The Billionaire's Secret Love Child(179)

I took a quick peek into the hallway of my building, which was thankfully empty, and figuring it safe enough, left my apartment.

The safest place I knew was my gallery, I knew every nook and cranny, every sight and sound; it was home. It sat a fairly close two blocks away from my apartment, which was as far as I really would consider walking in the city.

I could already make out the familiar glass viewing windows, and spectacular pieces I had arranged for all to see.

I whipped out my keys and tore open the door, immediately shutting and relocking the heavy glass portal behind me. I figured the glass would, at least, let me see people coming.

My phone buzzed again, and I once again ignored it. I knew it was still Viktor trying to get my attention. With a sigh of relief, I made way for my office in the back room of the gallery, and a twist of the key brought me into the inviting cubby that was my office.

It truly was a cozy place, as I had enough room to sit at my desk for paperwork when the need arose, or to stretch when too much work needed to be done. Familiar receipts and documents littered the walls and the desk, still demanding my attention. A fresh piece sat against the wall, still wrapped in butcher paper while it waited for a spot in the gallery.

I plopped down on the chair and shut the door behind me, and enjoyed the solitude. I knew I would have a few people visiting today to possibly purchase some of the work I had displayed and I readily awaited their calls.

I figured now was the best time to go through the mountain of messages that I had received. I retrieved my phone, yet again, from my purse and began to scroll through my missed messages. More than twenty from Viktor, and another three voice messages from him as well. However, there was a single message from an unknown number.

Knowing that it may be a client I decided to tap on it, and doing so I let out a scream of fright. It was a photo of me, getting into the car at the party last night. I could even make out Viktor’s silhouette in the foreground chasing after the car.

The phone flashed again, and another photo popped up on the screen from the same number. It frightened me to find another photo of me, but this time, I was lying in bed, naked. I could tell the photo had been taken last night, as the dress I had worn the previous night was still crumpled on the floor in the photo.

I dropped my phone, hoping this was some kind of prank that was being played, but then I remembered what Viktor was talking about last night and began to have a panic attack. My breathing became incredibly shallow as I lowered myself to the floor with my back against the door.

The phone vibrated on the floor again, and I felt the urge to leave and find the police. But, I hesitantly reached for it and examined the caller. It was Viktor.

I hastily answered the phone.

“Viktor, what the hell is going on,” I screamed, “why am I receiving photos of myself from last night?

“Brandy, this is very important, you need to delete all the messages I sent you from last night as quickly as possible. I’m on my way to your apartment right now.”

“I’m at the gallery,” I said.

“Okay, stay right there and I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

The phone went silent, and I did as I was told. I scurried through my phone and removed all the messages I had received.

Then I heard a knock on the window out front. I was scared to even look out the back room door, let alone open the front door. Still, I did my best to keep my composure as I stepped out from my office.

I recognized the man at the front door, it was Ivan. He was a client I had scheduled a meet with. I let out a sigh, which did little to calm my nerves, and straightened my dress. I had known Ivan for more than half a year, and he was one of my better customers. I knew I could trust him with in my situation.

I unlocked the door, and he inched it open from the outside.

“Ivan, so good to see you, could we perhaps reschedule for another day? This is not a good time.

I choked out the words and I think he could tell I was nervous.

“Is something wrong,” he asked, “I know it’s short notice but I really need a gift for my friend. Vodka is a great gift for a friend, but it shouldn’t be the only gift. Let me buy something quickly, eh?”

I relented. He had a nice smile, and I couldn’t see him as anything more than harmless. He strolled in, and I locked the two of us in the gallery to make sure nobody would try to enter that I didn’t know.

With a quickened pace he walked along the walls of paintings and took a quick glance at many of them he hadn’t seen before. I followed, with one eye watching him, and the other watching the door.

He paused in front of a piece, a blotchy red design. It was a painting I had received from a newer artist in the area, and the style wasn’t incredibly popular, but I couldn’t help it, the art spoke to me.

“How much for this?”

“$10,000,” I replied.

He tilted his head and nodded.

“I like this, and I believe he will too, write it up, and I’ll be on my way.”

He produced his checkbook from his pocket, and I walked toward the back room. I rummaged for the paperwork he would need to sign, but as I searched I felt a pair of hands grabbing me from behind.

My mouth was covered in a handkerchief, and my abdomen was being squeezed so tight it was hard to breathe. I struggled for a breath of fresh air, but in moments, I could feel myself drift off to sleep.