Anna rolled lazily on her bed, her mind clouded by fragmented memories of the past. Ugh, it was morning again. The apartment was quiet, except for the sound of the radiator struggling against the Bucharest winter from time to time. When last was it this cold? She kept on looking at the cracks in the ceiling, tracing their jagged lines as if they held answers to her questions. It was a routine she'd gradually developed, these moments before the day's demands always took her mind from whatever was bothering her in her mind.
Her father's voice echoed faintly in her mind—sharp, commanding, and resolute. As if it was 15 years ago again. "Discipline is the path to success, Anna," he'd often say, his stern eyes drilling the words into her. Growing up under his watchful gaze had been a lesson in control and expectation. Yet it was that very upbringing that had left her vulnerable to Adrian, her ex-husband. The man who, with a charming smile and kind words, had slowly unraveled her world. His promises of love had turned into nights of terror, his temper fueled by the bottles that littered their home. It had taken everything in her to leave, to rebuild herself from the shards he'd left behind. From the ghost of herself he'd turn her to.
The shrill chirp of her alarm clock woke her from whatever she was doing. She groaned and stretched, feeling the familiar ache in her shoulders, a physical reminder of all the time spent carrying burdens too heavy for one person. The thin winter light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting pale patterns on the walls. She had to change these curtains, she thought but that's not the top of her priorities for now. Today was the start of something new—or at least, that's what she told herself everyday.
The art gala was only days away now, and Anna's life had taken on a frenzied pace. Her small art gallery had become a house of activity as pieces were finalized, logistics arranged, and guest lists double-checked. It's not everyday you get an invite to a Volkov's gala. The gala was an avenue for her to not just showcase her work but also to solidify her standing in Bucharest's art scene—a step closer to independence. A step closer to living a fulfilling life.
The sound of her phone buzzing on the kitchen counter broke her train of thought. The familiar ringtone as usual. She padded over and picked it up to see a text from Elena, her best friend and confidant.
Elena: Coffee at our usual spot? You need a break. Elena said as if pitying her.
Anna smiled. Elena had an uncanny ability to sense when Anna was on the edge of overworking herself. She quickly typed back a reply.
Anna: Give me an hour. I need to shower quickly. I'll meet you there.
---
The coffee shop was located on a quiet street corner, its warm wooden interior a sharp contrast to the icy winds outside. Elena was already there, her blonde hair tied to the back in a messy bun and a steaming cappuccino in hand. She waved Anna over with her usual exuberance. 'Black coffee as usual?' - Elena asked Anna who nodded lightly and even gave an half smile. The oversized red woven cardigan she got from her grandma years ago was not enough to combat the cold mornings in Bucharest. It was literally freezing outside.
"You look exhausted," Elena said as Anna slid into the seat opposite her. "Preparing for the gala?"
"What else can it be?" Anna sighed. "I've barely had time to think, let alone sleep."
Elena's expression softened. "You're doing something incredible, Anna. Don't let the pressure ruin it for you. Have you decided what to wear?"
Anna blinked. In the chaos of planning, she'd completely forgotten about that detail. She was supposed to dress nice, how could she not remember that. " I don't know, No idea," she admitted. "Probably something simple. The focus should be on the art, not me."
Elena shook her head. "You're the face of your gallery baby girl . People need to see you as much as the art. I'm taking you shopping tomorrow. No excuses."
Anna opened her mouth to say something but quickly closed it. Elena's determination was unshakable, and deep down, Anna appreciated the care behind it.
---
Back at the gallery, Anna's day blurred into a whirlwind of tasks. As she reviewed the final placement of the paintings, the final piece of jewellery she's going with, she felt a strange mix of nerves and excitement. Was it excitement or anxiety, she could barely tell anymore. It wasn't just the gala that loomed on the horizon. There was a name on the guest list that had caught her attention—Luca Volkov.
She'd only heard whispers about him: a businessman with such an enigmatic reputation, known for his investments in multiple industries and now into Arts . What intrigued her even more was his connection to Viktor Volkov and his son Alex, a name she recognized from her past. Alex had been a distant figure during her father's brief foray into business dealings in Bucharest. The thought of seeing him again stirred something she couldn't quite name.
As the day ended, Anna stood in the middle of the gallery, taking in the space she'd poured her heart into. She knew the gala would be a defining moment, not just for her career but for the tangled web of her past and future.
"Let's see what happens," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the quiet room.
