At Artoris Art Gallery
Early Morning,
The grand hall of the Artoris Art Gallery was alive with a sense of controlled urgency.
Staff members moved swiftly across the cleaning marble floor, adjusting flower , aligning chairs, and ensuring every detail was flawless. Expensive chandeliers shimmered above, casting golden light over priceless artworks displayed with precision.
On the surface, it was a picture of professional perfection. But today was no ordinary day. VIP guests were expected within the hour, and yet, an invisible weight hung in the air . a tension that no amount of polishing could scrub away.
Whispers in the Corner
In a quiet corner of the hall, two attendants stood together, ostensibly arranging a row of chairs. Their movements were hurried, their heads bowed in hushed conversation.
"Hey... why does everything feel so heavy today?" one whispered, his hands lingering on the back of a chair. "It's never this tense, even for a VIP showing. Did something happen?"
The other staff member glanced around cautiously before replying in a low voice.
"You weren't here yesterday, right?"
"No," the first one said. "My shift just started today."
The second staff member sighed, his expression tightening.
"Then you missed everything. Yesterday… one of the staff girls- which is in waitress position stole Miss Rati's painting and ran away."
"What.....?!" the first man blurted out.
"Shhh!" the other hissed, eyes darting around. "Keep your voice down unless you want to be the next one out the door!"
The first man lowered his voice to a frantic whisper. "Wait... how? Didn't anyone stop her? Where was security?"
Before the other could answer, a female staff member drifted toward them with interest, pretending to inspect a nearby sculpture while joining the fray.
"Our handsome Sir... Siddharth tried," she said quietly, her eyes wide with the memory of the previous evening. "He chased her down himself. He almost had her, but that girl... she was like a really good in her thief telent . She smashed through the glass wall on the third floor and jumped."
"Jumped , wow..? From the third floor?" The first man's jaw dropped.
The second staff member nodded, now slightly excited.
"You think that's all? The real twist is—she wasn't even our real employee."
The girl frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean exactly that," he said, lowering his voice further. "I heard it from a security guard friend. The real waitress was found unconscious outside the gallery campus."
A cold silence fell over the trio. "What..?" the first staff member whispered. "Is she okay?"
"I don't know," the second man replied grimly. "Management is keeping a lid on it. They're trying to bury the whole thing."
Again, A brief silence fell between them.
Here's the first staff member exhaled slowly. "And Miss Rati… what happened to her ? She loved that painting, right?"
The girl's expression darkened.
"She's not in a good condition," she said softly. "From what I heard, she's been shouting, throwing things… trying to find that painting. It's like she get shock of emotion."
The second man nodded solemnly. "Honestly, it's a Sir Siddharth is keeping and handling. He's the only one holding this entire event together right now."
Before anyone could say more
A sharp voice cut through the air.
"Hey! What are you all doing standing around?!"
A senior staff member approached them with an irritated expression.
"Get back to work! The VIP guests will arrive any minute!"
"Yes, sir!" all three responded immediately.
They quickly dispersed, returning to their duties.
An hour later, the grand hall of Artoris Art Gallery had transformed into a spectacle of elegance.
Luxury cars arrived one after another. Well-dressed guests stepped inside, their voices blending into a soft hum of conversation. Crystal glasses clinked.
Soft music filled the air. Everything appeared perfect . At least on the surface.
Near the center of the hall, Siddharth stood quietly, observing everything.
His sharp eyes moved across the crowd, the entrances, the security placements,
Nothing escaped his notice.
Yet his expression remained calm.
Controlled.
A staff member approached him hurriedly.
a young woman, slightly out of breath.
"Sir," she said, lowering her voice respectfully, "I managed to retrieve a video of that girl."
Siddharth's gaze shifted toward her.
"And?" he asked.
"There's a moment… just a few seconds," she continued. "Her face is visible clearly."
For the first time, his focus sharpened.
But then , She hesitated.
"…After that, the footage suddenly gets corrupted," she added. "Sir… our system has been hacked by someone."
A brief silence followed.
The noise of the event faded into the background. Siddharth didn't react immediately.
