Chapter one

Chapter one

"Ma'am, I demand to speak to your superior immediately!" The man's voice boomed across the lobby, drawing curious glances from other guests. Isabella Taylor, Guest Relations Coordinator at the Elysian Grand Hotel, maintained her composure despite the anger radiating from the red-faced gentleman before her.

"I understand your frustration, Mr. Hawthorne," Isabella replied. "I assure you, we're doing everything in our power to resolve the issue with your reservation."

Mr. Hawthorne sneered. "This is unacceptable! Do you know who I am? I could buy this entire hotel chain with my pocket change!"

Isabella took a deep breath, reminding herself of the bills piling up at home, of Josephine's medical expenses. She needed this job. "Sir, I apologize for the inconvenience. If you could just give me a moment—"

"Rubbish!" Mr. Hawthorne spat. "Your incompetence is astounding. I'll have your job for this!"

Something inside Isabella snapped. "Mr. Hawthorne. I've been nothing but patient and professional with you. Your threats and insults are uncalled for and, quite frankly, beneath someone of your supposed stature."

The man's jaw dropped, but before he could respond, a new voice cut through the conversation. 

"Is there a problem here?"

Isabella turned to see Mr. Reeves, the hotel manager, approaching with a practiced smile. She suppressed a groan, knowing what was coming next. "No problem, sir. I was just explaining our policies to Mr. Hawthorne."

Mr. Reeves nodded. "Isabella, my office. Now."

As Isabella trailed behind her manager, she felt like the whole day was crushing down on her. She knew what was coming - the same old song and dance. He'd go on about keeping customers happy, drop some not-so-subtle hints that she could be replaced in a heartbeat, and wrap it up with a threat about her job hanging by a thread. 

"This is your last warning, Isabella," Mr. Reeves said immediately she entered. "I won't tolerate any more complaints."

"With all due respect, sir," Isabella countered.”That man was completely out of line." 

Mr. Reeve's eyes narrowed. "The customer is always right. You know that."

"Even when they're wrong?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

"Especially then," he snapped. "This is your last warning, Isabella. Next time, you're out. Understood?"

Isabella nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir."

Exiting the office, Isabella glanced at her watch. Her shift was finally over, but her day was far from done. She had to stop by her apartment, then head to the gallery, and finally visit Josephine at the clinic—a familiar routine that left little room for rest, but what choice did they have?

Life hadn't always been this hard. Once upon a time, the Blackwood name had meant something. But that was before their father's betrayal, before he'd embezzled millions and abandoned them to face the consequences. Their mother had worked herself to the bone trying to keep them afloat, but in the end, the stress had been too much. Now, it was just Isabella and Josephine, clinging to each other in a world that seemed determined to break them.

In her tiny apartment, Isabella carefully removed the canvas from its hiding place. The painting showed a well-known politician accepting a briefcase from a shadowy figure, with piles of money visible inside. It was one of her many works exposing corruption among the elite.

As she examined the piece, Isabella realized she'd forgotten something crucial. Quickly, she grabbed a brush and added her signature: 'Veritas'. The name was well-known in art circles and among those in power, but the artist behind it remained a mystery.

Isabella never revealed her face or true identity. Her fight against high-profile corruption was too dangerous to risk exposure- her safety, her sister's wellbeing, their very lives would be at risk. The anonymity was her shield, allowing her to lead a double life – humble hotel worker by day, anonymous artist by night.

Carefully wrapping the canvas, Isabella wore her disguise – a pair of non-prescription glasses and a colorful scarf wound around her head. 

She tucked the painting securely under her arm and stepped out of her apartment.

*******************

Alexander Elysian's eyes opened slowly, bright light streaming through the strange curtains. He groaned, his head pounding. Empty champagne bottles littered the hotel room floor. A blonde woman he barely remembered meeting last night snored softly beside him.

He glanced at his watch and cursed under his breath. The board meeting with their investors had started 30 minutes ago. It was one of their major deals, and he was supposed to be heading it.

Alexander jumped out of bed, nearly tripping over his discarded clothes from the night before. He splashed water on his face and ran his fingers through his messy hair. No time for a shower. Grimacing at the smell of cigarettes and alcohol clinging to his wrinkled clothes, he hastily dressed.

The elevator seemed to crawl, and Alexander tapped his foot impatiently. Finally reaching the garage, he raced out in his sports car, weaving through traffic towards Elysian Resort headquarters.