The days and series of events leading up to the gala passed quickly in a mix of indecision and anxiety for Anna. Her mind felt like a battlefield— she had to choose between self-preservation and ambition. Not sure both can co-exist at that point. She always buried herself in work, as if the rhythmic clinking of metal, the last brush of paint and the shine of polished stones could drown out the doubts clawing at her.
On the third evening after Camille's call, Anna sat hunched over her workbench. A sapphire glinted under her desk lamp, its deep blue hue rivaling the midnight sky. She carefully re-adjusted a gemstone in a custom necklace meant for a high-profile client. If this piece was sold , it could help stabilize her financial struggles—at least for a while.
"Anna, you need to put something in your tummy ," Elena said as she let herself into the apartment. She does not even knock anymore.
Anna looked up briefly, her eyes bleary from staring too much . "Maybe later. I'll soon be done with this piece."
Elena sighed and placed a container of soup right in front of her. "You keep pushing yourself way too hard. You're not going to help anyone—least of all yourself— if you collapse from exhaustion. You need to rest"
Anna gave Elena a half smile. "I'll promise to rest once I finish this piece. This has to be the last one"
Elena didn't look convinced but she let the matter drop. Instead, she hung by the side of the couch which is losing its color and flair already and pulled a folded piece of paper from her bag.
"You know," Elena began casually, "I've been thinking about the Volkov gala."
Anna stiffened. "Not you too Elena, Camille will not let me rest."
"I'm serious, Anna. This isn't just about the glitz and glamour. If you're trying to get your work noticed, this is the place to be. The Volkovs don't just invite anyone, you know. Their reach is—"
"Dangerous," Anna interrupted. "Their reach is very dangerous."
Elena hesitated, then softened her tone. "That's not what I meant, I know you're scared. I don't know everything about your past, and I won't pretend to. But I know you've worked so hard to rebuild your self. Don't let yourself stop you from taking this chance."
Anna went back to her work, the flickering candlelight catching on the scar on her wrist. "I'll think about it," she murmured, knowing full well that the decision was already weighing on her soul but she tried to hide it.
Meanwhile, at the Volkov's estate , a very large house even for a mansion perched on a hill overlooking the city. The part has of the city had always been the Volkov's since probably eternity. The estate was a testament to the family's long-lasting legacy of wealth —grand, imposing, and filled with an air of unshakable power.
In one of the uncountable lavish living rooms, Luca Volkov stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a bottle and a glass of whiskey in each hand. He watched the staff arrange an elaborate floral display in the courtyard below, all in unison. Despite the extravagance surrounding him, his mind was occupied with something else.
"Shea has confirmed the final list of artists," Alex Volkov said, walking briskly into the room with a clipboard in one hand. "Everything and everyone is right on schedule for the gala tomorrow."
Luca barely acknowledged his elder brother's presence. His thoughts were on the upcoming event and the people it would draw. The gala wasn't just a showcase for art; it was a display of influence, a subtle power play that would strengthen their empire's position in the world of high society.
"And what about the security?" Luca asked Alex, his tone clipped.
"I spoke with the Head of Security, he told me it's already tightened. Not even a cat gets in without clearance."
Luca nodded, but a flicker of unease showed in his blue eyes. The gala wasn't just an opportunity to expand their business interests—it was also a potential threat. The Volkovs had enemies, and they knew better than to let their guard down.
"Keep an eye on the guest list," Luca said finally. "I want to know everything about everyone who walks through those doors. Every single person"
Alex smirked. "You can never change, paranoid as always."
"Prepared, that's the word " Luca corrected, downing the rest of his whiskey as he made for the door, two of his bodyguards accompanying him.
The night before the gala, Anna sat at her dining table, staring at the gilded invitation Camille dropped the day before as doubt kept creeping into her troubled mind. She had worked tirelessly for this moment, but now that it was within reach, her confidence wavered. She had never been this unsure. Memories of her past whispered in her ears—the harsh words of her ex-husband, her father's relentless expectations, but she had let all of those go. Tonight is about nothing but putting her best efforts in being the one the Volkov's will choose to lead their involvements in Arts. Opportunities like this don't come twice in a lifetime.
The buzzing of her phone snapped her out of her reverie. It was a group chat with Elena and Camille.
Elena: Anna, don't even think about bailing. I'll drag you out myself if I have to.
Camille: And I'll be there to help. You're not getting out of this.
Anna chuckled despite herself. Camille's playful tone balanced Elena's firm resolve. Over the years, Elena and Camille had become a close friend, though her softer demeanor often hid a fiercely independent spirit. Together, they made sure Anna never retreated too far into her own world.
The night of the gala, a sharp knock at the door startled her. She opened it to find Elena and Camille, both dressed to the nines and radiating excitement.
