Beneath His Billion-Dollar Shadow

Eliana hadn't expected her Monday to begin with a knock at the door.

It was early, not sunrise-early, but the sort of grey morning where the light felt unsure of itself. She was still in her paint-streaked pajamas, a cup of coffee balanced precariously in her hand, when Jasmine peeked around the bathroom door, toothbrush in her mouth.

"You expecting someone?"

Eliana shook her head, heart suddenly thudding.

Another knock. Three calm deliberate taps.

She padded to the door, bare feet on cool tiles. When she opened it, Noah stood there, holding a slim white envelope and looking like he'd just walked out of a photoshoot in GQ—even though his hair was slightly windblown and he wore a hoodie under a tailored coat.

"Morning," he said.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not at all. Dominic asked me to drop this off, said he didn't want to risk it being delayed or sent to the wrong floor or... whatever irrational paranoia he has about the postal system."

She accepted the envelope with a wary glance. "Thanks. You want to come in?"

He shook his head. "Can't, I have a meeting to attend now but I'll text you later."

With a wink, he was gone.

Inside, Jasmine appeared behind her, still holding her toothbrush.

"That looked... intense."

"It's just a letter," Eliana said, but her stomach flipped anyway.

Inside the envelope, she found two things: a typed note on thick stationery, and a VIP access card with her name embossed in gold.

The letter read:

Eliana,

There's something happening tonight. Come, if you're curious.

Wear something you wouldn't mind being remembered in.

Yours,

Dom

Her thumb ran over the sharp edges of the card. Beneath the sleek design was the name of a gallery she'd only seen once, in passing, during a field trip in college—a place she'd always thought was out of reach. The kind of gallery that only showed work from people who had degrees from Paris and parents with trust funds.

She looked at Jasmine, who now stood fully dressed in jeans and a hoodie, eyes wide.

"You're going, right?"

Eliana hesitated. "It feels like a trap."

"Then dress like a queen and make the trap yours."

By evening, the city was drenched in amber light. Eliana stood outside the gallery entrance in a simple black dress, the kind she only wore to events she didn't feel important enough to attend. Her curls were pinned loosely, and she wore no jewelry but a thin silver chain Jasmine had gifted her three birthdays ago.

The doorman glanced at her card and nodded once, ushering her in with a smile.

The gallery buzzed with polite conversation, clinking glasses, and shoes clicking against marble. Eliana froze just inside the doorway, overwhelmed by the grandeur. Chandeliers hung like frozen fireworks, canvases she recognized from art history textbooks lined the walls.

She turned slowly, trying not to shrink.

"You clean up well," came a voice at her side.

Dominic.

He stood in a charcoal suit, hands in his pockets, but his presence filled the space like thunder. Not loud just impossible to ignore.

"This is... intense," she murmured.

He smiled. "I thought you should see what your work deserves to stand beside."

She glanced at the nearest painting—a towering abstract piece she knew had once sold for over half a million.

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

They moved through the space slowly, conversation low and easy. Every time she tried to downplay her work, he countered with something specific—a comment about her composition, her brushstrokes, the way her colors whispered instead of shouted.

It was unnerving and oddly comforting.

By the time they reached the far end of the gallery, Eliana's shoulders had relaxed.

"So," Dominic said, pausing in front of an empty pedestal.

"Is something supposed to be here?"

"Not yet. That space is reserved for you."

Eliana blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Next month. Your first piece will be in this gallery."

She nearly dropped her glass. "I haven't agreed to anything."

"I know. That's why I wanted you to see this, to know what's possible."

Her heartbeat roared in her ears. This was more than an offer now, it was a vision, one she hadn't dared to see for herself.

She looked at him. "Why me?"

His voice lowered, steady and sincere. "Because you paint like you're trying to survive and that kind of truth is rare."

The train ride home blurred past. She sat in a daze, fingers curled around the VIP card. Jasmine was already asleep when she slipped inside, but a note sat on the table:

Made you tea.

Also, did you notice the toaster finally died?

Eliana smiled, exhaustion blooming in her bones but sleep didn't come easy.

She kept replaying his words.

