Beneath His Billion-Dollar Shadow

The fifth painting came easier than Eliana expected—too easy, in fact her brush moved like it remembered something her heart hadn't caught up to yet. The lines were bold, the colors? Fierce. There was nothing soft in this one. It didn't whisper or comfort, it demanded attention, a faceless figure stood in the middle of a narrow road, arms outstretched, surrounded by blindfolded crowds walking past on either side.

It was vulnerability. It was defiance.

It was Eliana, even if she didn't say it out loud. When she stepped back from the canvas, she realized she hadn't eaten, again.

She checked her phone. Three missed calls from Jasmine, her stomach sank.

She quickly washed her brushes, dried her hands on the back of her jeans, and called her back while heading out into the hallway.

"Where are you?" Jasmine asked as soon as she picked up.

"I was at the studio. Sorry, lost track of time."

"I figured," Jasmine sighed. "You missed dinner, I made that pasta you like."

"I'll be home soon."

"Please hurry. I saved you some, but you know it turns to mush if you wait too long."

"On my way."

The walk home was quiet for once. A rare softness settled over the city, the kind that made you think maybe—just maybe—it wasn't always out to eat you alive.

Eliana paused at a street vendor to grab a bottle of mango juice, just because she hadn't tasted anything sweet in days. The vendor, a tired-looking woman with smile lines and gloves that didn't quite fit, handed her the bottle with a wink. "Smile, sweetheart. You got art hands."

Eliana blinked. "Sorry?"

The woman gestured at her paint-stained fingers. "Only two types of people walk around with color on their skin—kids and creators and you look too tired to be a kid."

Eliana smiled in spite of herself. "Thanks."

Back at the apartment, the lights were low. Jasmine sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through a new course catalog.

"I'm thinking of taking a sculpture elective," she said without looking up. "Nothing huge, just for fun."

Eliana dropped her bag near the door and kicked off her boots. "Since when do you like sculpture?"

"Since I saw someone make a face out of glass and thought—damn, I want to break something that turns into beauty."

Eliana snorted. "You okay?"

Jasmine finally looked up. "I'm good just a little tired, they changed my medicines again."

"You should've told me."

"I knew you were in your zone and... I didn't want to drag you out of it."

Eliana crossed the room and pulled her sister into a soft hug. "You never drag me, Jas."

They sat there for a while, tangled up in quiet.

Then Jasmine whispered, "You gonna do that art retreat thing?"

Eliana stiffened. "You heard me talking to Dominic?"

"You talk louder than you think when you're pacing."

"I don't know, it feels too... curated. I'd stick out like a bruise."

"Or you'd shine like a damn lightbulb. You're allowed to take up space, El."

That stuck.

The next day, Eliana took a different route to the studio. She needed air, and new streets always gave her that.

On a corner near a book café, she spotted an old woman sitting at a folding table, tarot cards laid out like secrets. Her sign read: Truth in ten minutes. Pay what you can.

Eliana had never been superstitious. She didn't believe stars had time to care about her but something about the woman's calm eyes made her stop.

"Curious?" the woman asked.

Eliana nodded, sitting down across from her. "I'm not sure what I'm looking for."

"That's usually when you find the most."

The woman shuffled the cards slowly. Her fingers were weathered, but graceful. When she turned the first card, she didn't even glance at it.

"You're carrying something that doesn't belong to you."

Eliana frowned. "Excuse me?"

The woman smiled. "A fear someone else's or maybe many people's."

Another card flipped.

"You've been surviving. But now someone's asking you to live, you don't trust it."

"That's... creepy accurate."

"You think survival is safer."

"It is."

The woman looked at her, calm and unblinking. "But it isn't freedom."

Eliana stared at the card on the table: a woman standing in front of an open door, her back to it, too afraid to step through.

She left ten dollars on the table.

At the studio, she was barely an hour in before Dominic walked in, unannounced just as usual.

"Do you know how to knock?" she asked, brush paused in mid-stroke.

He smirked. "I like watching the process."

