Page 5 of His Dark Desires

The air leaves my lungs. All my planning, none of it prepared me for the impact of her looking straight at me. In that brief moment, I'm stripped bare.

She offers a polite smile—the kind gallery artists give to potential buyers—before returning her attention to the critic. But that fleeting connection has shattered something in me. The distance I've maintained through screens and surveillance feeds evaporates.

"Adrian?" Mara sounds concerned. I've rarely heard her like this.

I drain my champagne glass. "It's time."

As we make our way through the crowd, I feel the weight of two years of watching, waiting, and manipulating circumstances press against my chest. In moments, I'll speak to her for the first time. Not through digital interactions or proxy conversations but face-to-face.

My hands are steady as we approach, but my pulse thunders in my ears. The critic is wrapping up his questions. Sophia's shoulders relax slightly as he moves away—a detail I recognize from countless hours of observation.

Now. Before another patron can claim her attention.

I step forward, Mara a half-step behind me, playing her role. Everything is proceeding according to plan.

Except for the way my heart seems to stutter when Sophia turns to face us fully, her hazel eyes bright under the gallery lights.

"Adrian Vale." I extend my hand, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers as she accepts it. Her skin is warm. "Your use of negative space in this piece is remarkable."

"Thank you, Mr. Vale." Sophia withdraws her hand quickly, but her eyes light up at the mention of her technique. "Most people focus on the bolder elements."

"What isn't there tells the story just as powerfully as what is." I gesture to the shadowed corners. "The void draws you in, makes you question what's hidden."

A slight furrow appears between her brows. "That's... exactly what I was trying to convey."

Mara clears her throat softly behind me. Right. I'm staring too intently.

"I've recently begun collecting emerging artists," I say, getting down to business. "Your work stands out."

"Oh." Sophia shifts her weight, looking a little uncomfortable. "I'm flattered, but—"

"No pressure." I offer a practiced smile. "I'm here to appreciate the art."

Her shoulders relax slightly, but wariness lingers in her eyes, like a bird poised for flight.

"What draws you to these themes of isolation and connection?" I gesture toward another of her pieces, where human figures reach through digital static. My voice remains measured despite the thrill of finally hearing her thoughts directly.

"Technology connects us but also separates us." Sophia's hands animate her words. "We're all reaching through screens, trying to touch something real."

"The irony being that the screen itself becomes the only tangible thing."

Her eyes snap to mine, something sharp and curious in their depths. "Exactly."

The gallery lights catch the gold flecks in her hazel eyes as she gestures toward her largest piece. I've watched her wrestle with the composition for weeks.

"The city's energy feeds into this one," Sophia explains, her fingers tracing along a particularly vibrant streak of red. "The way everything moves so fast, but there are these moments of stillness..."

"Like being alone in a crowd," I say, recognizing the isolation captured in the darker elements.

"Yes!" Her face lights up. "Most people miss that part."

"The contrast is striking." I step closer, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo—lavender, just as I'd noted from her shopping data. "The way the darkness frames the light, making it more intense."

"That's what fascinates me," she says. "How shadows define the brightness."

"Your use of texture adds another dimension." I resist the urge to touch where I know she layered the paint thickest. "The physicality of it draws you in."

"I like art you can feel." Her fingers hover near the surface. "Sometimes I think we're too afraid to touch things, to really experience them."

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