I Pretended To Be His Crush For Three Years Chapter 10

I Pretended To Be His Crush For Three Years Chapter 10

#Reid Calloway’s “Mistake” Tops Charts for Fourth Week-Breaks Annual Record#

#Reid Calloway Chokes Up On Stage: “There’s Something I Want to Say To Someone”#

#Nyssa Spotted Leaving Reid’s Studio Alone-New Album Collaboration?#

Nora’s finger paused on the last one.

Collaboration.

Right. They belonged to the same world.

A musical dynasty heiress and a chart-topping rock star. Of course they’d work together. It was only natural.

She closed the screenshot and typed a reply to Hailey: “Stop sending me these.”

Hailey sent back a pouty emoji. “Nora, you really don’t want to know?”

She typed a few words, then deleted them. Typed again, deleted again.

Finally she sent one word: “No.”

She didn’t want to know anymore.

What was the point of knowing? He had a new life. She had a new start.

The distance between them wasn’t the thirteen-hour flight. It was the unbridgeable gulf that had been there from the very beginning-predestined, insurmountable.

He stood on stage, lights pouring down on him.

She stood in a studio, paint staining her fingers.

No overlap. That was the best ending.

But fate didn’t seem ready to let her go.

Late one night at the end of October, Nora attended an art salon organized by her school.

The salon was held in an old villa in the city center. The room was full of artists, curators, and collectors.

She wore a black dress, light makeup. She stood in a corner with a glass of prosecco, looking at the paintings on the wall.

“Nora?”

She was sent as a substitute bride. They thought she was weak. They…

A familiar voice came from behind her.

She turned. An unexpected face.

Mr. Atlas. The gallery owner from back home-the one who’d wanted to sign her exclusively.

“Mr. Atlas?” She blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for an art fair,” he said, smiling. “Didn’t expect to run into you. I thought you came to Milan to study? What brings you to this salon?”

“The school organized it.”

“Perfect timing.” He beckoned behind him. “Come, let me introduce you to someone.”

A man stepped out of the crowd.

He looked to be in his early thirties, wearing a dark blue suit with no tie. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Sharp features, high brow bone, deep brown eyes-with a hint of mixed heritage.

“This is Lucas Moretti,” Mr. Atlas said. “Lucas is Italian-American, working in art investment here in Milan. Lucas, this is Nora. The talented young painter I told you about.”

Lucas extended his hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

His voice was low, with a slight rasp, like the deep C string of a cello.

Nora shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’ve seen your work,” he said. “That piece, Light-it’s beautifully done. The color layering is very rich.”

Nora paused, surprised. “You’ve seen my paintings?”

“Mr. Atlas showed me your portfolio.” He paused, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “I liked what I saw very much.”

“Thank you.” Nora lowered her eyes and took a sip of her prosecco.

Lucas didn’t walk away. Instead, he moved to stand beside her.

“You’re a student at Brera?”

“Yeah, just started.”

“How are you finding it?”

“Good.” She thought for a moment. “My Italian isn’t great yet, though. Sometimes I can’t follow the lectures.”

He smiled. “I was the same when I first got here. Stay long enough, and it gets better.”

His smile was gentle. Not dazzling and blinding like Reid’s-the kind you couldn’t look at directly-but warm, like a cup of hot tea on a winter day, slowly spreading heat through your chest.

“You’ve been in Milan a long time?”

“Seven or eight years now,” he said. “Came here for university, and stayed after graduation. Never left.”