The illusion of safety in the penthouse was shattered by a phone call.
"Julian, someone is asking questions," Marcus, his agent, hissed over the line. "A private investigator. He was at the gallery today. He had a photo of a girl with dark curls and a violin case."
Julian's grip tightened around the phone until his knuckles turned white. He looked through the glass door at Elara. She was lost in her music, a radiant contrast to the brooding shadows he was painting.
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him I only deal with canvases, not runaways. But Julian, if you're hiding someone, you're playing with fire. The man who hired him… he has a very long reach and very little patience."
Julian hung up and walked into the studio. He didn't speak. He just walked up to Elara and gently took the violin from her hands, setting it carefully on the stand.
"Vance? What is it?" she asked, her voice tight with panic.
"We're going out," Julian said. "You need a new look. If someone is looking for a girl in a tattered yellow cardigan, we're going to give them a high-fashion enigma instead."
He took her to the most exclusive boutique in the city, ignoring her protests. He picked out silks, leathers, and deep emerald velvets.
"I don't belong in these clothes," Elara hissed from the dressing room, wearing a dark green silk slip dress that made her eyes glow like moss.
"You belong wherever you decide to stand," Julian replied, leaning against the doorframe, watching her. "Stop trying to be invisible, Elara. You were born to be a masterpiece."
But as they left the boutique, Julian noticed a black sedan parked across the street. The windows were tinted. It didn't move. The hunt had begun. Julian knew he was no longer just chasing the muse; he was protecting her from a shadow that was closing in fast.