He simply looked ahead, his expression unreadable.
Then , A faint smile appeared.
Not amused and Not even surprised, Interested. "Oh," he said quietly, "that's… a serious problem for us."
The staff member straightened nervously.
"Yes, sir."
Siddharth turned his gaze back to the crowd, his voice calm yet firm.
"Tighten the security," he ordered. "Double-check every entry point."
With a pause. "And assign someone to track her identity," he added. "I want every possible detail."
The staff member nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. I'll handle it immediately."
She stepped away. Siddharth think in his mind. "A thief who can fight…" he murmured under his breath.
"…plus hacked our system."
His faint smile deepened slightly.
"Interesting."Around him, the event continued flawlessly. Guests laughing.
As , the art gallery's grand hall buzzed with elegance and controlled excitement, but at the reception, tension began to rise. A man stood at the counter, his expression sharp with impatience.
"I need to meet Miss Rati," he said firmly. "Please inform her that I'm here."
The receptionist maintained a polite smile, though her voice carried restraint. "I'm sorry, sir. Our ma'am is not in good health today. We've been given strict instructions, she won't be attending the auction or meeting anyone."
The man's brows furrowed. "What?" Disbelief crept into his tone. "That's not possible. She told me herself that she would meet me today."
"I understand, sir," the staff member replied carefully, "but the situation has changed."
His patience snapped. "So now you're telling me I came all this way for nothing? No. I need to speak to someone in charge. Call your manager, or whoever is responsible for this event."
The receptionist hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Please stay calm, sir. Give me a moment; we'll try to resolve this."
The man exhaled sharply, forcing a tight smile. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't want 'try.' I want results. If I don't meet her today… this entire trip is a waste."
The receptionist signaled another staff member, who immediately rushed off. Minutes passed. The noise of the event continued behind them laughter, music, and conversation but at the reception, the atmosphere grew heavier.
Then, footsteps approached. Measured. Calm. Siddharth arrived.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice steady. He turned to the staff, his tone cooling. "Why was I called here? Why are you not handling your own duties? You know I am only here temporarily."
The staff member straightened instantly. "Sir, this gentleman insists on meeting Miss Rati."
Siddharth's gaze shifted to the man. For a moment, he said nothing. And then a flicker of memory crossed his mind. A sharp, vivid image. Rati.
Her eyes were filled with chaos. Her voice trembled, shouting uncontrollably. A paintbrush was thrown, color splattering across Siddharth's face.
"Give it back!" she had screamed. "Give it back to me!"
Two doctors held her back. A syringe. Her body struggled, then slowly went still as the sedative took effect. One of the doctors had turned to him quietly: "I think something has deeply affected her emotionally. This kind of pain… it's not physical , it's emotional. Only she can feel it."
The memory faded. Siddharth's expression remained unchanged calm and controlled but his eyes had hardened.
He looked at the man in front of him. "You want to meet her," Siddharth said.
The man nodded immediately. "Yes. She asked me to come. I didn't come here for nothing."
A brief silence followed. Then Siddharth spoke again his tone polite, yet edged with quiet authority.
"I understand," he said. "But at the moment, meeting her is not possible."
The man's expression tightened with frustration.He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, then straightened his posture.
"I think you don't know me," he said, attempting to keep his tone controlled. "I'm a very important friend of your ma'am. My name is Javed… and I'm a production manager at Lyzeica Pharmaceuticals Corporation Limited."
For a fraction of a second, Something flickered in Siddharth's mind.
Kamal's company…? A quiet thought surfaced. why is he here?
But his face showed nothing.
Instead, a faint, almost playful smile appeared. "Wow," Siddharth said lightly. "A pharmaceuticals corporation employee… at an art gallery… during a painting auction event?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Did you lose your company's way or something?"
For a moment, the tension cracked.
Javed smiled in return, though there was still urgency behind it.
"Oh, it's not like that," he replied. "Believe me, I'm here strictly for work."
He continued, his tone becoming more earnest. "She's been extremely busy these past few days. I couldn't get a chance to meet her. So Miss Rati told me to come directly to the event… that's why I'm here."
