NINA

Nina was seething as she sat beside Ritvik. Her fingers drummed impatiently on the edge of her glass, the rhythmic tapping barely containing her fury. If not for her father, she would have left this miserable event long ago—or at least right after giving that jerk, Eric, a piece of her mind. Her words would have had more weight if she'd done it then. Instead, she sat just one table away from him and his friends, trying to avoid catching his eye. It was infuriating that he had to be so good-looking. It made everything harder.

And then there was Ritvik, who was making things worse just by being there. After his little conversation with that old goat, he had once again tried to console her with words that only made her feel more trapped. "I'll never let anyone touch you, don't worry," he had said, as if that would somehow solve everything. And this was while his hands were constantly running on her shoulder, back and waist. As if he was entitled to. 

Frustration twisted her insides. She met the guy today and, somehow, was already engaged to him. And as if that wasn't enough, Eric had to call her out in front of everyone. His "gold-digger" comment stung, but not for the reasons he might have hoped. There was no truth to it—only his immature way of trying to get back at her for rejecting him.

What truly upset her was herself. She had allowed herself, even for just a fleeting second, to believe that Eric might be different from the other entitled men she'd met. The Eric who had stood in front of that painting, talking about reunion, forgiveness, and all that idealistic crap, had left a mark on her. For a moment, she had admired him. How could she have been so stupid?

He was just another rich man in a sea of them, no different from the rest. What had she really expected from him? A heart?

As the auctioneer extolled the virtues of a piece of dull metal encased in a glass box, Nina cursed herself for allowing her stubbornness to keep her chained to her father's desires. The dream of becoming a curator had been the one thing she clung to ever since her junior year in school.

Her thoughts wandered back to when she was twelve. She recalled the tumultuous fight between her parents—another of those heated, painful arguments that felt like a storm in their house. The next day, her class had a visit to the local art museum, but none of her friends wanted to go; it was considered boring, not the most exciting way for kids to spend their time.

But not going meant staying home to witness more of the yelling, the breaking of things, the crying. So, she'd chosen the lesser of two evils: the museum. She wandered alone after the tour, the silence of the space a welcome relief. The art pieces, all different and vibrant in their own way, pulled her in, soothing a part of her she hadn't realized was aching.

She had chronic headaches as a child, ones that often made the world feel like a dull, foggy place. But during that hour at the museum, something miraculous happened—her headache dissipated. 

When she realized that, she had been so relieved to have found a place that felt like her safe haven. After that day, she practically spent the rest of her schooling in that museum. It became her retreat, her escape from the chaos of her home life. Each room, each exhibit, was a world she could lose herself in, a world where her mind wasn't clouded by the constant noise and dysfunction around her. It was the one place where the world felt still, where the pain, the headaches, could fade into the background.

For years, that museum had been her sanctuary. She would slip away there whenever she could, her heart lighter the moment she stepped inside. The constant hum of life outside faded away, replaced by the quiet reverence of the paintings, the sculptures—works of art that seemed to speak directly to her, offering a kind of solace she couldn't find elsewhere.

But like most good things in her life, it came to an end.

A week after her mother left them, the museum was shut down. The notice was posted on the door one evening when she arrived. She remembered staring at the words, feeling them slap her across the face. Her safe place, the only refuge from her mind and the world, was gone. It felt like everything she had relied on had disappeared in an instant.

That night, she sat outside in the pelting rain, huddled under the awning, her tears mixing with the cold raindrops. Because she knew the headaches would be back and she knew her mother wouldn't.

Then Lauren, the director of the museum, had come by to pick something up. When she saw Nina sitting there, she had opened the museum just for her, one last time. It had no paintings, but it still felt like home to Nina, even in its emptiness.

Lauren had told her that she needed a dream—a tangible one to replace the space the museum used to fill. She saw Nina's passion, her natural eye for art, and told her that one day, Nina could be a great curator. Nina, ever the realist, had pointed out that the museum was closing, but Lauren had pushed her further. "Aim higher. You should aim for something greater, like the Meriadora Art Museum."

And just like that, Nina had a string that kept her from falling too deep. She studied even harder than she did before, increased her grades as much as they would go and wrote a killer essay for college. And once she moved into the dorms, she lived on her own means by studying incredibly hard for scholarships, working her ass off in multiple part-time jobs and still making time to volunteer at another museum so it would look good on her CV. 

She had been steadily striving towards her dream. She'd graduated with a major in Museum Studies. This post-graduation degree in Art was supposed to be great for her. But instead it was ruining everything. Her dream used to make her happy. But right now it felt like a burden to her and she hated it. But if not for her dream, who would she be?  

The auctioneer's voice brought her back to the present, announcing the necklace—"This stunning necklace with eight-carat pink diamonds embedded into beautiful platinum butterflies, crafted by the world-famous designer Enzo Albani..."

Nina barely heard him. She was fixated on the necklace. It was breathtaking. She had sworn off wealth, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate beauty when she saw it. She sighed, almost regretting her decision to leave behind luxury. She'd once worn such things. Her father had gifted her pink diamonds as a child, something she had given up along with everything else.

Looking at that necklace now made her long for the life she had walked away from, and yet, she reminded herself of the ugly truths behind those pretty things. All the public events, the fake smiles, the cameras hounding her every move—it had all been part of a façade she could no longer stand.

The bidding had already risen to 20 million dollars. Nina absentmindedly swirled the red wine in her glass. The amount spent on "metal" meant nothing to her anymore. She wasn't part of this world. Ritvik didn't care for anything beyond sports cars anyway—those weren't being auctioned tonight.

"45 million dollars," she suddenly heard Eric's voice. Nina nearly choked on her wine, turning to look at him. Is he fucking crazy? Who spends that much money on a necklace? Does he even have that much money to spend on a whim?  

He had raised the bid by 20 million dollars in one go, and no one dared challenge him. The auctioneer slammed the gavel down with finality, and the necklace was his.

The emcee of the event stepped up to the stage, thanking the buyers for their contributions to the charity. She signaled to one of the staff to hand Eric the microphone.

"Mr. Lockwood, first of all, thank you for your generous contribution. But I think I'm not the only one curious here. If I may ask, who is the lucky lady to whom you'll be gifting this necklace?"

Eric's chuckle, deep and smooth, floated over the crowd. Nina felt her heart lurch in her chest. The sound of his voice—so effortless, so commanding—sent a shiver down her spine. It was unnerving how her body responded before her mind caught up. Why? What the hell is wrong with me?

"I'd like to gift the necklace to Ms. Nina here," he said, his voice confident and cutting.

Nina froze. Her pulse raced in her ears. Was there another Nina in the room? She felt the shift, the sudden, pointed focus from the crowd. All eyes were on her now, waiting. She set her glass down slowly, her hands trembling slightly. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. He was smirking at her, that devilish grin spreading across his face like he owned the entire room. God, he was so handsome in that moment. The way his eyes twinkled with that playful cruelty, the ripples beside his eyes growing into full waves. She wanted to drown in them.

"I think it'll go very well with her ring," he added, with a smirk.