PORTRAITS OF THE UNDYING

Chapter 2: 

The museum was quiet that morning, its walls lined with centuries-old paintings that seemed to watch every visitor who dared to step inside. Isabella's footsteps echoed in the vast hall as she moved from one artwork to the next, her fingers tracing the air just above the canvas, feeling the delicate energy of each piece. But it was the first painting she had stopped at—a portrait of a regal woman with a distant gaze—that truly held her attention. There was something about her eyes, as if they were calling out to Isabella. The woman's expression was one of quiet strength, her beauty unmistakable, and yet... it felt too familiar.

Isabella felt an odd tightening in her chest. This painting, the woman in the painting, had a pull on her, something that went beyond mere appreciation. It felt like a ghost from her past, an echo of something long forgotten.

The necklace the woman wore in the portrait—Isabella's fingers hovered near it, her heart thumping in her chest as a rush of memories flooded her. The design was one she had seen before. Her mother had worn it.

Her breath hitched. How was this possible? The portrait felt like it was part of her history, a life she couldn't entirely remember. Her mind raced, memories of a kingdom by the sea, gardens bathed in sunlight, and a boy—someone familiar—kept flashing through her thoughts. A boy whose dark eyes and mischievous smile she could almost see again.

"Isabella?"

The voice was calm, smooth, and it pulled her back to reality. She turned to see the man who had caught her attention earlier—the same man from the elevator. Viktor D'Angelo. His tall, imposing figure filled the doorway, and for a brief moment, Isabella felt the same unsettling tension in his gaze that had been there before.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Viktor said with a hint of a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "But I wanted to make sure everything was to your liking."

Isabella nodded absently, still lost in the pull of the painting. "It's... it's beautiful. I can feel something about it. Like it's calling to me."

Viktor's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but his expression remained unreadable. He moved into the room, his gaze flicking over the painting Isabella stood before. "I understand," he said softly. "These paintings... they have a way of doing that."

Before she could respond, a light knock on the door interrupted them.

"Isabella, you in there?" It was Lily's voice, cheerful and unmistakably curious.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Isabella said, quickly stepping back from the painting and giving Viktor a small, distracted smile. "I'll be right there."

Lily entered the room, her eyes lighting up as she spotted Viktor. "Oh, it's you again," she said, her tone flirtatious, though her gaze was mostly focused on Isabella. "You're still here?"

"I was just checking on the restoration," Viktor replied smoothly, his voice colder than before, though his eyes didn't leave Isabella.

Lily gave Isabella an exaggerated wink. "Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm starving, so I'm heading to the café downstairs. You should come too!"

Isabella hesitated for a moment, glancing at Viktor and then back at her sister. She wasn't sure if she wanted to stay alone with Viktor just yet, and the pull of the painting still lingered in her mind. "I'll join you in a bit," she said, giving a polite smile.

Lily didn't seem to mind and left the room, calling out a cheerful goodbye as she went.

Once alone, Isabella turned back to the painting. The connection to it was almost unbearable now. She felt as though it was pulling at her very soul, and she couldn't ignore it. Her fingers trembled as she reached out once again, touching the frame lightly.

"Isabella."

The voice behind her was so sudden that she nearly jumped. She turned to see a different man standing in the doorway—someone she hadn't seen since the lift earlier that day.

Damien.

Isabella's heart skipped. There was no mistaking him. The boy from her memories, the one she had known so long ago. He was standing before her now, his features softer, though still the same—dark hair, deep brown eyes that were filled with curiosity.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Damien said, his voice warm and familiar. "I was hoping I could join you. I've been thinking about the auction, and... well, I wanted to offer some advice on the restoration."

Her mind reeled. Was this real? The last time she had seen Damien, he had been a friend—a close one—before everything had changed. And now, here he was, standing before her, as if nothing had ever happened. The memories of their time together flooded back—long afternoons spent laughing in the gardens, carefree days, and the connection between them that had felt unbreakable.

Isabella struggled to regain her composure. "You... you were at the auction?" she managed, still a little breathless.

Damien smiled, a friendly, comforting grin that brought warmth to her chest. "Yes, I was. I've been following your work for a while, actually. When I saw you in the lift... I knew it was you."

His words made Isabella's heart race. Could it really be him? Damien, the boy who had been so dear to her, and now here he was—alive, in front of her, offering friendship.

They quickly fell into conversation, discussing the art they both loved, sharing memories of their past. They had been best friends once, and as they talked, it felt like no time had passed at all. He was easy to talk to, his laugh contagious, and Isabella found herself drawn to him once again.

Meanwhile, Viktor's presence in the hallway outside the room went unnoticed by both of them. But his eyes, sharp and calculating, were fixed on the two figures inside. He had been on his way to speak to Isabella but had stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Damien. The growing closeness between them was not lost on Viktor, and an unfamiliar tightness gripped his chest.

He stood in silence, watching the scene unfold. Isabella was laughing at something Damien had said, her smile wide and genuine. Viktor clenched his jaw, irritation bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He had never been one to show jealousy, but something about the way Damien and Isabella shared this natural connection gnawed at him.

Finally, Viktor pushed open the door. His presence was like a shadow in the room, his posture rigid and authoritative.

"Ms. Drew," Viktor said, his voice cool. "I need to speak with you."

Isabella turned, her face slightly flushed from the warmth of her conversation with Damien. She met Viktor's eyes, but the tension was palpable.

"Of course," she said, giving Damien a hesitant smile. "I'll be right back."

As she left with Viktor, she couldn't shake the feeling that the pull of the paintings, the memories, and the connection to Damien were beginning to weave a tangled web. But she wasn't sure who was pulling her closer—the past, or the mysterious man now walking by her side.

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