"Not a chance," Elena declared, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "You're going." Camille grinned, holding up a bottle of wine.
"Pre gala toast?" Despite her protests, Anna found herself seated on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, her friends chatting animatedly about the night ahead. Their infectious energy slowly chipped away at her hesitation.
Anna stood in front of her modest wardrobe, her fingers brushing over the fabric of a quite extravagant crimson red dress for her. It wasn't much compared to the extravagant gowns she knew others would wear, but that was not the point. Elena had taken her out the previous day to get her a red gown that will fit the theme of the gala and even did the honor of paying for it from her pockets. The problem for her was that it's too revealing for her. She kept dragging the thin-armed dress up so it does not reveal too much cleavage. The focus was her arts, not her. Her white pearls necklace was on her neck with her lovely pendant just hanging in between her firm breasts. She turned around as if she's never seen herself in a long time, she ditched the oversize male dress she always wore to work and looked more feminine than she had been the last two years. Her blonde hair was shaped so beautiful by Elena she almost can't believe its hers. And Camille applied light make up on her face despite her initial protests and sprayed Camille sprayed her most exotic perfume on her and she smelt as if she was the daughter of the president. And for the first time in a long time she said to herself : "I am beautiful"
Elena watched from the bed, her expression a mix of excitement and admiration. "You're really doing this?"
Anna shrugged, her jaw set with determination. "I don't have a choice. If I want to grow my business, I need to be there."
Elena got up and hugged her. "You're going to be amazing. Just remember, you don't owe anyone anything. Stay true to yourself."
As Anna had a final look at herself in the mirror after wearing her towering heels, she caught her reflection in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, she saw a glimpse of the woman she used to be—strong, beautiful, determined, and ready to face whatever came her way.
What she didn't know was that her decision to attend the gala would set off a chain of events that would change her life forever.
---
"You've worked too hard for this," Camille said gently, her hazel eyes meeting Anna's. "Tonight is yours, Anna."
The gala was held in a grand historic building in the heart of Bucharest, its ornate architecture lit up against the night sky. As the trio stepped inside, Anna's heart raced. The gallery space was transformed, each piece of art illuminated in perfect harmony with the room's ambiance. Guests mingled, their conversations a low hum of excitement.
The grand ballroom shimmered with gilded chandeliers casting soft pools of light over the polished marble floors. Securities tighter than ever, Anna could count at least 50 of them. Camille was moving from one popular guest to another laughing with them and doing her best to show her white colored teeth. Her silver dress complimented her silver shoes and she looked radiant. Classic Camille. Elena was in another section of the gala after being challenged by one of the party guests to a game of cards. Ugh, she thought. Elena invited her to join the game of cards but Anna preferred to stay with her paintings and pieces, sipping cocktail. Guests mingled in their finest attire, laughter and half-silent conversation floating through the air, while the music from the string quartet singing Andrea Bocelli's con te partiro provided a serene backdrop. Anna Petrescu, however, felt an alien presence among the elegant crowd. The world of the rich and powerful was not hers, yet tonight she found herself caught within it. The ornate gold-framed paintings on the walls, the luxurious velvet curtains, the expensive dresses, the sparkling crystal glasses—everything screamed wealth, exuberance, power, and rich long history, none of which felt familiar to her. How did Camille even get multiple tickets to this kind of place, she thought.
She stood by the edge of the room, her back straight, her posture perfect, trying to drag her clothes even higher up as her cleavage kept on revealing, trying to appear comfortable even as a sense of isolation settled in her chest. Anna had never craved the spotlight. Art was her solace, her refuge, her way of escaping her troubled past, but tonight, her creations—her paintings—seemed to weigh more heavily on her than she'd anticipated. She wasn't just an artist; here, she was a spectacle.
There were so much arts to feed her eyes with as top rated artists from Europe and beyond came to showcase their arts to be the face of the new Volkov's arts industry. Her gaze flicked toward the various displays of art lining the walls, her eyes briefly resting on "Shattered Reflections," the piece she had worked on for months. It was the one she feared would be too raw for the crowd to understand among her pieces of arts she came with. As she stared at it, she felt the subtle shift in the room as a man approached her his smell of expensive perfume recognizable from a distance.
Anna spotted Camille coming with a man who looked like the party was all about him rather than the arts. Camille spotted her already so trying to pretend to run away was fruitless now. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a dark tailored suit that seemed to enhance his powerful presence. His hair was dark, long, neatly styled, and his confident, purposeful stride made him impossible to ignore. When he reached her side, his sharp eyes softened ever so slightly, and a smile curved his lips. Camille was all over him. He reached out his hand to shake her and she noticed a small tattoo on his neck.
