Under His Signature : Fated strokes

Milo Winters stared at the empty canvas in front of him. The constant buzz of the city outside his studio window was a familiar sound, but today, it seemed to accentuate the weight pressing down on his shoulders. His brush hovered in the air, hanging between his chaotic mind and the need to create something beautiful, something meaningful. But the pressure wasn't coming.

The competitive world of high art sales was exhausting for Milo. For years he has made a name for himself, not as a prodigy or a money-born, but as a struggling artist determined to make his mark, and with countless sleepless nights, grueling hours before the curtain and more impossible shows can accommodate. And now, he was on the verge of something big. But there was still something missing—a space that couldn't be filled with paint.

A knock on the door knocked him out of his thoughts.

"Milo?" A voice came from the other side of the door.

It was his best friend and assistant, Felix, who always knew when to break the silence that so often wore Milo's saddest moments He saw behind the artist—the mask that seemed to sleep there the remnants of the worry that began touch the clouds of his heart

"Come in," Milo said in a low voice.

Felix looked upset but tried to mask it with a light smile. "You still in it? The auction takes place in two days, man. Now you can't burn it."

Milo smiled half-heartedly. "I know, Felix. I just… can't seem to grasp what I need. There's too much noise in my head."

Felix leaned against the door and studied her for a moment. "Well, I don't know if this will help, but… I heard something today that might interest you."

Milo looked up curiously. "What's that?" he asked. 

"Victor Kingsley is looking for new art to showcase on his family stage," Felix said with a sly smile at the corner of his mouth. "The heir to the Kingsley Empire—everyone is talking about him."

Milo's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Victor's name. He hadn't heard that name in years, not when he first started making a name for himself in the art world. Victor Kingsley wasn't just a corporate heir—he was just one man who had taken the art world by storm with his family's gallery, an empire built on exclusivity, connections and power.

But Milo was not one to follow someone like Victor. He really wasn't one to bow down to a man like himself, no matter how attractive the offer sounded. But there was something in the air—the way Felix said Victor's name, in a voice that meant more than just business.

"Victor Kingsley?" he asked. There was a hint of hesitation in Milo's voice. "What does that have to do with me?"

"He likes what you're doing," Felix said, looking closely at Milo. "He has a vision for up-and-coming talent. This can be your greatest relief."

Milo swallowed hard, trying to calm himself down. Victor Kingsley has always been a name with a quiet voice in the art world—and he's known for his passion, ability to see what's possible, and a knack for turning relatively unknown artists into household names but it wasn't Milo playing that game . He was not interested in being a trophy side.

Still, he couldn't resist the heaving in his chest. Maybe it was the promise of acceptance, maybe it was someone like Victor—a man who has everything and doesn't have to give anything for someone like Milo to pull.

But it isn't. Milo was not one to chase after fleeting dreams.

"I'm not a rich man's toy, Felix," Milo said, shaking his head, though his words sounded hollow even to her. "I'll call my own name, not someone else's handout."

Felix was silent for a moment, then put his hand on Milo's shoulder and stepped forward. "I know. But it doesn't hurt to hear him say that. You worked so hard to remain hidden in the shadows."

Milo let out a sharp breath. Without a doubt, he was right. He had worked too hard to forget. But was this really the way to go? He just couldn't shake the feeling that something about this Victor Kingsley wasn't just about business.