Paris Fontaine Gallery, 9:12 a.m.
Amira was still sipping her espresso when the bell above the gallery door chimed. She expected her assistant. Maybe a client.
What she didn't expect was a stranger who walked like he owned the place.
Tall, lean, and charmingly disheveled, he wore a fitted tan coat over a navy shirt, his hair a little tousled, his smile too warm for a man in expensive leather shoes.
"You must be Amira," he said, strolling in like he was fashionably late to his own party.
"I don't do walk-ins," she said coolly.
He chuckled. "No, you don't. But I'm not a client."
She raised a brow.
"I'm Theo," he said, extending a hand. "Zion's brother."
She didn't take it.
"I didn't know Zion had a brother."
"Half-brother," he corrected with a grin. "Different mothers. Same emotionally distant billionaire dad."
Amira narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"
Theo's smile dipped into something more sincere. "To apologize. For him."
Ten Minutes Later
Amira led Theo into the lounge upstairs. The gallery was quiet, Mondays always were. But her mind was racing.
"Zion doesn't strike me as the type to send peace offerings."
"He didn't," Theo said, plopping onto a velvet chair. "He doesn't know I'm here. Which makes this more fun."
She folded her arms. "So what's your angle?"
"I used to collect art," he said. "Until Zion made it his weapon. I liked it better when it was just beautiful."
Amira's lips twitched. "Zion makes everything strategic."
Theo nodded, then leaned forward. "Don't let him take the gallery, Amira. Not all of him is what you see."
She stared at him. "Why are you warning me?"
"Because I've seen him burn things down," Theo said. "And you? You look like something he'd burn slow."
Meanwhile, in Carter Private Offices
Zion stood at the glass window of his penthouse suite, staring down at Paris.
Theo had gone rogue. He knew it.
Rosalie had posted a photo of Amira's arm across the dinner table subtle but suggestive. The internet was already calling them The Carter Collector. Hashtags were blooming.
He should've been annoyed.
Instead, he saved the image.
Later That Day, in Amira's Apartment
Rosalie barged in holding a sleek silver envelope. "You have to see this."
Amira raised an eyebrow. "Did we win the lottery?"
"Better," Rosalie said, handing it over.
Inside was an invitation:
THEO CARTER presents: "Light & Smoke". An exclusive art pop-up.
One night only. Secret Paris location. For the forgotten, the lost, and the truth seekers.
RSVP... if you dare.
Amira looked up. "He's throwing an event?"
Rosalie smirked. "And he wants you front row."
Amira hesitated.
Zion would be there.
And if Theo was right, this wasn't just about art.
It was about uncovering what Zion refused to say.