Chapter 2 Who's this guy
Flashback -One year earlier.-
The gallery buzzed with quiet conversation, the soft clink of champagne glasses mingling with the low hum of music. Warm light spilled across white walls adorned with modern art.
Shopia stood near one of the larger pieces, her gaze fixed but unfocused. She wasn’t really looking the art, but she was trying to look like she belonged there.
It was her first exhibition abroad, and though she wore confidence like a silk dress, she still felt like a stranger in the room.
"Beautiful, isn’t it?"
The voice came from behind her. She turned, and her breath caught.
Alex Maxwell stood there in a perfectly dark suit. There was something about the way he carried himself that drew her in instantly. His grey blue eyes studied her as though she were the work of art.
"Yes, it’s… complicated. Like it’s hiding something behind all that color," she managed, glancing back at the painting.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You see more than most people do."
He stepped closer, and she caught a hint of his cologne.
"Most people only notice what’s beautiful. Not what it’s trying to say."
"And what do you think it’s trying to say?" She tilted her head slightly.
Their eyes met, and something flickered between them.
"I’m Alex," he said finally, offering his hand.
"Shopia."
The moment her hand slipped into his, a subtle spark passed between them. His grip was firm, warm, and lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.
"So, tell me, Shopia… are you an artist, or a muse?" he said, still holding her gaze.
She laughed softly.
"Neither. Just someone who likes to see stories in paint."
"Then you already understand art better than most collectors in this room. Maybe that’s why I noticed you," he replied.
She looked down, trying to hide her smile.
"Hemm... Really?"
"Yups, ehmm... Would you like some coffee? There’s a small café just across the street. Much quieter than here." Alex offered.
Shopia thought for a moment before finally accepting the offer.
"Why not," said Shopia, Alex’s smile deepened.
"Good. I promise the coffee is better than the wine they serve here."
They left the gallery together, stepping into the cool London. The city was alive, car lights glimmering like reflections on wet pavement, laughter echoing faintly from a nearby pub.
At the café, they sit at the corner table by the window. The lighting was dim, golden. Shopia stirred her cappuccino absently while Alex spoke about the art world, his tone intelligent but never pretentious. He had that rare ability to make every word sound important, yet effortless.
"And what about you? You seem too thoughtful to be just an observer," he asked eventually
"Maybe I’m just searching for something I can’t name yet."
Alex leaned back slightly, his gaze steady on her.
"Careful, that’s how the most dangerous stories begin."
"Tell me about you," said Shopia, sipping her cappuccino.
Alex smiled faintly, his eyes thoughtful.
"There’s not much to tell," he began, his voice low and calm.
"I run a company that takes most of my time. I travel too often, talk too much, and think too little about the things that really matter."
"That sounds great but little bit lonely," Shopia said softly.
"It is," he admitted after a pause.
"But sometimes loneliness teaches you more about people than company ever could."
Shopia studied him quietly. There was something behind his words, a kind of sadness wrapped in control, as though he had lived through too many years of keeping everything together.
"You sound like someone who’s been through a lot," she said.
"Maybe or maybe I’ve just learned how to hide it well," he murmured.
Their eyes met again, and this time neither of them looked away. The noise of the café faded, leaving only the quiet hum of rain outside and the rhythmic clink of spoons on porcelain.
Alex leaned forward slightly.
"What about you, Shopia? What are you searching for?"
She hesitated, then smiled faintly.
"A story that feels real, I guess. Something I can feel without pretending."
He nodded slowly, his gaze softening.
"That’s a dangerous thing to want. Real stories always leave marks."
"Maybe that’s the point," she whispered.
"Interesting, I think I'd like to get to know you better," said Alex.
"Hemm, why do you want to get to know me?"
"Because you don’t talk like most people I meet."
She tilted her head slightly.
"That sounds like something a man says when he’s bored of small talk."
"Maybe I am," he admitted.
Shopia looked down at her cup, tracing a finger along its rim.
"I know the type of man you are, you're going to take your target girl to a hotel, right?" he guessed.
Alex chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest.
"Am I that transparent?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Shopia looked up, meeting his gaze directly.
"Not transparent, just predictable," she said, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
He leaned back slightly, considering her words.
"And would that deter you?"
She shrugged, a delicate movement that belied the intensity of her gaze.
"Depends on the hotel," she quipped.
A spark ignited in Alex's eyes. He stood up, extending a hand towards her.
"In that case," he said, his voice low and suggestive, "shall we find out?"
Shopia took his hand, her fingers interlacing with his.
"Lead the way," she replied, a hint of challenge in her voice.
He led her out of the restaurant, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat that simmered between them. A sleek black car waited at the curb, the driver opening the door as they approached. Alex ushered Shopia inside, then slid in beside her.
As the car pulled away from the curb, Shopia turned to Alex, a question in her eyes.
"So, which hotel did you have in mind?"
He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes.
"The kind with a view and a very comfortable bed," he replied.