"You like watching me distracted."

"That too."

She rolled her eyes and set the brush down.

"What's with the smile?" she asked.

"I spoke to the board of the Arts Collective. They're extending an invitation for you to submit a full exhibit for fall."

Her mouth fell open. "I didn't even apply."

"They asked me to recommend someone so I gave them your name."

"You keep pulling strings I didn't ask you to pull."

He didn't flinch. "And yet, you benefit."

"That's not the point."

He stepped closer. "You're being seen, Eliana. You're not invisible anymore, why does that scare you?"

She crossed her arms. "Because I liked being invisible. It was safer."

Dominic tilted his head. "And was it freer?"

She didn't answer.

He let the silence sit for a beat, then added, "There's more."

Eliana groaned. "Of course there is."

"My foundation's holding a benefit dinner next week—Art patrons, curators, international collectors. I want you there."

"Dominic—"

"You don't have to speak, you don't have to smile just be present."

She bit her bottom lip. "I'll think about it."

"Thinking is a start."

As he turned to leave, he added, "Oh, and Eliana?"

She glanced up.

"Wear something that makes you feel dangerous."

Then he was gone.

That night, Eliana didn't go home straight from the studio.

She went to the river.

There was a bridge not far from her building, one she hadn't stood under since the year her parents died. She used to come here as a teenager, to scream under the roar of the trains and pretend her voice mattered.

Now she just stood there, hands in her pockets, watching the reflection of city lights shiver on the water.

Behind her, someone approached.

"Eliana?"

She turned. It was Camila—the gallery intern from a few weeks ago. The one who'd helped with setup and always wore mismatched earrings.

"I didn't know you came here," Camila said.

"I used to, I guess I still do."

Camila stepped beside her, eyes on the river. "You've been on my mind."

"Good or bad?"

Camila smiled. "Good. I saw your work in the studio last week. It's... unforgettable."

Eliana swallowed. "Thanks."

Camila hesitated. "There's something else. I didn't want to say it at the time, but Dominic... he doesn't usually chase artists. They chase him."

Eliana said nothing.

Camila shrugged. "Just… be careful. He's powerful and that kind of power can either build you or burn you."

By the time Eliana got home, Jasmine was asleep on the couch, a movie still playing in the background, some old romance flick with too much violin music.

Eliana turned it off and pulled a blanket over her.

As she stood there, staring down at her sleeping sister, she whispered, "I'm scared too, Jas."

She wasn't sure if Jasmine heard her but the words felt real, felt needed.

The next morning, she would paint again but tonight, she allowed herself to feel not just the fear but the small, rising bloom of becoming.

Eliana woke the next morning with sunlight on her face and the distant smell of cinnamon. At first, she thought she was dreaming—until she heard soft music coming from the kitchen and the sound of something sizzling.

She padded out barefoot.

Jasmine stood at the stove in one of Eliana's oversized sweaters, her hair pulled up messily, a frying pan in one hand, and a wooden spoon in the other.

"You're cooking," Eliana said, half-amused, half-worried.

Jasmine gave her a sideways look. "Don't sound so surprised. I'm not dying, you know not today anyway."

"That's dark."

"That's life."

Eliana leaned against the wall, watching her. "What's the occasion?"

Jasmine shrugged. "Nothing, I just want to appreciate you."

Eliana's eyes widened. "You're serious?"

Jasmine nodded. "yes."

A breath Eliana didn't realize she'd been holding escaped from her chest. "But you know you don't have to right? Because I don't know why you doing this?"

"Because I wanted to make pancakes this morning and surprise you like it's a movie scene."

Eliana laughed. "You're unbelievable."

"You're welcome."

They ate together on the small couch, plates balanced on their knees, no big speeches, no overwhelming emotions. Just quiet relief, a new chapter, not just for Eliana but for both of them.

And though she didn't say it out loud, Eliana knew what she felt rising in her chest—small, cautious, unfamiliar.

Hope.

A real one this time.

One that didn't feel borrowed or temporary.

One that felt like hers.