"Good evening " the man said smoothly, his voice rich, with just the right amount of warmth to make it inviting but still imposing. "I'm Alex Volkov," he introduced himself, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe with a mixture of curiosity and something else she just couldn't quite place. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Hi, I'm Anna Petrescu" Anna said rather cautiously. Camille's eyes moved from Alex to her.
Anna's instincts immediately put her on guard, and she couldn't stop herself from giving a slight shift of her posture. She wasn't used to being sought out in settings like this, especially by men with such an undeniable air of authority. She felt a bit uncomfortable. "The pleasure's mutual," she said, her tone polite but distant.
Alex didn't seem fazed by her cool demeanor. His eyes lingered on her, from her face to her dress his smile widening even more. "I must admit, I've heard much about you from Camille. Your paintings are impressive, but I think it's the diamonds that steal the show." His gaze flickered briefly to the pieces of jewelry she wore, though his tone was more observational and flirty than complimentary. "I have to say, not many beautiful ladies would dare wear such bold statements. The diamond is just as radiant as you, just saying"
Anna felt her jaw tighten, but she kept her expression neutral. She was never there to flaunt anything but her art, and she certainly wasn't here for compliments that felt like veiled judgments. "I wear them because I like them and they feel comfortable" she said evenly, her gaze finally meeting his. "But I'm here to showcase my works" she said trying to sound as polite as possible. Alex took one look at her paintings and gem stones she crafted and looked back at her. "I doubt if he can even tell rubies apart from pearls" - Anna thought.
Alex seemed to consider this for a moment, before offering a soft chuckle, not quite mocking but rather amused. "Of course," he said, shifting his attention to the paintings hanging nearby. "But people here do tend to talk about what they see. And tonight, it's not just about your art, but about what you represent." His gaze softened as he turned back to her. "A woman of taste, mystery, and... depth."
The words hung in the air, and Anna felt herself stiffen slightly. "What I represent?" she repeated, her voice lowering. "And what is it that I represent to you, Alex Volkov?"
A flicker of something unreadable crossed his eyes. "I think we both know," he said smoothly. "But you might not be ready to admit it." He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "The world here doesn't just appreciate art. It appreciates power. Wealth. Influence."
Anna's mind raced, but she forced herself to stay calm. Her hand instinctively brushed against the delicate chain of diamonds around her neck. The weight of his gaze felt almost too much to bear, and she found herself taking a small step back, crossing her arms.
"I'm here for the art," she replied coldly, emphasizing the finality in her tone. "Nothing more."
Alex didn't push further, though his eyes held a glimmer of amusement as he took a step back. "Fair enough," he said, his smile widening. "But you'll find that in this world, art can be a weapon. And sometimes, you don't have a choice in how it's wielded."
Alex, noticing the shift in her attention, excused himself with a polite nod. "Enjoy the evening, Anna," he said. He turned and patted her arm, rather uncomfortable to her. Alex was a different man now, he was much more older and commanded more authority and affluence. He was only 14 when she first met him, four years older than she was. He came along with his dad, Viktor Volkov to meet her dad 16 years back. He was a man that has just clocked 30 and had the world at his beck and call.
The ballroom was buzzing with luxury, the light from the chandeliers illuminating the room, an endless sea of expensive fabrics ,exclusive perfumes, laughter, and polished shoes on marble floors that looked like it was cleaned by robots. Anna Petrescu, though stunning in her own right, felt a quiet discomfort in the midst of the extravagant crowd. The air felt heavy with expectations—expectations she had no desire to meet. Yet, here she was, standing at the edge of the room, her back straight and her gaze scanning the art pieces that adorned the walls. Her paintings—her refuge —were on display, but they never felt quite as personal as they did tonight.
As she studied her latest creation, a sudden shift in the air caught her attention. There was movement in the crowd—someone approaching her. Her pulse quickened slightly, and she turned to see a man, tall, striking, and impossibly composed. Luca.
Luca Volkov. The younger son of Viktor Volkov, heir to an empire built on secrets, shadows, and whispers of power. His presence was magnetic, but it wasn't his height or striking features that made people notice him; it was the quiet intensity in his eyes, the unspoken authority that followed him, like a shadow. Luca was a man of few words, but when he spoke, every syllable felt deliberate, measured, as though they were rehearsed. And tonight, those eyes found Anna at the gala.