Minutes later, he burst into the boardroom. All eyes turned to him with disapproval written on their faces. His father, Dominick, sat at the head of the table looking very red and angry.The potential investors shifted uncomfortably, no doubt catching the smell of alcohol emanating from Alexander.

To his shock, his stepbrother Nathan stood at the front of the room, midway through the presentation Alexander was supposed to give.

"As I was saying," Nathan continued smoothly, "our projected growth for the next quarter..."

Alexander slumped into a chair, his mind racing. He listened as Nathan confidently laid out figures and projections, his anger growing with each word.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Alexander interrupted. "I'm sorry, but those projections are completely off base."

Nathan's eyes narrowed. "Oh? And how would you know, Alexander? You've only just arrived."

"Because I've been working on this deal for months," Alexander snapped. "Your numbers don't account for the seasonal fluctuations in our Asian markets."

"Perhaps if you'd been here on time, you could have presented that information yourself," Nathan retorted.

The two brothers glared at each other, the tension in the room palpable.

"Enough!" Dominick's voice cut through the argument. He turned to the investors with an apologetic smile. "Gentlemen, I apologize for this... disruption. If you'll excuse us for a moment."

As the investors filed out, Dominick's smile vanished. "Alexander. My office. Now."

The walk to his father's office felt like a death march. As soon as the door closed behind them, Dominick exploded.

"What the fuck was that?" he roared. "You show up late, reeking of booze, and then pick a fight with your stepbrother who was kind enough to step in for you? Do you have any idea what could have happened if he hadn't been there?"

Alexander bristled. "Kind enough? Please. He's been gunning for my position for years. This was just another opportunity for him to show me up."

"Enough!" Dominick slammed his hand on the desk. "I've had it with your excuses, Alexander. The parties, the alcohol, the endless parade of women... if this continues, I'll have no choice but to give your inheritance to Nathan."

"You wouldn't dare," Alexander said, his voice low. "I'm your son, your rightful heir."

"You may be my son, but you're not acting like my heir," Dominick replied coldly. "You need to prove yourself responsible."

Alexander ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

A long moment passed before Dominick spoke again. "Get married."

"What?" Alexander blinked, certain he had misheard. "You can't be serious."

"I'm deadly serious," Dominick said. "You have six months to find a suitable wife and settle down, or the company goes to Nathan. You're dismissed."

Alexander stormed out of the office, his mind reeling. He knew his father well enough to know that his word was final. But marriage? The very thought made him feel claustrophobic. He needed to clear his thoughts.

Jumping into his car, Alexander sped off to the one place he knew could calm his nerves.

********************

Alexander pulled into the parking lot of Eden Gallery, his sports car purring to a stop. This was his go-to spot when life got messy. The gallery was known for its cutting-edge exhibits, but that wasn't why he came. No, it was the mysterious artist Veritas that drew him here time and again.

Eden Gallery stood out among the city's art scene. Its modern architecture and rotating exhibits made it a hotspot for art lovers and socialites alike. Alexander couldn't care less about most of that. For him, it was all about Veritas.

Veritas' art was something else. Bold, daring, and always exposing the dirty secrets of the rich and powerful. Alexander loved the thrill of it, even if some of those secrets hit close to home. The fact that no one knew Veritas' real identity just added to the excitement.

He stepped out of his car, not bothering to smooth his rumpled shirt. Who cared what he looked like? He was Alexander Elysian, after all. 

The gallery was quiet, with only a few patrons wandering about. Perfect. He made his way upstairs to the spot where Veritas' work was usually displayed, but to his disappointment, the space was empty.

Alexander frowned, wondering if he had missed the latest piece. He sat down on a nearby bench, considering what to do next. Maybe a wild party would be a better distraction after all.

As he stood to leave, something caught his eye. A woman was walking through the gallery, looking around nervously. She wore oversized glasses and carried a covered canvas. Alexander watched, intrigued, as she approached the empty Veritas spot.

The woman glanced around once more before starting to hang the painting. Curiosity got the better of Alexander, and he moved closer for a better look. But his shoe scuffed against the polished floor, making a soft sound.

She whirled around, her eyes wide behind her glasses. "Shit!" she exclaimed, nearly losing her balance. Her glasses slipped, revealing a pair of striking eyes.

Alexander found himself momentarily stunned by her beauty. Recovering quickly, he gestured towards the painting. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. But... why are you hanging art in Veritas' spot?"

His words trailed off as he looked more closely at the canvas. The style, the subject matter, the signature at the bottom - it all clicked into place. His gaze darted between the woman and the painting, realization dawning.

"You're Veritas," he breathed out.