this gallery," she replied smoothly, though her pulse betrayed her calm.
He stepped forward, each footfall echoing across the marble. "You own what's left of it."
Amira bristled. "Is that why you're here? To remind me of my failures?"
"No," Zion said, pausing in front of the Monet. "I'm here to offer you salvation. Wrapped in terms. Sealed in control."
She looked him over his crisp black suit, the fine watch hugging his wrist, and the eyes that gave nothing away. "What is it with men like you? You mistake possession for power."
He smiled then, faintly. "And you mistake pride for strength."
Their eyes locked. The air turned heavier.
Conflict was chemistry in disguise.
Zion gestured to the painting. "I'll buy it. And I'll clear your father's debts. A full acquisition package. Staff stays. Name stays. You stay."
"But ownership changes," she finished bitterly.
"Forty-nine percent," he said. "You keep the throne, princess. I simply keep the kingdom breathing."
Amira crossed her arms, her heartbeat pounding with a mix of anger and unwanted intrigue. "Why do you want this place so badly?"
Zion walked past her slowly, like a predator circling. "Because you're the only one who hasn't sold out. Yet."
She looked away, tension tightening her chest. "I'm not for sale."
He stopped beside her, voice low. "Everything breaks under the right pressure. Even pride."
Amira's throat tightened.
She wanted to hate him.
She wanted to walk away.
But part of her the lonely, ambitious, reckless part—was drawn to the power he carried like a second skin.
She faced him. "You want to play games, Mr. Carter? Then let's set the rules."
His brow lifted, amused. "I'm listening."
"I'll agree to consider your offer. But I want three days. And during that time…" She paused. "You don't buy your way in. You earn it."
He tilted his head. "You want me to convince you?"
"I want to see who you really are."
Zion's smile faded. Something flickered behind his eyes surprise, maybe. Or respect.
"Careful, Amira. Curiosity killed more than just cats."
"I'm not afraid of the dark," she said. "I grew up in it."
Zion held her gaze for a beat longer. Then he nodded.
"Three days," he said, stepping back. "Let the game begin."
And with that, he walked out—no goodbye, no second glance.
Later that night…
Amira sat alone in her bedroom, staring at the city lights. The offer echoed in her mind, louder with each passing hour.
A part of her knew she should say no. Walk away.
But a louder part
wanted to see what happened if she said yes.
She opened her notebook and scribbled two words at the top:
ZION CARTER.
Then underneath:
"Dangerous. Unapologetic. Magnetic. Will ruin me."
She underlined the last sentence twice.
And smiled.