Death of a Bachelor (COMPLETED)

Epilogue

Evening, 7:00-January 1, 2024

"Flashback-1 year ago"

Lewis let out a quiet sigh as he stood by the large window of his hotel suite, staring at the delicate invitation card in his hand. It was printed on thick, textured rose gold paper, the words elegantly embossed in cream-white ink. It read: "Mizuki: Light & Shadow - A Private Art Exhibition. Paris. January 1."

He wasn't one to attend many art galleries, especially during the off-season when he preferred to lay low, away from flashing cameras and constant questions. But this one is one of the most important event he need to attend this year, this was Mizuki's final exhibition. Her last collection - revealed to the world after her passing two years ago.

He pulled on his dark coat, adjusted the collar, and slid the invitation into his inner pocket before heading downstairs. The lobby was quiet, with elegant marble floors and soft jazz playing in the background. A black car was already waiting outside. The doorman gave him a polite nod as he stepped out into the chill evening. Inside the car, Lewis sat back in the leather seat and glanced at his phone. A message flashed on the screen.

Miles:

Already here. You're going to want to see this - the last piece is unbelievable.

Lewis didn't reply. He simply stared out the window as the driver turned onto the winding streets. Paris at night had a rhythm of its own - the flicker of storefronts, the murmur of couples strolling hand in hand, the distant clinking of wine glasses spilling from cafés and bistros.

As the car rolled closer to the river, he spotted the gallery ahead - a beautiful old building with wrought-iron balconies and tall arched windows glowing with golden light. A modest crowd stood outside the entrance, speaking in hushed tones, the mood respectful and quiet.

The driver slowed to a stop at the curb. Lewis stepped out, the cold air instantly biting at his cheeks. His breath came out in a puff as he looked up at the gallery's name etched in brass above the door.

Through the glass, he spotted familiar faces. One in particular stood out - Miles, already inside, holding a wine glass in one hand while speaking animatedly with a woman in a navy-blue coat. He looked relaxed, as always, but when his eyes caught Lewis by the entrance, he raised his glass with a small smile, signaling him to come in.

Lewis took a deep breath and stepped toward the door, his hand resting briefly on the brass handle before he pushed it open. A gentle chime echoed as he entered, followed by the quiet hush of classical piano playing softly in the background. The air inside the gallery was warm, filled with the faint scent of aged paper, polished wood, and red wine.

The atmosphere was calm but alive - voices murmured, footsteps lightly tapped against the stone floor, and glasses clinked gently as guests walked from one painting to the next. The artists, collectors, and friends of Mizuki, all dressed in subtle elegance, moving through the gallery with quiet reverence.

The first thing that caught Lewis's eye were the paintings - Mizuki's unmistakable style. Each canvas was bathed in soft lighting, their colors muted yet powerful. Lewis took his time walking slowly through the space, letting each piece speak for itself. The room fell into a rhythm - the hush of admiration, the occasional camera click, the shared nods between strangers who were all there for the same reason.

Then he heard a familiar voice.

"About time you showed up! I'm so bored man, talking to this old millionaires"

Lewis turned and found Miles standing just a few feet away, dressed sharply in a cream suit, holding a nearly empty glass of wine. His grin was easy, but his eyes softened when they met Lewis's.