The Hidden Brushstroke
(Ethan's POV)
The Monday after dinner at the Ashford Estate, Ethan found himself smiling for no reason.
His assistant noticed immediately.
"You've been impossible to work with this morning."
Ethan looked up from the report on his desk.
"Excuse me?"
"You've smiled four times."
"I smile."
"You don't smile during budget meetings."
He laughed.
"I'll try to do better."
"No," she replied with a grin. "Whatever—or whoever—is responsible for this... don't stop."
After she left, his phone buzzed.
It was his father.
"Morning, Dad."
"Ethan, I have a favor to ask."
"I'm listening."
"You remember the paintings in the west gallery?"
"Of course."
"I've decided it's time to have the collection professionally evaluated."
Ethan smiled.
"I know exactly who you should call."
That afternoon, Ophelia received an email from Richard Ashford.
He explained that Ethan had highly recommended her expertise and asked whether she would be willing to assess the family's private art collection.
She read the email twice.
This wasn't Anonymous's plan.
It was an opportunity.
A real one.
She accepted.
On Wednesday morning, she returned to the Ashford Estate carrying a leather portfolio, white gloves, and a notebook.
Richard welcomed her warmly.
"Thank you for coming."
"It's my pleasure."
"I'll leave the collection in your capable hands. Ethan insisted you're the best."
She glanced at Ethan.
"You've raised expectations."
"I only told the truth."
A faint blush warmed her cheeks.
The west gallery occupied an entire wing of the mansion.
Oil paintings, sculptures, antique clocks, porcelain figures, and rare sketches lined the walls.
Ophelia forgot herself for a moment.
"This collection is extraordinary."
Richard beamed.
"My late wife loved art. Most of these pieces were chosen by her."
Ethan noticed how gently Ophelia handled every artwork, as though each one had a heartbeat.
He admired that.
As Richard left to answer a business call, Ethan stayed with her.
She carefully examined a landscape painting.
"What do you see?" he asked.
She tilted her head.
"Someone changed the sky."
He frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"The painting is over a century old, but the blue in the upper corner is much newer. A restoration was done years later."
"You can tell that just by looking?"
She smiled.
"It's like hearing one wrong note in a familiar song."
He shook his head in amazement.
"You never stop surprising me."
Hours passed as they moved from one artwork to another.
Between discussions about paintings and sculptures, they laughed, teased each other, and occasionally drifted into comfortable silence.
At one point Ethan climbed a small ladder to help remove a framed painting.
"Careful," Ophelia warned.
"I've got it."
The next second, the ladder wobbled.
She instinctively grabbed his arm.
He regained his balance.
For a moment they were standing very close.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither moved away.
Richard's voice echoed from the hallway.
"Ethan?"
They stepped apart almost immediately.
Ethan cleared his throat.
"We're fine."
Richard smiled to himself before continuing down the corridor.
Later that afternoon, Ophelia asked if she could see the storage room where unused artworks were kept.
"Of course," Richard replied. "Most of it hasn't been touched in years."
The room smelled of old wood and varnish.
Canvas-covered paintings leaned against the walls.
Boxes filled with exhibition catalogues sat on dusty shelves.
While examining an old cabinet, something caught Ophelia's eye.
A small brass key lay beneath a faded cloth.
Attached to it was a weathered tag.
Archive Room B
She quietly memorized the words.
Before she could investigate further, footsteps approached.
Nathan appeared in the doorway.
"I thought I'd find you here."
She smiled politely.
"I'm fascinated by forgotten collections."
Nathan looked around the room.
"My mother always said old things remember more than people do."
It was an unusual sentence.
One that lingered in Ophelia's mind.
He picked up a dusty picture frame and wiped it clean.
"You know," he said, "this house has rooms even I rarely visit."
She looked at him carefully.
He seemed sincere.
Open.
Nothing about him suggested guilt.
And yet...
April's photograph.
The diary.
Anonymous's warnings.
None of them would leave her thoughts.
As the afternoon came to an end, Richard thanked her warmly.
"I hope this isn't the last time you visit."
"I still have a detailed report to prepare," Ophelia replied. "So I'm afraid you'll have to see me again."
Richard laughed.
"Excellent."
Ethan walked her to her car.
"I've been thinking."
"That's usually dangerous," she teased.
He laughed.
"I've been thinking."
"That's usually dangerous," she teased.
He laughed.
"I want to show you my favorite place in the city."
"And where is that?"
"It's a surprise."
She folded her arms thoughtfully.
"I don't usually accept mysterious invitations."
"What if I promise good coffee?"
She smiled.
"Now you're negotiating."
"So... Friday evening?"
She pretended to think for a few seconds before answering.
"All right."
His smile was impossible to hide.
"I'll pick you up at six."
After Ethan walked back inside, Ophelia remained seated in her car.
She took out her notebook.
On a blank page she wrote:
Archive Room B
Brass key
April attended the Ashford charity gala.
Nathan knows more about the house than he admits.
Richard seems genuinely kind.
She closed the notebook.
Then her phone vibrated.
A message from Anonymous.
Good. You're exactly where I need you to be.
She stared at the words.
Then another message appeared.
Your next task is to gain Richard Ashford's complete trust.
Ophelia looked back at the mansion through her rearview mirror.
For the first time...
She wondered whether Anonymous was using her just as much as she was using the Ashford family.
She started the engine and drove away, carrying more questions than answers.