Episode 4

The clock on Mia Torres’ phone blinked at 5:45 PM as she stood before her mirror, the emerald gown hugging her frame like a second skin.The hum of Brooklyn outside her window had faded into a quiet anticipation. The stylist, Claire, had worked magic—her dark hair was swept into an elegant updo, a few loose strands framing her face, and a subtle shimmer of makeup highlighted her hazel eyes. The dress, with its deep green sheen and delicate straps, felt like armor, a stark contrast to the worn jeans she’d shed an hour ago. Her sketchpad rested on the table, a silent companion, but tonight, it would stay behind.

A sleek black car idled outside, sent by Ethan Caldwell. The driver, a stoic man named Marcus, arrived promptly at 6:00 PM, and nodded a silent invitation. Mia took a deep breath, grabbing a small clutch with her phone and the black card Ethan had given her. Her heart raced as she stepped into the evening air, the city’s warmth wrapping around her. The charity auction at the Metropolitan Museum of Art awaited, her first public appearance as Ethan’s “mentored artist.” The term felt like a half-truth, but it was the shield they’d agreed on.

The drive to Manhattan was a blur of lights and shadows, the car gliding through traffic with ease. Mia’s mind churned—Ethan’s confession of revenge, the contract’s weight, the way his hand had felt during their dance. She’d agreed to this, but the reality of it hit harder now, the emerald gown a symbol of the line she was crossing. The car slowed, and Marcus opened her door, revealing the museum’s grand steps lined with paparazzi flashes.

Ethan waited at the top, his tuxedo impeccable, his green eyes catching the light as he spotted her. He descended with a grace that belied the tension she’d seen in him before, offering his arm. “You look stunning,” he said, his voice low, a hint of surprise in it.

“Thanks,” Mia replied, her fingers brushing his sleeve as she took his arm. The cameras clicked furiously, and she forced a smile, her training from Claire’s pep talk kicking in. *Chin up, shoulders back, look confident.* The murmurs of the crowd—*“Who’s she?” “Caldwell’s new muse?”*—followed them inside.

The museum’s Great Hall was a spectacle of opulence—crystal chandeliers, towering columns, and a sea of gowns and tuxedos. A string quartet played softly, the notes weaving through the chatter of New York’s elite. Ethan guided her toward a group of donors, his hand firm at her back. “This is Mia Torres,” he introduced, his tone smooth. “An artist I’m mentoring. Her work has real potential.”

The donors nodded, their smiles polite but curious. A woman in a silver dress leaned in. “What medium do you work in, dear?”

“Mostly acrylics,” Mia said, finding her voice. “I’m exploring urban landscapes right now.”

“Fascinating,” the woman replied, though her eyes flicked to Ethan, clearly more interested in the connection than the art.

As the group moved on, Ethan leaned closer. “You’re doing fine. Just keep breathing.” His breath tickled her ear, and she suppressed a shiver, nodding. The auction began, and they took seats near the front, a spotlight illuminating the stage where items—jewelry, paintings, a vintage car—were paraded for bids.

Mia watched, her artist’s eye catching the brush strokes of a Van Gogh sketch up for grabs. The bidding climbed to $1.2 million, Ethan raising his paddle with a casual flick. “For your collection?” she asked, surprised.

“No,” he said, his gaze on the stage. “For you. A gift to inspire.” The gavel fell, and the room applauded. Mia’s stomach flipped—$1.2 million for her? It was overwhelming, a gesture that blurred the lines of their deal.

The night wore on, with Ethan bidding on several pieces, each time citing her inspiration. The crowd began to whisper, and Mia felt their eyes on her, a mix of envy and speculation. During a break, Lila Monroe appeared, her blonde hair gleaming under the lights, Victor Hensley at her side. She approached with a saccharine smile. “Ethan, darling, and… who’s this?” Her gaze raked over Mia, dismissive.

“Mia Torres,” Ethan said, his arm tightening around Mia’s waist. “My protégé. She’s got talent you wouldn’t understand.”

Lila’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. “How… charitable of you. Careful, though—she might get ideas above her station.” She sauntered off, leaving a trail of perfume and tension.

Mia’s cheeks burned, but Ethan’s grip steadied her. “Ignore her,” he muttered. “She’s just rattled.” His protectiveness surprised her, softening the edge of his revenge-driven plan.

The auction ended, and they mingled, Mia growing more comfortable with each introduction. A gallery owner expressed interest in her work, and she handed over her contact info, a thrill running through her. By 10:00 PM, exhaustion crept in, but Ethan’s energy remained sharp. As they stepped outside, the paparazzi swarmed, cameras flashing like lightning.

“Who’s the new woman, Caldwell?” one shouted.

“Is this a rebound?” another chimed in.

Ethan raised a hand, silencing them. “Mia’s an artist I’m supporting. That’s all you need to know.” He ushered her into the car, sliding in beside her. The door closed, muffling the chaos.

“You didn’t have to buy that painting,” Mia said, her voice quiet in the dim interior.

“I wanted to,” he replied, his eyes on her. “You deserve it. And it sends a message.”

“To Lila?”

“To everyone.” His smile was faint, but genuine. “You held your own tonight. I’m impressed.”

Mia looked out the window, the city lights streaking by. The praise warmed her, but it also deepened her unease. This wasn’t just a game for him anymore—or for her. The Van Gogh sketch waited at his penthouse, a symbol of their tangled arrangement. As the car pulled up to her apartment, she turned to him. “Tomorrow, I want to start painting again. With the supplies you promised.”

“Done,” he said, handing her a key card. “This is for my art studio. Use it anytime. Claire will deliver the materials tonight.”

She took the card, her fingers brushing his again. “Thank you,” she whispered, stepping out. The door closed, and the car pulled away, leaving her on the sidewalk with a mix of triumph and trepidation.

Inside, she shed the gown, hanging it carefully, and sat with her sketchpad. The night’s events spilled onto the page—Ethan’s smile, Lila’s glare, the chandelier’s glow. The key card sat beside her, a gateway to a new world. Tomorrow, she’d paint, turning this experience into art. But tonight, she’d dream of what lay ahead, the emerald gown a memory of her first step into *Luxury Heartbreak*.

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