The piece was perfect.
And she couldn't take her eyes off it.
Months of work. Hours of obsession. Countless nights spent refining every detail until there was nothing left to improve.
Gie had never taken this long on a piece that wasn't commissioned. But this one was different.
It had never been meant for a client.
And yet, when she finally held it in her hands—when her fingers brushed the cool metal and traced the red veins pulsing like molten fire against the gunmetal sheen—she knew.
There was only one person in the world who could wear it.
She showed it to Alina. Her sister took one look at the piece, then at her, and smirked.
"You are so gone for this man."
Gie groaned. "It's not like that."
Alina rolled her eyes. "Sure. You've spent months designing a custom, one-of-a-kind piece for him. For free. Just admit it—he's your muse."
Gie crossed her arms. "He's my client."
"Exactly! Which is why you should send it."
Gie blinked. "What?"
Alina shrugged. "You do this for other clients. You send thank-you gifts to high-profile buyers all the time. Just send it to him as a token of appreciation or whatever."
Gie hesitated.
She had done it before—small custom pieces sent to long-time clients as a courtesy. A sign of appreciation.
But this?
This was different.
"Absolutely not," she muttered, turning away.
Alina laughed. "You are so full of it. You want him to wear it. You want to see it on him."
Gie didn't answer.
But the thought stuck.
For two weeks, she couldn't get it out of her head.
Would he even accept it? Would he think it was strange? Would he assume she was after something?
She told herself it didn't matter.
And yet, one evening, before she could talk herself out of it, she sat at her desk, pulled up her email, and started typing.
To: Alexander MillersSubject: A Thank You Gift
Alexander,
I wanted to send you a small token of appreciation for being one of my long-time clients. This piece is not a commission, but something I designed and thought might suit you.
There are no obligations, of course—if it doesn't align with your style, feel free to do as you wish with it.
Thank you for your continued patronage.
—Gie
She stared at the email. Read it ten times.
Her fingers hovered over the send button.
Then—before she could overthink it—she clicked Send, and slammed her laptop shut like it was going to explode.
Suddenly, the studio felt too small. Too warm. Too stifling.
She grabbed her coat and left.
Alone, for once. No Alina dragging her out. No social obligations. Just herself and the quiet of the city.
She wandered the streets, the crisp evening air grounding her. The soft glow of streetlights. The distant sound of traffic. The blur of passing strangers.
For years, her inspiration had come from within—from the weight of metal in her hands, the sparkle of a gemstone beneath her lamp.
But now, as she watched the city breathe and shimmer around her, she felt something new.
The world had art in it, too.
Maybe she'd just been locked away too long to see it.
When she returned to her studio, the email had been sent.
The decision was made.
There was no taking it back now.
Days passed.
And Gie expected nothing.
No reply. No acknowledgment.
She told herself she had done it out of courtesy—just a thank-you gift for a long-time client.
Nothing personal.
Nothing deep.
And then—one evening—Alina turned on the TV.
A business segment. Some global finance feature. Gie wasn't paying attention until—
Her heart stopped.
Alexander Millers.
Seated in a sleek black leather chair. Cool, collected. Effortlessly powerful as he spoke about his newest business venture.
And on the lapel of his jacket—
Her piece.
Gie's breath caught.
It was there. Perfectly in place, like it had always belonged to him.
She had imagined it, of course—how it might look, how it would sit on him, how the red veins would gleam beneath the lights.
But seeing it?
Seeing it like this?
It hit different.
A strange warmth spread through her chest, slow and intense. Her stomach flipped.
And then—to make it worse—
Alina saw it too.
"HOLY SHIT!" her sister shouted, nearly dropping her wine glass. "He's wearing it!"
Gie tried to stay neutral. "So?"
Alina turned to her, eyes wide. Then came the slow, evil smirk.
"Oh my God. Look at you." She giggled, poking Gie in the side. "You're blushing. You're actually blushing."
"I am not," Gie muttered, shifting in her seat.
But Alina wasn't letting go.
She leaned closer, her grin devilish. "You look like you're about to combust."
And the worst part?
Gie could feel it too.
Her face was warm. Her pulse was racing.
Because the longer she looked at him—the longer she watched the way he moved, the way he existed inside her work—the worse it got.
Her thoughts?
They were absolutely not appropriate.
Not for a client. Not for anyone.
Not for him.
Alina, of course, was having the time of her life.
"You're so gone for this man," she said. "Like, if you stare at him any harder, he might melt."
Gie grabbed the remote and shut off the TV. "I am not."
Alina cackled. "Then why are you running?"
"I'm not running." Gie stood up abruptly. "I'm working."
"Working on what?" Alina called after her, already knowing.
Gie didn't answer.
She stormed off to her workstation, ignoring the way her heart pounded.
Ignoring the ideas already swirling in her mind.
Because now, there was only one thought she couldn't shake—
What can I make him next?