I raised an eyebrow, the cool champagne suddenly feeling a bit heavier in my hand. "A hurdle? Julian, the paintings are selling themselves. What's the problem?"

"The centerpiece. The mountain painting," Julian whispered, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the crowd. "A buyer has stepped forward. They've offered a ridiculous amount of money—more than that man offered, more than anyone. But they've made one non-negotiable condition."

"Which is?"

"They refuse to finalize the wire transfer unless they meet the artist. In person. Tonight."

I felt my jaw tighten. I took a slow, deliberate sip of my wine, my gaze sweeping the room behind my dark lenses. "You know I don't give out my identity, Julian. That was the one rule. I am a shadow. I don't do meet and greets."

"I know, I know!" Julian waved his hands frantically, looking like he was about to sweat through his silk shirt. "And for reasons I don't know why—and frankly, darling, don't want to know—this isn't just some bored billionaire. This person is a very, very important political figure. They have... a certain pull. One that I don't think we can just ignore."

I set my glass down on a nearby marble ledge with a sharp clack. I didn't care who they were. I'd lived through enough "important figures" to know their power was usually just an expensive coat they put on in the morning.

"Tell the 'political figure' that my identity isn't a line item on their receipt," I said, my voice dropping into a cold, hard register. "And tell them Marcus already bought the mountain. I'm not entertaining a bidding war that requires me to sell my soul. The sale to Marcus stands."

Julian gasped, his hand flying to his throat. "But the money, Vespera! They're offering—"

"I don't care what they're offering," I snapped, turning toward the exit. "I'm done for the night. Tell your important friend to enjoy the rest of the show, but they're going home empty handed."

I didn't wait for his reply. I adjusted my shades, swept my velvet coat around my shoulders, and walked straight out the front doors into the freezing night, leaving the "important" world behind me.

I pushed through the heavy glass doors of the gallery, the sub zero air hitting my face like a slap. It was a welcome shock.

It felt honest compared to the suffocating layers of flattery and hidden agendas inside.

I walked toward the curb where my car was waiting. It was a sleek, matte black electric supercar that looked more like a stealth jet than a vehicle. Even in the freezing dark, people noticed. A few socialites exiting their limos nodded to me, and I offered a polite, practiced tilt of my head, playing the part of the mysterious, wealthy guest until the very last second.

Once I was inside the leather scented sanctuary of the cabin, I pulled off my sunglasses. My eyes felt tired, heavy with the weight of being watched. I let out a long, jagged sigh of frustration that fogged up the windshield for a split second.

My phone buzzed in my lap. Julian.I didn't even read the first three lines of his frantic typing. My thumbs moved across the screen with clinical efficiency.

Me: I'm done, Julian. I'm taking a break. A long one. Don't call me unless the building is on fire.

The reply was instantaneous.

Julian: Vespera, darling, please! I am so sorry! I should have handled him better! I'll fix it, I promise. Don't disappear on me again!!

Me: It's fine, Julian. Thanks for all of your hard work. I'll pay you generously by tonight. Goodnight.

I powered the phone off before his next apology could land. Silence filled the car.

Through the panoramic glass roof, the moon was visible, nearly full, a silver coin hanging in the black velvet of the sky. I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes, letting the moonlight wash over me.

Even through the glass, I could feel it. It wasn't a physical heat, but a hum in my marrow. The moon was the only thing that had remained constant for three hundred years. Cities had burned and rebuilt, fashion had changed from corsets to silk slips, and every person I had ever dared to know had turned to dust. But the moon stayed. It was the only thing that knew my real age. It was the only thing that didn't ask me for anything.

I took a deep breath, the tension in my shoulders finally unspooling, and let out a sigh of relief that tasted like freedom.I tapped the start button. The car purred, a low-frequency vibration that I felt in my chest. I shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb.

I headed toward the outskirts of the city, toward the secluded cliffside where my private studio sat. It was a fortress of oak, glass, and steel that overlooked the ocean.

To the elite art collectors of the world, I was Vespera, the mystery they couldn't solve.

To the neighbors who saw me getting my morning coffee, I was Layla, the quiet woman with the nice car and the lonely eyes.

But to myself, in the dark and the silence, I was Elara.

The immortal.

In the middle