She wore her mask, pulled on her cap, and adjusted it as soon as she landed. She needed to be discreet. She couldn't afford to expose her identity just yet. Unfortunately, her collector needed this piece urgently since the bidder had other appointments that weekend. Otherwise, she wouldn't be walking around suspiciously with a painting in her hands.
Even though it was fully wrapped, anyone with half a brain could easily guess what it was. She headed straight to her usual stay at Fairmont Monte-Carlo. It had the most exquisite views, and the owner's daughter happened to be her friend from university—so, of course, a discount was guaranteed.
As she entered the lobby after the cab dropped her off, she took in the crowd. Thousands of tourists had flocked to Monaco for the Grand Prix, making it harder for her to move unnoticed. She navigated through the sea of people and went straight to the reception to check into her usual room: 29th floor, balcony view.
She had tried the penthouse before, but the sun was too bright, and the 28th floor didn't get enough light. The 29th was just right. As she carefully maneuvered through the overwhelming crowd, she finally reached the elevator just as the doors were about to close. She almost shouted, Hold on! But was convinced she was too late—until the doors slid open again.
Inside the elevator, a tall, sleek, muscular guy with greenish-brown eyes was grinning at her. He looked vaguely familiar. Beside him stood another man, a bulked-up figure in a tailored suit—probably his bodyguard. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the 29th floor, noticing that the man was heading to the penthouse. Just then, her phone chimed, signaling a new message.
As she pulled it out to check, she failed to notice the small signature card from La Galerie Noire slipping from her pocket onto the elevator floor. When the doors opened, she rushed out, too distracted to realize her mistake. She needed to get ready—she had a meeting with her collector that day.
Once inside her room, she carefully placed the painting on the mattress and headed for a shower. Her belongings were already here since she stayed at this hotel frequently, and this particular room was always reserved for her.
After freshening up, she selected a navy dress with golden speckles, letting her hair down as she applied simple makeup. To further conceal her identity, she put on gray contact lenses. A final spritz of perfume, and she was ready.
Grabbing the wrapped painting, she made her way to the lobby. Still crowded, she mumbled, slipping into a cab that took her straight to La Galerie Noire. Upon arrival, she donned her full-face mask and walked toward the entrance. However, just as she was about to step in, a bouncer blocked her path.
"Invitation, please," he said firmly. She smiled politely, reaching into her purse, but then— her face turned pale. Where the hell is my exclusive invitation card? Panic surged through her as she replayed the events before leaving her hotel.
The last time she saw the card, it was in her pocket. 'Oh my god... it's in another purse! .' She cursed herself for not double-checking. There was no way the bouncer would believe her story. This was a disaster.
She quickly dialed Mr. Rodrigo's number, but after two or three attempts, all calls went straight to voicemail. For the first time, she had no idea what to do.
"Excuse me, sir, I have an urgent appointment with Mr. Rodrigo. If you let me speak to him, he'll clear everything up," she tried reasoning with the bouncer. Predictably, he didn't budge.
"I can vouch for her. She's with me. I'm sure this petite girl isn't a threat to anyone inside. Right, Miss...?"A deep, amused voice interrupted the tension.
She turned to see a tall man dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, a Patek Philippe watch gleaming on his wrist. He smirked at her.
She hated being rescued like this, but given her situation, she had little choice. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, he casually placed a hand around her waist—only for Mr. Rodrigo to appear at just the right moment.
"Miss Florence, I've been waiting for you. And Mr. Vargas-Clairmont, you're early, but please, both of you, come in." The bouncer immediately stepped aside at Rodrigo's command.
"Piper, take Mr. Vargas-Clairmont to the receiving room. I'll attend Miss Florence."
As they parted ways, she caught the F1 driver's lingering gaze on the painting she held. Once inside, she sighed in relief.
"Thank you for keeping my secret, Mr. Rodrigo. I lost my invitation card—thus I need a new one immediately. And thanks for not calling me Miss Sinclair in front of that guy. What's his name again?" Rodrigo carefully took the painting and placed it on the table.
"That was Leo Vargas-Clairmont. The famous F1 driver. He's the one who bid €20,000 for your Tsuki. Quite the playboy, but he's really interested in this painting." He carefully unwrapped the painting, his expression turning to awe.
"Now, let's take a closer look at this masterpiece. Oh my lord. It's even more breathtaking than I imagined."
Rodrigo removed the painting from its frame, replacing it with another sketch. He then rewrapped it carefully. "If anyone asks, say you considered selling but changed your mind. That should keep suspicion away." She nodded in agreement.
"I'll deliver Tsuki to its new owner first. Wait here." Mr. Rodrigo heading to another room.
A few moments later, he returned with a briefcase. He placed it in front of her and opened it, revealing €15,000 in cash. She took €2,000 and handed it to Rodrigo. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Rodrigo. We'll be in touch when necessary."
With a small smile, she took the briefcase, picked up the 'new' wrapped painting, and left for her hotel. As she settled into her room, she felt satisfied. Everything she had built, she did legally and on her own terms. Some would call it luck, others fate, but she knew it was her hard work and patience finally paying off.
After changing into her pajamas and cleansing her face, she climbed into bed, exhausted from the eventful day. But as she drifted off, an unwelcome thought crossed her mind, making her frown. The one person who had thrown off her mood today.
Ethan Vescovi.