Chapter 2

"Wow!" I exclaimed, my voice echoing a little too loudly in the otherwise hushed art gallery. A colossal abstract sculpture, made of twisted metal and shimmering glass, dominated the center of the room. It looked like a storm frozen in time. "It' s... it' s absolutely wild!"

Brody laughed, a genuine, joyful sound that cut through the polite murmurs of other patrons. He stood beside me, his head tilted back, admiring the piece with an intensity I hadn't expected. His initial, transparent motive for being here felt a million miles away.

"Wild is a good word for it," he agreed, his eyes sparkling. "It' s got guts. It' s not trying to be anything other than what it is."

I felt a warmth spread through me, a feeling of pure, unadulterated excitement I hadn't let myself feel in years. My ex-boyfriend, Edward, would have called it "pretentious" or "a frivolous waste of resources." He would have dissected its market value, not its soul.

"I can't believe I've never experienced anything like this before," I murmured, a sudden vulnerability in my voice. "It' s... overwhelming in the best possible way." A tear pricked the corner of my eye, a physical manifestation of the emotion bubbling up inside me.

Brody noticed immediately. He didn't ask what was wrong. He simply reached out, gently taking my hand. His thumb rubbed soothing circles on my skin. He didn't say anything, just let me feel.

After a moment, he squeezed my hand. "It's good to feel things, Allyson," he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "Really feel them. You're allowed to."

I looked at him, my vision still a little blurry from the unshed tears. He was watching me with an expression of quiet triumph, like a scientist observing a successful experiment. It was a strange mix of genuine care and calculated satisfaction.

A part of me, the part that was still guarded, knew he was enjoying this. He'd seen a genuine emotional reaction, and in his strategic mind, that was a win. He cares, I thought, a tiny voice in my head, and he' s thrilled that I' m letting him see it.

"You know," he continued, still holding my hand, "when someone feels safe enough to show you their raw emotions, it means you're doing something right. It means they trust you." He said it with such earnest conviction, I almost believed he was purely focused on me.

I pulled my hand back gently, a small smile touching my lips. "You know a lot about art, for someone who pretends to be just a rich kid with too much time on his hands."

He shrugged, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "My dad had me dragged to these things since I was old enough to walk. Said it was 'cultural immersion.' I mostly just snuck snacks and drew caricatures of the stuffy patrons." He gestured towards a massive, brightly colored canvas that looked like a child's finger painting. "But sometimes, you find a gem."

I stared at the painting, then back at him. "You draw?"

He looked surprised, a genuine blush rising on his cheeks. "Uh, yeah. Sometimes. Nothing serious." He was suddenly shy, a side of him I hadn't seen yet.

"Show me sometime," I found myself saying, the words leaving my mouth before I could second-guess them.

He grinned. "Definitely."

As we walked through another hall, past oil paintings and intricate sculptures, I felt a new kind of ease with him. A comfortable quiet joined the playful banter. It wasn't just the art that was opening me up; it was Brody. He was observant, attentive, even when his motivations were still cloudy.

I remembered Edward' s dismissive attitude towards anything that wasn't directly related to his work. Edward was brilliant, a self-made tech CEO. He' d built Atkins Technologies from the ground up, starting with nothing but a fierce intellect and an even fiercer ambition. He' d come from a humble background, clawing his way up, always driven by the fear of falling back into obscurity.

"My first big idea got laughed out of every VC meeting," Brody admitted, as if reading my thoughts about ambition. "They called it 'naive,' 'unscalable.' Said I was just a trust fund baby playing with daddy's money." He kicked at an invisible pebble on the polished floor. "I tried to prove them wrong, pushed myself too hard. It wasn't pretty. I crashed and burned pretty spectacularly for a while there."

He finally looked at me, a wry smile on his face. "That's when I learned that sometimes, you have to play a different game."

"And what game is that?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"The one where Edward Atkins loses," he said, his honey eyes hardening just a fraction. "And where Brody Frazier wins. That's why I'm here, Allyson. To get under his skin. To make him realize what he lost. You're the key to that."

I almost laughed. Edward, with his unflappable composure, his iron will. He wouldn't even notice. He was too busy battling other tech titans, too focused on the next big acquisition. Brody, for all his charm and resources, hadn't seen the real Edward. The kind of Edward who could make you feel like you were shrinking into nothingness.

"You really think you can rattle Edward?" I asked, a hint of skepticism in my voice. Edward was a concrete wall. Brody was a charming breeze.

Brody gave me a confident smirk. "He's not as invincible as he pretends to be. Everyone has a soft spot. Or a glaring weakness." He paused, his gaze sweeping over me. "And I think I just found his."

We stopped for a moment at the gift shop, and Brody insisted on buying me a small, intricately carved wooden bird. "A reminder of today," he said, pressing it into my palm.

"Thank you," I said, my fingers closing around the smooth wood. It was a thoughtful gesture. The kind Edward would never make.

"So," he said, as we stepped out into the cool evening air, "about that Edward Atkins. You two kept things pretty quiet, didn't you? Barely saw you at any of his big corporate events."

I shrugged. "That was his preference. He said it was better for my privacy, and less distracting for him."

"Right. Privacy," Brody muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Or maybe he just didn't want to explain why he was with a woman who actually had a personality." He narrowed his eyes, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Actually, I remember seeing you at one of his company holiday parties, years ago. You were wearing this... handmade silver pendant? A crescent moon with a tiny star."

I blinked, surprised. "I... I don't remember that."

"Oh, it was definitely you," he insisted. "I distinctly recall thinking it was a strange choice for someone like Edward. Too... unique for his taste." He looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "He was talking to someone else, I think, about it. Bragging, almost. Like it was some kind of trophy."

The silver pendant. I tried to conjure an image of it, but my memory was hazy. Edward' s gifts were always so generic. A designer scarf. An expensive watch. Things he could buy off a list. They were transactional, symbols of his success, not expressions of affection. They lacked any real personal touch, any hint that he'd thought about me.

But there was one exception. A small, handcrafted wooden bird, carved by him in a moment of rare, uncharacteristic sentimentality years ago. A gift for someone else.