CHAPTER 1: A BRUSH WITH SCANDAL

The smell of smoky coffee persisted, suggesting that Ava had not been successful in multitasking. In an attempt to capture the intermittent sunlight shining through her dirty apartment window, she held onto a paintbrush and a sputtering mug of coffee in hand. The unbalanced painting, made from reclaimed wood and old nails, was filled with vibrant hues, depicting a distressing scene of emotions that mirrored her current mental state.

With a quiet sigh, she whispered, "Damn it," before moving the paintbrush aside. She couldn't get rid of it, the coffee akin to an oily residue stuck on the pot. She glanced at the clock, its hands ticklingly counting the precious minutes she couldn't afford to waste. The eviction notice, a white envelope with her name in threatening black ink, was placed on the untidy table as if to constantly remind her of her unstable financial situation.

The artist Ava Rossi, who is gifted but still struggling, was facing the difficult reality of her chosen path. She was facing a confrontation between her desire for artistic recognition and financial stability and also the ongoing possibility of bills being paid off or facing eviction from her house. She loved her art because it allowed her to express the emotions that engulfed her and transformed ordinary ideas into something beautiful and meaningful. Nevertheless, her passion wasn't yielding results, and the stress of her financial obligations was becoming more excruciating to cope with. Examining the tiny apartment, which was a representation of her country life and limited finances, paintings at various stages were arranged across the walls like abstract murals, with canvases resting against surfaces in different stages and art supplies gathering together on the untidy table. Despite being her sanctuary, it was a chaotic place where she could be true to herself and avoid the pressures of society.

The sound of Ava's phone trembled her consciousness. The screen caught her gaze with a grimace on her face. It was her landlord, Mr. Jenkins, a man who was usually honest but had to be patient with her late rent payments for the past few months. She stopped, her finger barely touching the answer button. She foresaw his words, the typical rambling about obligations and deadlines, with the subtle threat of expulsion lurking nearby.

With a heavy heart, she answered the phone. "Good day, Mr. Jenkins," she said, her voice laced with tiredness that went beyond what she had been experiencing for twenty-eight years. "Ava, my dear," Mr. Jenkins said, remarking, "I just wanted to ask about the rent payment." With a grimace, Ava's stomach was wiggling with guilt and irritation. "I am on it, Mr. Jenkins. I should have something for you by the end of this week."

Last week you said the same, Ava. "Mr." Jenkins reacted with more harshness, "And the previous week?" My kindness is not the only trait I possess, as it has consequences. You know I can't keep turning a blind eye."

Despite the tears that were about to fall, Ava persisted in chewing on her lips. "I understand, Mr. Jenkins. I am putting in my best effort. I have a few potential buyers for my latest pieces, and I'm hoping to sell something soon."

"Ava," Mr. Jenkins spoke, his voice softening, "I know you have an artist in you, but it's time to turn that into a career."

With her throat filled with unmovable tears, Ava gulped deeply. "I understand, Mr. Jenkins. I will give it my best shot."

"You better, Ava," Mr. Jenkins said, "I have given you more freedom than most of my tenants. You have to make sure you pay by Friday, or else I will have to evict you."

Ava's heart sank... Friday. It’s just in three days. She had no idea where the money was going to come from. She had already exhausted her small reserves, and credit cards were fully utilized.

She felt trapped, her hopes of achieving artistic success overshadowed by the pressure of her financial difficulties. "I will give it to you, Mr. Jenkins." She uttered the words, her voice low and almost inaudible. "I can assure you."

In response, Mr. Jenkins grumbled and then hung up the phone. While holding the phone, Ava's thoughts raced through her mind. Unless she found an outlet to obtain the money, she could lose her studio, which was her sanctuary, the only place where she felt comfortable.

A wave of despair consumed her, ready to sink into her. With her face concealed in her hands, she fell onto the old couch. She felt defeated, and her hopes fell apart like sand. Having always valued her independence and not wanting to be dependent on others, she began realizing that even her unyielding pride might lead to her downfall.

Ava Rossi tightened her grip on the eviction notice in her hands, her nails digging into the crisp paper as if sheer willpower could erase the damning words. Past-due rent. Final notice. Immediate eviction. The words blurred as frustration and panic settled deep in her chest. Her art gallery, her dream, was slipping through her fingers. Six years of blood, sweat, and paint-stained hands, and it had all come down to this—a deadline she couldn’t meet. With the foot traffic at an all-time low and art collectors seemingly losing interest in emerging artists, she had barely made enough in the past three months to cover utilities, let alone rent. She tossed the paper onto the counter and exhaled sharply. This wasn’t the first time life had tried to break her. It wouldn't be the last.

Ava’s phone vibrated, and she looked at the display—her closest friend, Izzy.

Ava answered with a soft voice, placing her phone between her ears and shoulders while drinking coffee.

“Oh my God, Ava!

Have you seen the news”? Izzy’s voice was shrill with excitement.

Ava frowned. “What news?”

“Check the tabloids. Right now.”

With a sinking feeling, Ava opened her news app. The air in her throat held out. Her name was splashed across every gossip column, her photo alongside Damien Sterling, billionaire CEO and media magnet. It was from last night’s gala—the two of them captured at an angle that made it seem far more intimate than it was, as if he had been whispering something scandalous in her ear instead of making a passing comment about the champagne.

The headline made her stomach churn: Billionaire Bachelor Off the Market? Mysterious Artist Ava Rossi Caught in a Private Moment with Damien Sterling!

“What the hell?” She muttered,"

She snapped, "I didn’t ask for this." “I barely know the man.”

“Well, the world thinks otherwise.”

Ava sank onto her worn-out couch, pressing her fingers against her temples. As if she needed another problem. She had enough on her plate without being painted as a gold-digger trying to climb the social ladder.

Before Ava could respond, another call beeped in. An unknown number.

“Wait, another call is entering,” Ava stated, already sensing a headache beginning.

She paused briefly before answering the phone call.

Her voice shook as she inquired, "Hello?"

"Ava Rossi?" A commanding, low voice replied.

"Yes, it's her, her,"Ava replied, her heart racing.

"This is Damien Sterling," the voice declared. "We need to have a conversation."

Ava's fingers clenched in her hand. She didn't find that to be pleasant. Just before she could reply, the call disconnected. She gazed at the phone she held, her heart racing.

No matter what it was, it was unfavorable.