Rich people gobbled art up, fucking pretentious assholes. But a goldmine for him to win through the stakes. Alex Knight leaned back in his leather chair, staring blankly at the meticulously arranged art pieces on the walls of his office. He sighed, rubbing his temple as he let his thoughts drift into a familiar monologue.

Art is such a pretentious load of crap. Who actually enjoys staring at blobs of paint on a canvas? But hey, sponsoring an art exhibition for visually impaired artists? That’s a PR goldmine. Makes him look all compassionate and deep. Mushy gushy about disabled people – it’s perfect. They eat that up.

He checked his watch. It was time to head to the event, the one he was sponsoring more for the headlines than for any genuine interest. He straightened his tie, flashed his practiced charming smile at his reflection, and walked out the door.

—

The exhibition was an intricate affair, with a blend of classical and modern pieces arranged in a way that even he had to admit was impressive. The venue was filled with the city’s elite, mingling and sipping champagne, their chatter a constant hum in the background.

Alex navigated through the crowd , his eyes scanning for the host. He spotted her near a particularly striking sculpture. Charlotte Whitmore, he remembered from the brief he skimmed through, was the mastermind behind this event. Silver blonde hair framed her face, her pinkish lips set in a perpetual frown, and her striking green eyes, though sightless, seemed to pierce through the crowd.

For a moment, he found himself imagining drowning in those eyes, a thought that startled him. Shaking it off, he noticed she was deep in conversation with an older gentleman. Alex's heart skipped a beat as he recognized him.

##Mr. Whitmore  "Alex, my boy!" Mr. Whitmore responded, pulling him into a hearty handshake. "So glad you could make it."

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world," Alex replied smoothly, his eyes flicking to Charlotte. "And you're Charlotte, It's a hor-honor to be here."