The marble floor in the gallery shone like a quiet lake, catching every cara flash as Lyse and Brendan climbed the red-roped stairs together. Each step echoed in the vastness, their ascent watched by dozens of eyes hungry for stories. Lyse stared straight ahead, her posture perfect, fingers barely brushing Brendan’s arm as if the smallest touch might betray a secret. To the crowd gathering on either side, they looked flawless like a fairytale couple, reunited beneath the glittering absurdity of the chandeliers, their movents choreographed for the benefit of the hungry lenses and whispered speculation.
"Just smile," Brendan whispered, lips barely moving. "They will get bored faster."
She managed a hint of one, the corners of her mouth lifting just enough to suggest ease, but he could feel the tension radiating through her. Still, he kept her close, his own calm only a mask for the nerves tightening in his stomach. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfu and the tang of champagne, with critics tossing out words about brushstrokes and money as if art could be asured by price tags and clever phrases. Every few seconds, Brendan felt the weight of soone’s gaze people sizing them up, waiting for a stumble, eager for a crack to appear in the glossy surface of their reunion.
He had actually been surprised that she accepted his invitation to the gallery opening most especially since the encounter with Levi, he feared that if he did not find a way to get rid of that man as soon as possible. The character sars that he thought would drive him away but that had not been very successful. He was getting frustrated at how slowly everything was going.
He was doing everything in his power to convince Lyse to forgive him and even though she was in a fragile state, she stood defiant against his moves like a powerful oak tree standing against the wind.
Lyse drifted away toward a painting, the gallery’s warm light softening the anxiety in her face. Brendan watched her, rembering the days when her smile had co so easily, before everything grew complicated and public. Before Levi, before the tabloids and all the problems that never seed to disppear. Now, even her laughter seed rationed, doled out carefully, as if she had to asure what she gave away.
Later, outside under the cool night air, they finally broke free from the lights, noise, and the clamor of expectations. The questions from the crowd of reporters waiting outside the gallery hit like a sudden gust of wind.
"Lyse! Brendan! Are you finally back together?"
"Does Levi know?"
Brendan raised his hand, voice ringing out, "Enough. Please, give us space." He sounded annoyed, almost as if he had practiced the line in front of a mirror, but he couldn’t quite hide the edge of a grin tugging at his mouth. Let them gossip, he thought. Let them invent whatever stories they wanted. The truth was private, a small, battered thing he wasn’t ready to share.
The more these outings were caught by the dia, the sooner Lyse would see that they were ant to be together. The fact that Levi was probably clenching his fists in frustration sowhere was just the cherry on the top.
In the car, silence stretched between them. Lyse ran her finger along the edge of her clutch, eyes fixed on the city sliding past the window, her thoughts sowhere far from him. "Thank you for tonight," she said softly, her voice carrying a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.
"Always," he answered, knowing it was true, even if he wished that she would let him show her just how far he was ready to go for her.
She turned, her eyes soft, unreadable, like she was weighing the risk of trusting him again. "Good night, Brendan."
"I was was wondering when you were going to let in to see your new digs." Brandon called out as the chauffer opened the door and she started to rise out of the seat, the forced lightness in his voice causing him to feel awkward.
"I am a little tired tonight, Brandon." Lyse answered with a tired smile. " Maybe so other ti."
She slipped out with practiced grace. For just a mont, the city’s lights caught in her hair and set it glowing gold. She didn’t look back, didn’t offer relent and offer an invitation at the last mont or a lingering smile, just a small, almost apologetic wave before the lobby doors closed and she vanished inside. Brendan sat there in the hush that followed, telling himself it didn’t matter, that she just needed space, that she would rember who actually stayed when everything got ugly. But doubt gnawed at him, cold and persistent.
By the ti he got ho, the warmth he had carried from the evening had drained away, leaving only a dull, heavy ache in his chest. The hallway was quiet, his footsteps muffled on the worn carpet. At his door, a plain brown parcel waited, flat and anonymous, his na printed on the top in sharp, tidy letters. No return address.
He brought it inside, hands suddenly clumsy, and sliced through the tape with a trembling knife.
A flash drive skittered out onto the counter, followed by a photo, an shiny new Polaroid, the color glossy like it had justs been printed out. Brendan’s heart skipped, then thudded painfully. Two n standing together in a dimly lit alleyway stared up at him from the picture, soone had scrawled in red block letters on the back of the photo: "What are you willing to do to keep this quiet?"
Brendan’s legs almost gave out. The half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips quivered, scattering ash onto the floor’s clean tiles. The world seed to tilt and narrow, all the noise and mory collapsing into one sharp, unbearable image.
For a long, brittle mont, all he could hear was the hum of the refrigerator and his own rough, uneven breathing. The very recent past had finally found him, pressing in with a threat that felt all too real.
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