Chloe POV
The thought of my identity being exposed sent a cold shiver down my spine. The anonymous online world of Aura was my safe haven, a place where my talent could thrive without the baggage of my personal life. Now, it felt exposed and vulnerable. I stared at the Odyssey email, cursor hovering over "delete." But I couldn't. Deleting it wouldn't delete Garrison Cooper's suspicions.
My boss called me into his office. "Chloe, Odyssey wants to meet you in person. Garrison Cooper himself will be there. This is a huge deal, prepare well." His voice was brimming with excitement.
Kaitlyn, ever the supportive friend, offered to help. "Need me to help you pick out an outfit? Run through your talking points? I can even pretend to be your super-fan assistant, screaming 'Go, Chloe!'"
I smiled, appreciating her enthusiasm, but shook my head. "Thanks, Kaitlyn, but I think I need to handle this myself. Alone." I needed to mentally prepare for the possibility of my secret being out. How much did Garrison know? What would I say?
I spent hours in front of my mirror, rehearsing vague answers, practicing an air of confident nonchalance. I chose a tailored blazer and simple trousers, aiming for professional and unmemorable. I wanted my work to speak, not my appearance.
The Odyssey office was an impressive, sleek space. High ceilings, glass walls, modern art pieces. My boss and I were ushered into a large conference room. Garrison Cooper was already there, seated at the head of a long table, alongside Odyssey's brand director. My heart gave a little jolt.
My boss nudged me. "Garrison Cooper is the main investor in Odyssey," he whispered. "He's very hands-on with the brands he backs."
The brand director, a sharp woman named Eleanor Vance, smiled at me. "Chloe, your proposal for Odyssey was exceptional. The style, the vision... it reminded us strongly of Aura's work. Are you familiar with her?"
My breath caught in my throat. This was it. The direct confrontation.
"Yes, I am," I said, keeping my voice even. "Aura is a prominent digital artist. Her work is very inspiring."
Eleanor nodded. "Indeed. We actually tried to reach out to Aura for this project initially, but she's notoriously hard to contact. Such a shame." She sighed, a hint of genuine disappointment in her voice. Her eyes flickered to Garrison, then back to me. A silent exchange I wasn't meant to see.
"I've certainly been influenced by her aesthetic," I admitted, a partial truth. It was a calculated risk, acknowledging the similarity without confirming my identity.
The conversation then shifted to the project specifics, diving into logistics and timelines. I answered questions professionally, my mind actively working to maintain my composure. Throughout, Garrison Cooper remained silent, observing. He occasionally flipped through the pages of my proposal, his expression unreadable. His gaze, when it did meet mine, was intense, analytical.
The meeting ended. As I rose to leave, Garrison Cooper's voice cut through the polite goodbyes.
"Ms. Best," he said, "a moment, if you please."
My boss looked surprised but nodded, excusing himself. I turned back to Garrison, a knot tightening in my stomach.
"I looked at your portfolio," he began, his voice calm, but with an underlying edge of precision. "Your previous work. You have a distinct style. Where did you develop it?"
"Self-taught, mostly," I replied, my answer succinct. "I've been drawing and designing since I was a child."
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on mine. "Your use of negative space, the specific color gradients in your early pieces... it's a very particular signature. Unique."
My heart hammered against my ribs. He was not just looking at my work; he was dissecting it. My carefully constructed calm threatened to crack. I forced myself to remain still, my face a blank slate.
"Thank you," I managed, the word feeling dry in my mouth.
He simply nodded, his gaze unwavering for another moment, then waved a dismissive hand. "That's all for now, Ms. Best. You can go."
I walked out of the office, my legs feeling unsteady. The air outside felt colder, sharper. As soon as I got home, I searched for Garrison Cooper online. His profile was extensive: a brilliant mind, a shrewd investor, a man who built empires. He was also known for his incredible attention to detail. And his reputation for uncovering secrets before anyone else even knew they existed.
My phone buzzed. It was Kaitlyn.
"Sooo," her message read, "how was the big meeting with Mr. Moneybags? Did he charm your socks off? Did he ask you out?"
I typed a quick reply. "It was fine. All business. Why would he ask me out?"
"Oh, come on," she shot back. "I saw him looking at you during the walk-through. He was checking you out, Chloe. Trust me."
"He was probably just observing the new talent," I replied, trying to rationalize it away. "That's his job as an investor."
"Whatever you say," Kaitlyn sent back with a rolling eyes emoji. "Just admit it. He's interested."
I put down my phone. I didn't want to think about it. I wasn't ready for anything beyond work. But Kaitlyn's words lingered. Was he interested in me, or in Aura? And which possibility scared me more?
The Odyssey project gained momentum. My designs were a resounding success, boosting the company's reputation. My role within the agency shifted. I was no longer just a graphic designer; I was the recognized creative force.
"You're amazing, Chloe," Kaitlyn said one afternoon. "People are starting to whisper about you. You're like the new golden girl."
"Hardly," I demurred. "I just got lucky with a good client."
"Lucky or not, the boss is talking about promoting you to Project Lead for Odyssey," she revealed, her voice a hushed whisper. "That's a massive step up."
My eyes widened. "Project Lead? Already?"
"Why not?" Kaitlyn shrugged. "You delivered everything and more. You're clearly the best person for it."
A new wave of anxiety washed over me. Project Lead meant more visibility, more meetings, more exposure. It meant stepping further into the light, increasing the risk of Aura's identity being discovered. I had worked so hard to keep my two lives separate. Was it worth the trade-off? I began to consider resigning, retreating back into the safety of anonymity.
Just as I wrestled with this decision, fate intervened in an unexpected way. I was at a local grocery store, reaching for a carton of oat milk, when I saw her. Kiana Roth. Danial's wife. She looked thinner, her smile less confident than I remembered. What was she doing in Austin, in my neighborhood grocery store?
"Chloe?" she said, her voice laced with surprise, then a saccharine sweetness. "Oh my goodness, what a coincidence! How are you?"
I nodded curtly. "Fine, Kiana." I picked up my milk, ready to leave.
She stepped closer, blocking my path. "Still in Chicago? Or did you finally find something new? Danial always said you were struggling to find your footing." Her tone was subtly condescending. "He and I are doing wonderfully, by the way. Married life is just bliss."
I looked her in the eye, a cold certainty settling over me. "That's lovely for you," I said, my voice flat. "But your marital status, and indeed, Danial's, are of no interest to me. Please move."
Her smile faltered. "Oh. Right. Well, I was just curious. You know, old friends."
"We were never friends," I stated bluntly. "And I have nothing to tell you." I pushed past her, heading for the checkout.
"Wait, Chloe!" she called after me, her voice a little higher now, a touch of desperation in it. "Don't be like that! We can be cordial!"
I didn't turn around. I paid for my milk and walked out, my back stiff, my resolve hardening. But as I reached my car, I glanced back. She was still standing by the dairy aisle, phone pressed to her ear, watching me through the window. Her eyes, even from a distance, were sharp and calculating. This wasn't a coincidence. She had come looking for me.
