Chapter Three: An Unusual Visitor

The following morning, I sought comfort in the one passion that had consistently grounded me: painting. My small studio was a cluttered jumble of canvases, tubes of paint, and brushes, yet it felt like a refuge. I faced an incomplete artwork, the shades of blue and green merging into a tumultuous ocean.

I became lost in the cadence of my brush strokes, with the outside world fading away as I channeled my frustration and doubt onto the canvas. That was until a sharp knock on the door shattered my focus. I set down the brush with a heavy sigh, wiped my hands on my apron, and made my way to the door.

In the doorway stood a man in his thirties, impeccably clad in a black suit that seemed far too costly for my neighborhood. His polished shoes made soft clicks as he entered uninvited, surveying the studio with mild interest.

**“Yes? Can I help you?”**I asked, crossing my arms defensively.

He turned to me with a faint, confident smile. *“*Yes. I’m looking for a painting, the most expensive one.”

I blinked, certain I had misheard him. “You’re in the wrong place. I don’t sell paintings like that.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by my response. “Oh, I’m in exactly the right place.” Without waiting for an invitation, he walked over to the small couch I kept for guests and sat down, perfectly at ease.

I trailed behind him and put on a forced smile before saying, "Sir, if you’re in search of a costly painting, I have one available, but it’s priced at 10,000 for this piece." I gestured towards the lavender field painting I had created.

I glanced at him and managed another forced smile. He examined the painting with a serious expression before turning to look at me and let out a light chuckle, which caused my smile to falter.

"You really take me by surprise, Ms. Vielle," he said, and I was taken aback to hear him say my name.

"Pardon me, sir? Have we crossed paths before? How did you know my name?" I continued to bombard him with questions, still forcing my self to smile.

I took a small step back, pondering if we had crossed paths before, my eyes widening at the thought, or if he was one of those individuals to whom my mother owed money. I scanned him from head to toe and thought, surely such an attractive man couldn't be one of the debt collectors, could he? I nodded, attempting to reassure myself that he was merely a potential customer.

He remained silent and simply gazed at me while seated, rubbing his chin, as though he was deciphering each emotion displayed on my face.

my forced grin fading and giving way to a sense of protectiveness. I finally asked, "Who are you, and is it truly my artwork that you want?" I demanded, my unease growing by the second.

Instead of answering, he reached into his suit and pulled out a brown envelope. “Vielle October,” he said, his tone as smooth as silk. “Twenty-six years old, born September 9, 1998. Graduated with a Bachelor of Fine Arts, majoring in painting. An unknown artist. Father died in a car accident. Mother imprisoned for kidnapping.”

I felt my blood turn to ice. “Stop. You still haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

He ignored me, continuing as though reading off a checklist. “You’re behind on rent and drowning in your mother's debt. Your life has been one struggle after another, hasn’t it?”

“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” I snapped, anger flaring in my chest.

Finally, he met my gaze, his expression calm and composed. “My name is Aldrich Huxley. I’m here to offer you an opportunity. Not to buy a painting, it was just an excuse. I'm here to propose a contract that could change your life.”

So what he said earlier about buying the most expensive painting was just an excuse? I chuckled a bit, but there was a hint of annoyance in it.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, all I could do was stare. My pulse quickened as a mix of fear and curiosity tangled in my chest. "What kind of contract?" I finally asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Aldrich leaned back slightly, adjusting his perfectly tailored suit as though settling in for a long conversation. "It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement," he began, his tone measured and deliberate. *"*One that requires a certain… partnership."

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Cut the cryptic act and just say what you mean."

He smirked, amused by my defiance. "Very well. I need a wife."

I blinked twice, certain I had misheard him. "Excuse me?"

"A wife," he repeated calmly. "For appearances only. Think of it as a performance—a role you’ll play to help me secure my inheritance and, in return, I’ll pay off your debts and ensure your financial stability."

A sharp laugh escaped me, bitter and disbelieving. *"*Is this some kind of joke? Did someone put you up to this? if this is some kind of joke then it's not funny at all!"

Aldrich’s expression didn’t waver. "I assure you, Ms. October, I’m entirely serious. You’re in a difficult situation, and so am I. This arrangement could solve both our problems."

I shook my head, pacing the small space of my studio. "This is insane. You barge into my life, recite my entire biography like a stalker, and then propose a fake marriage? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?"

"I do," he said simply. "But desperation often leads to unconventional solutions. And you, Ms. October, seem to be in need of one."

Is this man out of his mind? Does he even hear what he's saying?

"You don’t know anything about me," I shot back, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Just because you have some file doesn’t mean you understand what I’m going through."

Huh! Who does he think he is, just because he had me looked into. He thinks he knows me already

"On the contrary," he replied, his tone softening just enough to catch me off guard."I understand far more than you think."

I looked at him in confusion, questioning why would this guy choose me when there are so many women in the entire city. I even have no idea who this person is or where he came from.

For a moment, silence settled between us, heavy and charged. Finally, I broke it. "Why me? Out of all the people you could’ve chosen, why come to me?"

Aldrich stood, his imposing figure casting a long shadow in the morning light. "Because you have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Think it over, Ms. October."

He placed the envelope on the edge of my worktable, his gaze steady and unreadable. "Inside, you’ll find the details of my proposal. If you’re interested, call the number listed. If not, we’ll part ways, and I’ll find someone else."

Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving the faint scent of cologne and a whirlwind of questions in his wake.

I stared at the envelope, my mind racing. Every instinct screamed that this was too good to be true, but another voice—a quieter, desperate one—whispered that it might be my only way out. The unfinished painting on the easel seemed to mock me, its chaotic strokes a mirror of my thoughts. What had I just gotten myself into?

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