As Luca drew closer, Anna straightened. Her instincts told her to remain guarded, to hide behind her carefully curated exterior, behind the masked smiling face she put on, but something about Luca made it almost impossible not to acknowledge the warm energy between them. His dark hair was neatly combed, long and allowed to freely lie back, his tuxedo sharp and tailored. He didn't put on a smile, but his eyes softened slightly, a flicker of interest behind them as they locked onto her. Or so she thought.
"Anna Petrescu," Luca's voice was calm, steady, a deep undertone that seemed to vibrate with more than just politeness. "I've heard about you and your works tonight. Some of our guests like them. " His gaze swept across her, lingering briefly on the diamond necklace she wore, then to the diamonds and painting behind her. "Ha, I see your art is speaking louder than words tonight."
Anna felt the familiar surge of discomfort at the mention of her diamonds. It wasn't that she minded the jewels; they were part of who she was now, a gift from herself to herself. But she had never been one to flaunt them, and the way Luca's eyes lingered on them made her feel exposed.
She offered a polite, yet guarded smile. "Art always speaks for itself," she replied, her tone cool. "And I think it's better that way."
Luca didn't respond immediately, but his expression shifted ever so slightly. There was a subtle, almost subtle softness in his eyes that seemed to suggest he understood something unspoken. But he didn't push, didn't force the conversation to go further. He only nodded, his gaze still on her, though not with the intensity she had expected. It wasn't admiration—at least, not overtly—but something quieter, something more thoughtful.
He took a small step back, with one glass of wine in his hand, his posture relaxed but still carrying that air of quiet authority. "Your work is... different," he said, almost as though weighing each word carefully, caressing each piece of painting, examining each gem stone over and over. "It carries this... this honesty that's now rare in a world like this."
There's something about his eyes that he could not place, blue like the ocean. He was one stunning young man. Anna met his gaze for the first time, sensing the subtle admiration in his words. But it wasn't the flattery she was used to, the kind that tried to worm its way into her defenses like Adrian. No, no it just... it just felt different. Almost respectful.
"Thank you," she said, her voice steady but softening just a fraction. "I'm just here to showcase my arts, not to fit in, thank you". She felt as if she's being overly respectful now. He looked only one year older than her or her age-mate. But he's from the Volkov family. He's a Volkov.
Luca's gaze lingered for a moment longer, as if he were trying to understand her more than the average guest would. There was something quite inscrutable about him—something that made Anna both wary and intrigued at the same time. His gaze flickered briefly to the painting behind her again before returning again to her face.
"I'm sure that's why your work stands out, exquis " Luca said quietly in a french accent, his voice never straying from its calm, reserved tone. He sounded as if he has traveled at least 20 countries. "People often try to be what others expect of them. You don't. ".
Anna felt a flicker of surprise at the insight in his words. For a brief moment there, it felt like he saw past the facade she had so carefully constructed. As if he his eyes could pierce through even her soul. But she quickly pushed the thought aside, unwilling to let him—or anyone—see too much.
"I don't try to fit into anyone's box," she replied, her words firm. "That's not why I paint. I paint to tell a story. "
Luca nodded once,Anna noticed a small, almost imperceptible smile curving at the corners of his lips. "I can see that," he said. "And I respect it."
The brief silence that followed felt different from the usual lull of polite conversation. It wasn't awkward at all —it was... contemplative. Anna had never been one for deep, probing conversations, especially with someone like Luca Volkov, whose presence seemed to carry more weight than most people could comprehend.
Before she could say anything more, Luca glanced over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the crowd, though his body remained turned toward her. "I won't keep you," he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he were giving her the space to breathe. "But I believe our paths will definitely cross again sometime, Anna Petrescu"
Anna simply nodded, a part of her wondering what exactly he meant by that. Luca wasn't flirty, nor did he seem to be trying to push her buttons. He was reserved, opulent, but there was something in his gaze, in the way he spoke, that suggested a quiet admiration—one that didn't need to be expressed through grand gestures.
"I believe they will," Anna replied, her voice steady, though the words felt more like an acknowledgment than an invitation.
With that, Luca gave her one final glance—a thoughtful, almost contemplative look—before turning and walking back into the crowd, greeting guests as they all crowded around him, his presence slowly fading as he melted into the gala's sea of people.
Anna stood there for a moment, as if her feet were glued to the ground, her heart beating a little faster than she cared to admit. Luca Volkov wasn't like the others. There was something undeniably magnetic about him, but it wasn't his words that had captured her attention. It was the way he saw her—seen through the surface, not as just another face in the crowd, but as someone who had something more. She couldn't quite place it, but for the first time that night, she felt a strange pull to know more.