Billionaire's Auction

Chapter 6: The First Project

The studio was quiet, save for the soft scraping of Emma's brush against the canvas and the faint smell of paint filling the air as she worked. This was her sanctuary—at least, it used to be. In the past, Emma could have spent hours in the quiet of a room like this, letting the art flow through her, losing herself in the brushstrokes. But today, as she stood before the mural in Lucas’s grand estate, she felt like every movement was under a microscope.

The mural, an intricate scene of rolling hills and tranquil skies, had been painted centuries ago, and its beauty was undeniable. Yet, its age had taken a toll. The paint was faded in places, cracked along the edges, and small sections were entirely missing. It was a project Emma had once dreamed of—restoring a piece of history. But now, with Lucas’s cold gaze on her, the task felt more like a test than a passion project.

Lucas’s expectations were high, and his presence was an ever-watchful shadow over her. He’d instructed her to start early every day, and when she arrived, he was always there, observing from a distance, offering the occasional critique or correction. His standards were unforgiving. If a stroke of her brush didn’t meet his expectations, he didn’t hesitate to point it out. He didn’t yell, but the way he would pause, a slight narrowing of his eyes, made it clear that failure wasn’t an option.

“Your technique is decent, but it’s not what I asked for,” Lucas had said the first morning. “The blend of colours should be smoother. Focus on the transition between the blue and green. You’re being too heavy-handed.”

She corrected herself immediately, not daring to question him, but it stung. Art was supposed to be an expression of creativity, a free-flowing process, not something bound by someone else’s rigid demands. But this was different. She wasn’t here as an artist in her own studio anymore; she was a hired hand, and she had a job to do.

Even though the criticisms came with a cold precision, Emma couldn’t help but feel a deep frustration welling inside her. She’d been doing this for years, honing her craft, finding her own rhythm. But Lucas’s approach left no room for personal style. Everything had to be perfect. She had to be perfect.

Despite the strain, there was a part of her that found solace in the art itself. The work, though demanding, was still what she loved. Each time her brush met the surface, she could feel a sense of purpose. The act of restoring the mural felt like bringing life back to something long-forgotten, just as she was trying to do for herself. She lost herself in the motion, her mind drifting away from Lucas’s sharp eyes and the pressure of his expectations. When she focused on the mural, there was a sense of peace—a quiet comfort that reminded her why she had chosen this path in the first place.

But peace was fleeting.

After the first few days, Emma started to realise just how exhausting it was to work under Lucas’s constant scrutiny. He had a way of being present without truly being there, hovering just out of reach, watching her every move. When he wasn’t in the room, she felt a brief sense of freedom, but the moment he walked in, his presence loomed large. He never smiled. He never showed any sign of approval. His attention was always critical, always assessing.

On the fourth day, after another long session of perfecting the hues of the sky, Emma glanced up and saw Lucas standing at the doorway. His arms were crossed, and his expression was unreadable. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but she could feel his gaze on her, sharp and assessing.

“You’re not matching the original texture,” Lucas said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Emma’s hand froze midstroke. “I’m trying,” she said quietly, her frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. She had been trying all week. Trying to meet his impossible standards, trying to please him, trying to prove that she could do this.

“Trying is not enough,” Lucas replied, stepping into the room. “I need results, Emma. Perfection. I paid for a professional, not someone who’s still learning.” His tone was colder than before, and Emma’s heart sank. The words stung more than she expected.

“I’m doing my best,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, but she held her ground. She wasn’t going to let him break her—she couldn’t afford to.

Lucas didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped closer to the mural, examining it with an intensity that made Emma feel small. When he finally spoke, his words were measured.

“Your best is good, but it’s not good enough for this project. You’re restoring a piece of history, Emma. The pressure isn’t just on you—it’s on me as well. The whole thing is a business transaction for me, but it still needs to be done right.” His eyes flickered to her briefly, and there was a flicker of something—something she couldn’t quite place. “I need you to understand that. If this isn’t perfect, the entire project will be a failure.”

Emma nodded, swallowing her frustration. She had no choice but to comply. She wasn’t here to debate with him; she was here to work. But the toll it was taking on her was becoming clearer by the day.

As the days wore on, Emma continued to work in silence, feeling the strain of both the physical task and the emotional toll of Lucas’s presence. She tried not to let his harsh words linger, but they stayed with her longer than she would have liked. Every flaw and every mistake felt like a reminder that no matter how hard she tried, it would never be enough for him.

But amidst the exhaustion and self-doubt, something began to shift within her. The more she worked, the more she felt connected to the art. The pressure, the constant watchful gaze of Lucas—those things started to fade into the background as she found herself lost in the act of creation once again. It wasn’t about Lucas. It wasn’t about proving anything to him. It was about the work, the art, and the sense of purpose that came with it.

As Emma continued to restore the mural, she realised that she had one thing that Lucas didn’t: passion. It was the one thing he couldn’t demand from her. He could dictate the standards and set the expectations, but he couldn’t force her to care. She would prove to him that no matter how intense the pressure, she could still create something beautiful. Something that mattered.

For the first time since she had started the project, Emma allowed herself to take a deep breath and refocus. The work was important, yes—but so was her spirit.

And she would not let Lucas Sterling take that from her.