Chapter 3

The second rule of mimicking high society was landing a whale.

With Sophia's gifted Louis Vuitton bag secured, I canceled my plans to aggressively haggle for the third-hand bag on the resale app.

Instead, I took a cab to Timeless Gallery, an ultra-exclusive, appointment-only art exhibition.

What the general public didn't know was that the gallery was secretly owned by Mason Sterling, the CEO of Sterling Group. He was the biggest player in Westbridge, and more importantly, he also happened to be Lily's fiancé.

Compared to the Sterling family, the Whitman family were small fry, total underlings trying to play in the big leagues.

I had been stalking Mason for eight years. When I was in middle school, I saw him give a rare televised interview. My grandfather had called in a few favors to run a background check on him.

Back then, Mason was just a marginalized heir with no real power in the Sterling family, so getting his digital footprint wasn't impossible.

By piecing together obscure clues, I found my way into a low-profile online community. It didn't take long to uncover his account.

Before he became a corporate titan, Mason was an underground painter. Over the course of eight years, as he ruthlessly clawed his way to take over Sterling Group, I became his closest online confidant. I was also his one and only art protégé.

Half the reason I worked so hard to become an art prodigy was so I could keep up with Mason.

I wandered through the gallery, studying the exhibits, until I stopped at the end of the hall in front of a massive oil painting. It depicted a phoenix burning alive, trying to rise from the ashes.

"A phoenix is supposed to represent violent, unbridled rebirth," I murmured. "But every single brushstroke here is painfully controlled. The color theory is too perfect. It's not a rebirth. It's just a different kind of cage."

I sighed, my peripheral vision catching the movement of a tall, broad-shouldered man approaching from behind. He was breathtakingly gorgeous and totally my type. It was a shame he was engaged to Lily, but right now, I just needed him to be useful.

Right on cue, the man in the bespoke suit stopped beside me. A hand rested casually on my shoulder. "An intriguing opinion, beautiful," he murmured. "Have we met?"

He sounded exactly like a bored, arrogant billionaire who assumed I was just another gold digger trying to feed him a line to get his attention.

I turned slightly, ensuring the gallery lighting caught my profile perfectly. I gave him a slightly embarrassed smile and looked down. "I guess I was just the first person brave enough to say the quiet part out loud."

Mason chuckled, pointing at me. He took a step back, ready to walk away. "You're interesting. I'll remember you."

Like hell I was letting him walk away. As I turned to leave, my ankle "miraculously" broke. I stumbled, letting out a soft gasp, and pitched backward straight into his chest.

His arm shot out, catching me firmly by the waist. "Careful," he rumbled, his voice dropping into a husky growl. "Throwing yourself into my arms already? That was fast."

He effortlessly flung me aside, immediately taking three large steps back to put distance between us.

"It's a shame. You're stunning, but your legs don't seem to work. Tripping on a perfectly flat floor? You aren't trying to scam me, are you? Because I should warn you, I own the security cameras in this building."

I looked up at him, wearing a sweet smile. "Mr. Sterling," I said. "It was just a joke. Don't be mad."

Mason froze. He finally locked eyes with me, his expression shattering into pure disbelief. "Wait," he said. "Are you March?"

My handle on the forum was March.

I giggled, acting like an overly enthusiastic college freshman. "You finally recognized me. God, my self-portraits must be absolutely terrible if you couldn't recognize me in person after all these years."

Mason stared at me, genuinely stunned. "No wonder you looked familiar. And yes, your portrait work is abysmal. You completely failed to capture how beautiful you actually are."

But a second later, the billionaire CEO returned. His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. "But what are you doing here?"

No one understood Mason better than I did.

My first lesson in art was that painting was the purest form of emotional confession.

By studying Mason's dark artwork for eight years, I knew exactly who he was.

He played the part of the untouchable, charismatic CEO, but underneath, he was a man who had survived a pitch-black childhood. He had never been loved. He trusted absolutely no one. He just learned to wear a sunlit mask over a freezing heart.

With a look of pure innocence, I chirped back, "I go to Westbridge University.

"The art program is the best in the country. As for why I'm here, you know me, Mr. Sterling. I spend all my free time hunting down galleries.

"I stumbled into Timeless Gallery a month ago and thought the brushwork looked exactly like yours. I had no idea you actually owned it."

Before he could interrogate me further, I chirped, "If I had known you were living in Westbridge, I wouldn't have bothered leaving you comments on the forum. I would have just come straight to your office to find you."

My relentless barrage of guileless honesty completely shattered his defenses. I looked at him with a carefully balanced mix of admiration and profound respect.

Mason was speechless. He lived in a world of vipers and corporate assassins. He had never met anyone who looked at him with such vibrant warmth.

Leveraging our eight-year online mentorship, I quickly talked him into giving me a private tour of his personal studio in the back of the gallery.

I wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.

I was dressed in a sundress that walked the razor-thin line between innocent and seductive. I acted completely naive, treating him like an absolute god, but the second we started talking about art theory, I went toe-to-toe with him.

I proved my genius wasn't an act.

Within four hours, our intense dynamic had Mason completely hooked. I could feel his curiosity morphing into something darker.

And curiosity is always the first step toward obsession.

Our connection escalated with feverish speed. We started meeting twice a week. What started as formal mentorship soon dissolved into soul-baring conversations and playful banter.

Eventually, the distance vanished entirely. Mason began to guide my hand with his own across the canvas as we painted together.

The chemistry between us was suffocating.

But I knew the rules of the game. You never let a starving man eat his fill. So, just when Mason was drowning in the intensity of his own feelings, I vanished.

I stopped texting him. I didn't log into the forum. I stopped showing up at the gallery.

Mason was panicking. But I needed to stay focused. Because my real life was about to implode.