Chapter 1: A Gaze That Burns

 

Lucas gazed out at the vibrant crowd mingling in the gallery, each person admiring his artwork as if they truly understood the chaos he poured into it. He wasn’t one for big events, especially not for himself, but his agent insisted. 

"It’ll be good for exposure," she said. Lucas didn’t care about the exposure. He cared about the art—his emotions, splattered in abstract colors on canvas.

Yet, something was different tonight. The air felt heavier, more charged. His eyes darted across the room, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces, but they kept being drawn to one man standing in the far corner. 

Tall, brooding, and dressed in a sharp black suit, the stranger looked out of place in the crowd of art lovers. His stance was casual, but his eyes were fixed, dark and focused—on Lucas.

A shiver ran down Lucas's spine, his skin tingling under the weight of the man's intense gaze. He tried to ignore it, turning his attention back to a group of patrons discussing one of his pieces. 

But it was impossible to shake the feeling that those eyes were still on him. He glanced over again, only to find the man still watching him, his lips curling into a small, knowing smirk.

Lucas swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. He was used to people staring at his art, but the way this man was looking at him felt different—personal, intimate, like he was peeling away the layers of Lucas’s defenses with just a glance. It was unnerving. And thrilling.

He turned his back to the man, trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but all he could think about was the stranger’s gaze. Who was he? And why did he feel so... drawn to him? Every time Lucas tried to push the thought away, it came crashing back, stronger. 

As the night wore on, Lucas caught glimpses of the man moving through the crowd, always keeping a respectable distance, yet never far from his line of sight.

 

The stranger never approached, never said a word, but his presence was undeniable. It was as though he was waiting for something—for Lucas to make the first move.

When the gallery began to clear out and the evening wound down, Lucas found himself lingering near one of his paintings, staring blankly at the strokes of color, his mind racing. He hadn’t felt this off-balance in a long time. 

And it bothered him how much this man had gotten under his skin without even speaking.

"Lucas," a deep, smooth voice said from behind him, breaking the silence.

His heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he turned, already knowing who he would see.

The man stood there, even closer than before, his eyes locked onto Lucas’s with an intensity that made his breath catch. Up close, the stranger was even more striking—dark hair that fell just above his brow, sharp jawline, and lips that curved into a small, confident smile.

"You’ve been watching me all night," the man said, his voice low and filled with an almost playful accusation.

Lucas opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or the overwhelming magnetic pull between them.

The man took a step closer, their proximity sending a jolt of electricity through Lucas’s body. "I’m Ethan," he said, extending a hand.

Lucas hesitated for a moment before taking it, feeling the strength in Ethan’s grip. "Lucas," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.

Ethan’s smirk deepened, his eyes flickering down to where their hands touched before returning to meet Lucas’s gaze. "I know."

• To Be Continued...