The air was filled with chirping of birds, and the atmosphere had much liveliness. Vivid gallery in solvane was everything for zaina; she was a fund of art and no ordinary artist. Her name had blended with innovation and emotion into the art world. Her style was an easy blend of artistry. Normally, flowing, inspired dresses were her trademark, which danced around her ankles, reflecting bold patterns and colour from the canvas. Her feet favoured comfortable yet stylish ankle boots. Usually, she wore her hair down in loose waves or pulled it back in a messy bun, softly framing her face.
Oppositely, the surrounding chatters in the room suddenly crashed into a nosedive as the door to the dimly lit lounge flung open and in stepped "Theo Foster"-a name that sends ripples through every circle, legal or illegal. Theo walked into the room, clad in something dark and smooth, like the night. His choice was simple, yet screaming with wealth and control. His suit was jet black, perfectly hugging him from every side, completely covering his crisp white shirt with a slim black tie around his neck. His pants were perfectly ironed; even the shoes were a pair of polished black leather oxfords.
Zaina was at the art gallery to showcase her latest canvas art, full of emotion and colour. She stood near her canvas and was explaining her inspiration to the small group of people standing. The surroundings went from being warm and lively to muted and cautious in no time. Chatters slightly died down, and everyone hurried to get out of the way the moment they saw Theo entering. His bright eye raked the room, coming to rest finally on Zaina. He walked over to her. The tension was implicit in the air.
"Beautiful work," he said in a low, smooth voice."
"Theo Foster?"
"Why is he here?"
"Does he know her?"
Zaina's breath hitched as Theo stepped closer, and Theo's lips curled, not a smile.
"You're not running."
"Should I be?"
Theo. His name barely left her lips.
A whisper swallowed by the silence. The gallery, once alive with murmurs of admiration, now emptied in hushed urgency, guests slipping away like shadows. Her throat tightened. Words dissolved before they could form, her mouth dry as parchment. With the slight tilt of his head, he adjusted his watch, yet one that made her pulse stutter.
Then, that smile. Not warm, not kind. A blade wrapped in silk.
He stepped forward again, and Zaina forced herself not to retreat. Zaina stood frozen. Theo's hand cupped her chin, his grip firm but almost tender as he tilted her face up to his. His light brown eye - Once warm in her memory - now held nothing but a chilling finality.
Before she could speak, before she could breath, his lips met hers in a kiss, sweet,and laced with cruel irony.
Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled back, his other hand drawing sleek pistol from his coat.
"Goodbye, Zaina."
BANG.
A gunshot ripped through the gallery.
Zaina gasped, stumbling back. The canvas behind her-once alive with color and emotion-was now splattered in crimson.
Her vision blurred, the edges darkening and her knees buckled. The last thing she saw was Theo's face, watching her fall with detached precision.
Was It because of....
"(The truth waits in the shadows)"
The truth waits in the shadow.)
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