Page 118 of Money Reigns
It hugs her in all the right places. Soft flare. Smooth chiffon that moves when she walks like it’s obeying her. Her hair’s pinned up. Lips painted to match the fabric clinging to her hips.
She doesn’t realize it yet, but this entire gallery was curated to echo her.
Bold. Classic. Unapologetically gorgeous.
Her fingers graze a canvas. Her head tilts. She’s biting her bottom lip in concentration, like she’s trying to decode something sacred.
She has no idea what’s waiting for her at the end of this hallway.
I nod once at the gallery owner as we pass, and she smiles knowingly. The last room, the spotlighted alcove, has been cleared.
Every patron has been redirected elsewhere.
This moment isn’t for them.
It’s forher.
And me.
We turn the corner.
She stops walking.
Dead still.
Her breath catches.
And I feel it.
The moment she seesherself.
Emerald green crepe. The slit high, the shadows deep, her figure half-tucked into the crook of my arm, her smile soft and bright. The same photo that Wesley slammed onto my weight bench with a warning.
Only now, it’s paint.
Rendered in soft strokes. Vivid.Intentional.
Framed in gold.
Her glow immortalized.
She doesn’t speak.
Her lips part like she’s seeing herself for the first time. Like she can’t quite believe she’s beautiful enough to hang in a gallery.
She is.
But it’s not just the painting I’m looking at. It’s hernow.In this light. In that red dress.
The neckline dips just enough to tease. Her shoulders bare, her hair swept up and away from her face like a gift being unwrapped. A flush blooms across her chest, high on her cheeks, and I don’t know if it’s from the lighting or the attention, but it’s fucking stunning.
But her eyes, her eyes give her away. Wide, uncertain, reverent.
She doesn’t know how to stand in this kind of spotlight.
So I step closer. Become her anchor.
“It was taken after the gala. The photo went viral. Tabloids ran it for days. Wesley hated it.”
