The immortal
Chapter one
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Avery
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The air in the gallery didn't just smell like expensive perfume and aged wine, it smelled like success. Not the kind of success that shouts, but the kind that whispers from the shadows of a room where every single chair costs more than a mid-sized sedan.
The Lore Collective was the most prestigious gallery in the city, a minimalist dream of polished concrete and floor to ceiling glass. Tonight, the temperature outside had plummeted, turning the city into a frozen crystal, but inside, the heat from three hundred elite bodies and a roaring fireplace kept things cozy.
I leaned against a marble pillar, my fingers curled around a crystal flute of vintage champagne. I was dressed for the weather but kept it regal. I wore a floor length, structured coat made of deep midnight blue velvet, trimmed with faux fur so soft it felt like a cloud.
Underneath, I wore a high necked silk dress that hugged my curves and brushed my ankles. My eyes were tucked away behind a pair of oversized, dark tinted sunglasses. People probably thought I was a celebrity or a snob. In reality, I just didn't want them to see the way my eyes sometimes glowed when the light hit them just right.
I was a ghost in my own house.
Everyone was here to see the works of Vespera. The anonymous artist who had taken the world by storm. They were dropping fifty, eighty, a hundred thousand dollars on canvases I'd painted in my pajamas while listening to old records.
I moved through the crowd, my heels clicking softly, until I reached the centerpiece of the auction. It was a massive canvas, nearly six feet tall.
It was a mountain peak, jagged and terrifying, covered in snow so realistic you could almost feel the bite of the frost. At the very top stood a wolf. But it wasn't just a wolf. It was huge, its fur thick and dark, its muscles coiled like it was ready to leap off the canvas and tear the throat out of anyone who looked at it too long. Behind it, a full moon hung in a bruised purple sky, glowing with a light that seemed to pulse.
I'd painted it in a fever dream three months ago. I didn't know why. I'd never seen a wolf that big, and I'd certainly never been to that mountain, but my hand had moved like it was being guided by a memory that wasn't mine.
"The detail is... haunting, isn't it?"
I didn't look at the person. I just took a slow sip of my drink as a man in a tailored gray suit stepped up beside me. He was staring at the wolf with a look of pure hunger.
"It's the eyes," I said softly, my voice smooth as silk. "Most people paint animals with blank stares. This one looks like it's hunting us."
The man nodded, entranced. "It looks like a photo, but better. Like a photo of a dream. I've never seen anything like it. Do you think the artist has actually seen a creature like this?"
I let out a small, playful hum. "Maybe. Or maybe they just know what it feels like to be that lonely on top of a mountain."
The man looked at me, really looking at me for the first time, though he couldn't see my eyes behind the shades. He smiled, clearly impressed. "You've got a poetic way of looking at things. I'm Marcus."
"I'm just a fan of the view," I replied, keeping it light. I didn't give him a name. I didn't give anyone a name.
Marcus waved over a gallery assistant with a sharp flick of his wrist. "I want it. Don't even wait for the auction to hit the floor. Mark it sold. Whatever the starting bid is, triple it. Do whatever you can so I can have this painting."
I hid my smile behind the rim of my glass. That single sale just paid for my next ten years of "retirement."
"You're making a good choice," I said to him. "The way the light hits the snow in the corner? If you look at it long enough, it feels like the wind is actually blowing. It's about the silence right before a storm hits. That's why it's special. It's not about the wolf, it's about the power of the moment."
Marcus let out a slow, low whistle. "Damn. You make it sound like you painted it yourself."
I shrugged slightly, a playful tilt of my head. "I just have a very vivid imagination. Enjoy your new prize, Marcus. Have a great rest of your night."
I turned away before he could say anything else, weaving through the crowd of socialites and billionaires. I saw Julian, my publisher, near the bar. He was a very tall man in a neon pink blazer that shouldn't have worked but somehow looked iconic on him. He was currently trapped in a conversation with two women who looked like they'd had a few too many rounds of Botox.
I tipped my glass toward him as I approached.
Julian's eyes snapped to mine, and he practically perked up like a puppy. He excused himself so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, scurrying over to me and pulling me into a quiet alcove behind a velvet curtain.
He looked like he was about to burst with excitement, his hands fluttering, but there was a sharp edge of worry in his eyes that made me pause.
"Darling, you are the star of the century! The sales tonight are astronomical. Truly, you could buy a small island by midnight," he squealed in a hushed tone. Then, his face fell, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping an octave. "But... we have a bit of a hurdle. A very expensive, very insistent hurdle."
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 Avery.
The immortal.
