Chapter 12: A Contract Bound by Fate
Sleep required certainty, and I had none.
Morning arrived anyway. Pale light slipped through the glass walls of my office, touching the edges of the studio beyond it.
I watched Eva stand in front of my desk like someone who hadn't realized she'd stepped onto a fault line.
The studio keycard lay between us, still unactivated. A thin rectangle of black plastic. Harmless to anyone else.
To me, it felt like a door I had sworn never to open.
She held her bag close to her, fingers knotted into the strap. Her gaze drifted around the office-polished wood, floor-to-ceiling glass, the quiet authority of money and legacy pressed into every corner. She looked out of place here.
That unsettled me more than her talent had.
"I want to be clear," I said, breaking the silence. "This is not a temporary commission."
Her eyes lifted slowly.
"This is a long-term restoration contract. Full access to the studio, controlled access to the painting, confidentiality enforced at every level."
She hesitated before speaking
"I thought this was for consultation," she said.
"It was." I folded my hands on the desk. "Until it wasn't."
I didn't explain further. I didn't trust myself to.
Because the truth was simple and dangerous, once she had completed the painting assessment, I had already made this decision. I was only now pretending it was rational.
Eva shifted her weight. "Why me?"
There it was, the question that mattered.
I studied her face carefully, no guile, no ambition hiding behind curiosity. Just confusion and something else beneath it, an unease.
"You noticed missing details ," I said. "You corrected damage without instruction. And you didn't ask for permission."
"I didn't think.." she said looking shocked
"I know." My voice softened despite myself. "That's the problem."
She frowned slightly, as if trying to read between my words. Smart girl, she sensed there was more.
I reached into a drawer and placed the contract on the desk. Thick paper, legal language.
Pages that bound her future to mine whether she understood it or not.
"Take your time," I said.
Eva skimmed the first page, then the next. Her brow furrowed. "This is a lot."
"It has to be."
"You're offering a salary that.." She paused awhile. "This could change things for me."
I knew, I had made sure it would.
Financial freedom, housing allowance, materials budget, protection clauses. All of it carefully constructed to remove excuses.
Still, something in her expression changed. Not relief.
"There are restrictions," she said, tapping a line with her finger. "I can't photograph the painting, I can't bring anyone into the studio, and I can't discuss the work."
"That's non-negotiable."
She looked up. "Why?"
Because my mother had died protecting what was hidden beneath that canvas.
I didn't say it.
Instead, I said, "Because your skill seems too useful for a special assignment.
That was true, just not complete.
Eva leaned back slightly. "And if I refuse?"
I wondered if she felt it too, that pull toward something she couldn't see yet.
"Then I thank you for your time," I said. "And I lock the painting away again."
Silence stretched between us.
She looked past me, toward the bright glow coming towards my office glass walls. Her gaze lingered there, unfocused. As if she were listening to something I couldn't hear.
Finally, she exhaled.
"I don't know why," she said quietly, "but walking away feels wrong."
She picked up the pen.
The moment the ink touched paper, I felt I had done the first and foremost important part.
When she slid the contract back across the desk, signed, I activated the keycard and placed it in her palm.
The system beeped softly, the studio recognized her.
I watched her fingers curl around the card, as if it carried weight beyond plastic.
For a second, her expression flickered in confusion, then something like recognition.
"You start tomorrow," I said.
She nodded. "Thank you."
After she left, I locked the door and moved to my desk, staring at the contract she had signed.
Eva Sinclair.
Wynford's Corporation.
Bound together by ink and silence.
I should have stopped there, I didn't.
I opened my computer and accessed the internal archives files I hadn't touched in years.
Elara's records- restoration notes, private correspondences flagged as incomplete.
And then I went further, I pulled the fire report.
The studio blaze from eighteen years ago had always been classified as an accident, electrical fault, tragic loss. Case closed.
Except the report had always bothered me. I scanned the document again, slower this time. Floor plans, witness statements, time stamps.
Something didn't line up.
I cross-referenced hospital admissions from that night. Then emergency services logs.
There it was, a discrepancy.
One minor line buried in supplemental notes.
Secondary extraction delayed due to smoke conditions.
Secondary.
My fingers stilled.
I opened another file. Missing persons from the surrounding blocks, children reported unaccounted for during the fire.
Most were resolved except for few but one caught my attention.
Female, approximate age: five to six.
Name unknown,
No parents listed,
Recovered partially alive, transported privately.
I pulled Eva's profile again.
Birth year, and estimated age.
The numbers aligned too neatly.
"That's not possible," I muttered.
But the feeling in my gut said otherwise.
I opened Elara's private digital journal, the one she had encrypted with biometric locks I had only cracked after her death.
Page after page of notes filled the screen. Observations, color theory.
Mentions of "light," "instinct," "a hand too young but too sure."
I searched the document for keywords- Fire, smoke, and escape.
Nothing.
Except one entry dated weeks later.
I leaned back slowly.
Eva Sinclair had walked into my life with no memories, no past, and hands that knew my mother better than I did.
This wasn't coincidence, this was a thread pulled too long.
I minimized the files just as my phone vibrated.
Security alert,
Studio access log updated.
User: Eva Sinclair
Accessing: Restoration Wing A.
I stood, every instinct screaming caution.
Because if my suspicions were right, then hiring Eva wasn't just a professional risk.
It was an invitation to reopen a fire that had never truly gone out.