The Heir's obsession Chapter 17: The Weekend 1.5

Chapter 17

JULIAN POLE

"Calm down, lil man," he said, sitting back casually as if he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in my head. "It’s not a bad thing. It’s going to Veridian Hall."

I gasped. "What?"

God help .

"Veridian Hall," he repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Ain’t that... like, private? Only famous painters get to display their art there."

He smiled, smug. "Well, who am I?"

Right. I forgot he’s rich rich.

"They saw your art and fell in love with it," he went on, "and now they want it."

"I’ve never done this before," I said quickly, nerves bubbling in my throat. "How am I supposed to even put this together right?"

"You have ," he said, like that solved everything. He reached into his sleek black briefcase and pulled out a folder, sliding it across the table. "I’ve already booked your hotel. Here."

I frowned, picking it up. "What’s this?"

"Your art exhibitor card and guest passes."

"Oh." I flipped through the docunts, impressed and a little dizzy. "You got my friends one too?"

"Yeah. I know you love them, and they love you too. Which ans you wouldn’t leave without them—and they wouldn’t let you go alone either."

He wasn’t wrong.

"Why are you doing all this?" I asked as the waiter returned with our order—so fancy pink drink for Enzo and hot chocolate for . The sll made my brain lt.

When the waiter left, I took a slow sip and waited.

"Can’t friends help friends?" he said finally.

"My gut says there’s more to it," I muttered, side-eyeing him over the rim of my mug. "But I don’t know."

He smirked again, that knowing little half-smile that always makes uneasy. "Well, you’re smart—but naive. Living in your own little bubble. And you’re definitely right about this one."

I choked on my hot chocolate. "What—" I coughed, standing up and patting my chest. "What do you want, Enzo?"

"You should see your face," he said between chuckles. But then he noticed mine wasn’t changing and slowly stopped laughing.

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands. "It’s just a favor. Not now—but in the future."

I narrowed my eyes. "What kind of favor?"

"A simple one," he said, smiling that sa mysterious smile that never ant simple.

My shoulders finally loosen a bit, the tension from before lting away. The feeling I had the first ti I t Enzo starts to resurface — that weird mix of comfort and suspicion. Still, when I look at him now, he seems so calm, so easy to be around. Nice, even. Innocent.

No... not innocent — just friendly. He’s helping take my art to a level I never imagined. No one has ever done that for before.

"Now," he says, taking his phone out of his pocket, "let’s go through your pieces again and see if there are any more I can take with today. I’m heading down to that area later."

He scrolls through the pictures I’d sent him earlier — all my finished canvases, lined up against Rico’s bedroom wall.

"You’re gonna be there, right?" I ask, fiddling with the sleeve of my hoodie.

"Of course," he says easily. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

"I don’t know." I shrug. "You’ve already done so much for , I thought maybe—" I trail off, feeling dumb halfway through my own sentence.

"It’s all good, Juju," he cuts in smoothly.

I glare at him. "Don’t call that."

He just grins, that sa grin that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. "Let have that special privilege."

I roll my eyes, pretending not to smile. From the corner of my eye, I notice soone walking toward us — a woman, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor. I assu she’s heading to the next table, but she stops right beside us instead.

"My friends are gonna be so happy about this," I say distractedly, still half-watching her. "Especially—"

Before I can finish, she reaches across the table and picks up a handbag I hadn’t even noticed sitting there. Then, without saying a word, she sits down beside Enzo.

"What took you so long?" Enzo asks, his tone shifting slightly — polite, but sharp.

"Business call," she replies coolly.

I glance between them, a little lost.

"Oh, Julian," Enzo says finally, turning to , "this is Aiko. Aiko, this is Julian."

She extends her hand. "Nice to et you," she says.

I take it, but she doesn’t let go right away. Instead, she tilts her head and looks up and down — not in a friendly way, more like she’s scanning for sothing. Her perfu is sharp, her expression unreadable.

I clear my throat, hoping she gets the hint to release my hand.

She does, eventually.

"Are you... Asian?" I ask before my brain can stop .

She takes her ti answering, her eyes still half on . "Yes," she says finally. "Japan."

Enzo speaks up, as if to smooth the tension. "She’s here for her wedding. She’s getting married soon — ca down early to visit her husband’s family."

"Oh," I say, forcing a smile. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she replies, but her tone is cold, clipped. Then she stands, smooths her dress, and grabs her bag. "I have sowhere to be. See you when I see you."

She nods at Enzo, and he nods back. They don’t smile.

Then she looked at — like she already knew sothing I didn’t

When she’s gone, the space feels a little lighter — but my skin is still prickling.

"So," Enzo says casually, like nothing happened, "where were we? Right — adding more art."

We dive back into the pictures on his phone, sorting through the ones he might take today. The weird energy fades slowly, replaced by small talk and quiet laughter. We kill the rest of our ti chatting about color tones, framing options, and how chocolate makes the best bribe in art negotiations.

And now my mother is stressing over what excuse to tell my dad for my three-day "vacation" to Manhattan.

"Then it’s a school trip, is it?" Luka finally broke the silence, tapping his fork on the table like he was presenting a genius plan.

"Since he likes criminal law," he went on, "we can tell him you’re one of the students chosen to participate in a debate with a college in Manhattan."

"That actually sounds alright," my mum said as she began making our plates.

And now I see what she’s made—simple but perfect breakfast: egg sandwiches, avocado toast, pancakes, sausages, fried eggs, cheese, and bacon. A whole lot of it.

"You guys just leave it to to polish it up," she added, sliding a plate my way. "He’s never going to doubt it if it cos from ."

"But that would be lying," Rico muttered, sounding like the moral compass none of us asked for.

"Until your friend cos out of his shell," Mum said, giving that knowing look.

I know what she ans—but I need ti.

"Then it’s settled," I said, breaking the small tension that had started to rise.

"Yeah," they all said in unison.

And just like that, we dove into breakfast before leaving for class, pretending everything was perfectly normal