Shattered Masks

THE PINNACLE OF PARIS.

Paris shimmered under the morning sun, its grandeur undeniable but still dwarfed by the presence of one man-Lucien Noir. Perched at the top floor of Noir Tower, his sleek, glass-dominated headquarters, Lucien stood before a panoramic window, surveying the city he ruled like an emperor. The Eiffel Tower and Seine River sprawled below, but to him, they were mere pieces of a vast empire that he had mastered.

At thirty-two, Lucien was the embodiment of power and allure. Standing tall at six feet, his white hair and piercing blue eyes commanded attention, while his perfectly tailored black suit spoke of his precision and dominance. Paris adored him, envied him, and feared him-but Lucien neither sought their love nor acknowledged their envy.

For him, life was a game of acquisition, and he played to win.

---

"Monsieur Noir."

The soft voice of his assistant, Mathieu, broke the silence. Mathieu, always punctual and efficient, entered the room with a folder in hand.

"The contract for the Marceau acquisition is ready for your signature," Mathieu said, placing the folder on the desk. "And you have a meeting request from a certain Evelyn Beaumont. She proposes a collaboration."

Lucien's gaze didn't waver from the skyline. His tone, cold and controlled, carried no trace of interest. "Beaumont? The heiress?"

"Yes, sir. She owns a chain of art galleries and has expressed interest in merging cultural luxury with your hospitality ventures."

"She can express all she wants," Lucien replied, turning to his desk with a decisive motion. "Schedule the meeting. Let's see if she's worth my time."

Mathieu gave a quick nod and left. Lucien sat at his desk, signing the acquisition papers with a single-minded focus. He didn't dwell on distractions, whether they came from business rivals or romantic entanglements. Confessions and admiration slid off him like rain off glass; he had no use for them.

---

At the Beaumont Estate, Evelyn sat in her sunlit studio, staring at a half-finished painting. The tall windows let in golden light, but her mood was anything but warm. A cup of tea sat untouched beside her as she nervously tapped a brush against the edge of her easel.

Her assistant, Claudine, entered with a clipboard. "Madame, your driver will be ready shortly for the meeting with Monsieur Noir."

Evelyn nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her emerald green dress, perfectly tailored, hinted at both her wealth and her desire to command attention, though she didn't quite feel the part. The idea of facing Lucien Noir-the most powerful man in Paris-made her stomach twist in knots. She'd heard the stories: a man untouchable, emotionless, and devastatingly intimidating.

She swallowed her nerves, telling herself she was capable. She had to be. Her late mother, Isabelle, had always told her, "Strength isn't about never falling; it's about getting back up." Evelyn had spent years rebuilding herself after her father, Charles Beaumont, had torn their family apart with his cruelty. Isabelle's quiet resilience had been her anchor, and now, running her art gallery was Evelyn's way of honoring that strength.

Still, she wasn't naive. She knew Lucien Noir would see her shyness as weakness. But Evelyn had learned long ago to hide her fire until it was needed.

----

At noon, Evelyn stepped into the boardroom at Noir Tower. The space was minimalist and cold, much like the man who ruled it. Lucien was already seated at the head of the long table, his sharp features illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Miss Beaumont," Lucien greeted, his voice steady, devoid of warmth. He didn't stand, didn't offer a handshake. Instead, his blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her momentarily freeze. "You're punctual. Good. Let's begin."

Evelyn's throat tightened, but she forced herself to step forward, placing her portfolio on the table. "Monsieur Noir," she began, her voice soft but steady. "Thank you for agreeing to meet. I believe a collaboration between us could redefine the intersection of art and luxury."

Lucien leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Define 'redefine.'"

Evelyn hesitated for only a second before launching into her proposal. She explained her vision: exclusive art installations curated for Noir's properties, combining culture with opulence to create unparalleled experiences. Lucien listened in silence, his piercing gaze never leaving her face.

When she finished, he tapped a finger against the table, the sound sharp in the silence. "Interesting," he said finally, though his tone suggested otherwise. "But tell me, Miss Beaumont, why should I involve myself in something as... fragile as art?"

Evelyn's heart raced, but she held her ground. "Because art is timeless, Monsieur Noir. Your properties thrive on exclusivity. Adding a cultural dimension will elevate them beyond competition."

Lucien stood, his tall frame towering over her. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit, his movements deliberate and intimidating. "You're confident," he said, his voice low and cutting. "I admire that. But confidence alone doesn't close deals."

Evelyn's jaw tightened. She could feel her shyness threatening to pull her back, but she refused to let it win. Instead, she met his gaze, her hazel eyes flashing. "Neither does arrogance."

For a brief moment, something flickered in Lucien's eyes-amusement, or perhaps respect. It was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Fine," he said, turning away. "I'll consider it. You'll have my decision by the end of the week."

---

As Evelyn left the building, her heels clicking against the polished floors, she replayed the interaction in her mind. Lucien Noir was everything she had expected-intimidating, magnetic, and utterly unreadable. But she had held her ground, and that was something.

Inside the boardroom, Lucien returned to his desk, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Evelyn Beaumont was an anomaly-a distraction, perhaps, but a fascinating one nonetheless.

And Lucien never entertained distractions. Not for long.