Because you paint like you're trying to survive.

It wasn't romantic but it was honest and that scared her more than any kind of flattery.

The next morning, she went to the studio early. She didn't paint not right away. Instead, she opened the window, let in the breeze, and sat with a cup of coffee, watching the sun crawl up the skyline.

An hour passed then two. Finally, she stood, picked up a blank canvas, and dragged it into the center of the room. She didn't know what she was about to paint but she knew this: it would be honest and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The following morning dawned with a quiet promise in the sky. Light filtered gently through Eliana's bedroom window, casting pale amber streaks across her comforter. She hadn't slept much—not out of worry, but anticipation. A decision made was a strange kind of peace. Unsettling but freeing.

In the kitchen, Jasmine was already pouring cereal.

"You're up early," Eliana said, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Had to print something for class. Also…" Jasmine paused dramatically, spoon halfway to her mouth. "You were smiling in your sleep."

Eliana gave her a look. "I was not."

"You were," Jasmine insisted, grinning. "Something good happen?"

Eliana leaned against the counter, arms folded. "I sent Dominic a message last night. I'm in."

Jasmine nearly choked on her cereal. "Wait. The gallery thing?"

She nodded.

"Holy crap," Jasmine whispered. "You really did it."

"It doesn't feel real yet," Eliana admitted.

"But it is and it's happening. You're not just surviving anymore, El. You're living."

That struck deeper than Jasmine knew.

At noon, she was back in the studio. This time, she wasn't second-guessing every stroke. The piece on her easel had taken a new shape—more confident, more fluid. The girl at the edge of the river now looked braver. Stronger. Like someone stepping forward, not back.

Her phone buzzed.

Dominic:

Come to the tower at 3. I'll have everything ready.

She stared at the message for a moment. The "tower" referred to his office—a glass giant that loomed over the east end of Manhattan. She'd never been there. Never imagined she'd need to be.

At 2:15, she changed into jeans and a soft blouse, nothing too fancy. She didn't want to look like she was trying too hard, even if every cell in her body felt like it was on fire.

She took the subway across town, gripping the handrail tightly, silently rehearsing what she might say.

The lobby of Dominic's building was an intimidating mix of marble and glass, all sleek lines and sharp corners. She felt underdressed, invisible, but she approached the reception desk anyway.

"Eliana Brooks. I have a meeting."

The woman behind the desk gave a tight smile and handed her a security badge. "Floor forty-two. The elevator's to your right."

The ride up was silent but heavy. As the numbers climbed, so did her nerves.

When the doors opened, she was met with open space, tall windows, and—surprisingly—Noah.

He smiled as he approached, coffee in one hand, clipboard in the other.

"You made it."

She nodded, heart still hammering. "Barely."

"No need to be nervous. He's... intense, but fair."

"I've noticed," she muttered.

Noah motioned toward a glass conference room. Inside, Dominic stood with his back to the door, gazing out the window like he'd been carved from the skyline itself.

"You're early," he said without turning around.

"I didn't want to be late."

He turned then, a subtle smile forming. "I got your message."

"And?"

Dominic gestured toward the table. A new contract sat neatly in the center, flanked by two glasses of water and a sleek pen.

"This is more detailed—Studio access, material budgets, exhibition deadlines. But still no ownership. You keep everything. I'm just funding the journey."

She sat slowly. "Why?"

"I already told you," he said. "Your work doesn't just speak—it says what people are afraid to admit. That kind of honesty should never be silenced."

Eliana looked at him for a long moment. Then she picked up the pen.

"I'm not doing this for you," she said quietly. "I'm doing it for her. For Jasmine."

He nodded. "That's exactly why you're the right choice."

She signed.

And in that quiet room above the city, everything shifted, when she left the building, the city didn't look different—but she did.

She walked slowly toward the nearest train station, the contract tucked inside her bag like a secret weapon.

This wasn't the end of anything. It was the beginning but even beginnings come with shadows.

Because across town, in a glass-walled office Eliana hadn't yet stepped into, someone else had noticed her name.

A name once ignored.

Now circled in red.

And underlined twice.