Chapter Five: The Proposition

The dim glow of the city lights filtered through the glass walls of my office, casting fragmented reflections over the polished mahogany desk. Mr. Ganza entered silently, a manila folder tucked under his arm. His punctuality was as dependable as ever, but the faint tension in his posture told me he had something important to share.

“Sir,” he began, placing the folder neatly on the desk before me. “The information you requested on Miss Vielle October.”

I nodded, opening the folder and scanning its contents. Photographs, financial reports, a brief biography—it was all there. Her file was tragically straightforward: an artist struggling to make ends meet, a history marred by personal loss and hardship. She was exactly what I needed—someone with nothing to lose.

“She’s perfect,” I said, snapping the folder shut.

Mr. Ganza raised an eyebrow, his skepticism evident. “If you say so, sir. But might I remind you, this is an unconventional solution. There could be risks—”

“I’m aware of the risks,” I interrupted. “But I don’t have the luxury of time. This is the most practical choice.”

He nodded, stepping back. “Understood. Is there anything else you require?”

“No, that will be all. Thank you.”

As he exited, I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled in thought. By tomorrow morning, this woman’s life would intersect with mine in a way she could never have anticipated.

The next morning, envelope felt heavier than it should have as I drive my car, heading toward the address Mr. Ganza had provided. Vielle October—a name that was now inextricably tied to my next move. Everything I knew about her was tucked away in the neatly assembled file sitting beside me. Facts, statistics, cold details about her life. Yet, they weren’t enough to truly understand her. That, I supposed, was what today was for.

I pulled up my car outside a weathered building. It was a modest space tucked into a quiet corner of the city. The building’s exterior was cracked and weathered, but there was a charm to its age. Stepping out, I straightened my tie, glancing up at the modest structure. A far cry from the manicured world I inhabited, but somehow, it suited her.

Inside, the space was small but alive. Canvases leaned against every wall, some finished, others bearing the first strokes of an idea. The faint scent of paint and turpentine hung in the air, mingling with the faint hum of her movements. I was in front of her glass door. She hadn’t noticed me yet, her focus locked on the canvas before her.

I cleared my throat softly before knocking.

She turned abruptly, her eyes narrowing as they met mine. Her gaze swept over me, and I could see her piecing together her impression—wealthy, out of place, and, most importantly, uninvited.

“Yes? Can I help you?” she said, while crossing her arms and her voice cautious.

“Yes. I’m looking for a painting, the most expensive one.****” I said smoothly, stepping further into the room.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. "You’re in the wrong place. I don’t sell paintings like that."

I allowed myself a small smile. "Oh, I’m in exactly the right place.” Ignoring the tension in her posture, I crossed the room and sat on the small couch by the window. The worn fabric sagged slightly under my weight, but I adjusted myself to sit comfortably, perfectly at ease.

She trailed behind me and putting on a force smile. "Sir, if you’re in search of a costly painting, I have one available, but it’s priced at $10,000 for this piece." She gestured towards the lavender field painting.

She glanced at me still wearing her forced smile. I examined the painting with a serious expression before turning to look at her and let out a light chuckle, which caused her smile to falter.

This lavender painting feels like a dream captured on canvas. The delicate swirls of purple seem to breathe, as if the petals are alive under a gentle breeze. The hues melt seamlessly into soft blues and muted greens, evoking the serenity of a sunlit field. Every brushstroke tells a story of tranquility, and the light dances across the scene with an ethereal glow. It's as though the artist painted not just the flowers, but the very essence of calm and beauty.

"You really take me by surprise, Ms. Vielle," I said, and she looked taken aback, possibly because she recognized that I had mentioned her name.

"Pardon me, sir? Have we crossed paths before? How did you know my name?" she kept firing questions at me, still trying to maintain a smile.

She took a step back, her gaze widening as she looked me from head to toe, seemingly deep in thought. After a brief pause, she gradually nodded as if having a conversation with herself.

I remained silent and watched her as I sat, resting my hand on my chin, as if I could read every emotion visible on her face.

Her strained grin gradually disappeared, giving way to a more solemn expression. then she asked me. "Who are you, and is it truly my artwork that you want?" she demanded, and I could see the unease progressively increasing within her.

Instead of responding, I reached into my suit and pulled out the brown envelope. “Vielle October,” I began, my tone steady. “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.”

“Stop! You still haven’t answered my question. Who are you?” she cut in sharply, her voice laced with anger.

Her reaction was exactly what I’d expected. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes flashed with defiance. But I wasn’t here to tread lightly. “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?” she snapped, stepping closer. Her anger didn’t intimidate me—it was proof she hadn’t given up, not yet.

Meeting her gaze directly, I decided it was time to get to the point. “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.”

I notice her chuckle slightly, and I can detect a hint of sarcasm in her laughter.

Her eyes narrowed, and for a long moment, she simply stared at me, searching for any sign of insincerity. “What kind of contract?” she finally asked, her voice wary.

I leaned back slightly, adjusting the cuff of my tailored suit. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement,” I said, my tone measured. “One that requires a certain… partnership.”

“Cut the cryptic act and just say what you mean,” she shot back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Her defiance amused me more than I’d expected. I allowed a small smirk to cross my lips. “Very well. I need a wife.”

She blinked, twice, as if she hadn’t heard me correctly. “Excuse me?”

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

A sharp laugh escaped her, 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!"

“I assure you, Miss October, I’m entirely serious,” I said, my voice unwavering. “You’re in a difficult situation, and so am I. This arrangement could solve both our problems.”

“This is insane,” she said, shaking her head. She began pacing, her steps quick and erratic. “You barge into my life, recite my entire biography like some kind of stalker, and then propose a fake marriage? Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?”

“I do,” I admitted, keeping my voice calm. "But desperation often leads to unconventional solutions. And you, Miss October, seem to be in need of one.”

She pause and gazed at me with an expression that seemed to say, Is this man out of his mind?

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

Her words struck harder than I anticipated. For a brief moment, I faltered. “On the contrary,” I said, softening my tone just enough to catch her off guard. "I understand far more than you think.”

For a moment, silence stretched between us, heavy and charged. Finally, she broke it, her voice quieter but no less sharp. “Why me? Out of all the people you could’ve chosen, why come to me?”

I paused, considering the question. It was a fair one—one I hadn’t fully answered for myself. Standing, I let my height and presence fill the small space. “Because you have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Think it over, Miss October. ”

I placed the envelope on the edge of her worktable, ensuring it was in plain view. “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, I turned and walked out of the studio. As I climbed into my car, the tension in my shoulders began to ease, but only slightly. Starting the engine, I drove away, silently praying that she would make the decision I needed her to.

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