A pause. Then he looked at Siddharth carefully. "By the way… who are you?"
Here siddharth gave a short nod. "Oh, right. My introduction," he said calmly. "Siddharth Raj."
A slight pause.
"CEO of Soul-Gram."
Javed's reaction changed instantly.
His eyes widened.
"Wait… you're that Siddharth Raj?" he said, almost in disbelief.
A hint of excitement entered his voice.
"Wow… I've heard a lot about you. Miss Rati talks about you often. She says you're incredibly talented—responsible, hardworking…" He let out a small laugh.
"She even says that because of you, she doesn't have to worry about handling Soul-Gram at all."
Siddharth smiled faintly. Polite.
Measured. "Flattery aside," he said, "what exactly was the reason you wanted to meet her?" Javed's expression shifted.
The confidence faded slightly.
A hint of nervousness crept in.
He glanced around briefly before lowering his voice. "It's… something confidential," he said. "I was supposed to tell her directly."
A pause. Then he added,
"But since you're saying she's not in a condition to meet anyone… I also have it in written form." He reached into his pocket slowly. "A letter," he said. "Same information. Completely confidential."
Here , Javed slowly pulled the folded letter from his pocket.
For a moment, he held it between his fingers hesitating.
Then he extended his hand toward Siddharth. He reached out calmly to take it.
But just before their fingers met, Javed pulled his hand back.
The movement was subtle… but deliberate.
"I'll give it to you," Javed said, his voice lowering slightly, "but first… I need assurance."
Siddharth's eyes lifted.
A faint pause.
"That this letter will remain safe," Javed added, nobody read this expect your ma'am rati .
For a second, the air turned still.
Then, Siddharth slowly raised his hand, stopping midway between them.
His gaze sharpened not angry, but heavy.
"What are you saying?" he asked quietly. "You don't have confidence in me?"
The weight behind his voice made Javed let out an awkward laugh.
"Ah… no, no nothing like that," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Don't misunderstand. I trust you."
He extended the letter again.
"Here. Please take it."
This time, Siddharth didn't hesitate.
He took the letter firmly. Without another word.
Javed watched him for a moment, then relaxed slightly.
Siddharth slipped the letter into his coat pocket, his expression returning to calm control.
"Stay here," he said, his tone smooth, almost casual now. "Enjoy the event."
He glanced toward the grand hall where preparations were reaching their peak.
"In a few minutes," he added, "the painting auction will begin." Javed nodded slowly.
Here's,Siddharth gave a faint, composed smile. "Please, take a seat," he said to Javed, gesturing toward the lounge area. "Enjoy the event. There's a wide selection of food as well help yourself."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, his presence drawing subtle attention as he disappeared into the crowd.
Outside the Artoris Art Gallery, an e-rickshaw came to a slightly jerky stop.
Luv stepped out, stretching his back dramatically before turning to the driver with a grin.
"Uncle," he said, half-laughing, "your vehicle moves like a tortoise… but your driving skills? Full racing car level!"
The driver blinked, confused for a second then chuckled.
Here Luv handed over the fare, waved casually, and turned toward the massive building in front of him.
For a moment, he just stood there.
The Artoris Art Gallery towered above glass, light, and luxury reflecting in every corner.
"Wow…" he murmured. "This place screams money."
Adjusting his bag, he walked forward with growing excitement.
At the entrance, after a brief check, he flashed a special pass.
The guard stepped aside, Access granted.
As he entered the grand hall, his eyes widened.
Guests everywhere, expensive outfits. Influential faces. Soft music blending with quiet conversations.
Luv's lips curled into a mischievous smile.
"So many people…" he thought. "So many potential subscribers for my channel."
He straightened his posture instantly, already imagining thumbnails and titles.
"Rich people reaction vlog… viral content confirmed," he muttered under his breath.
Just then, a waiter approached him politely, holding a tray filled with elegant drinks and snacks.
"Sir, would you like something?"
Luv looked at the tray then at the waiter.
His grin widened.
"Oh, don't mind if I do," he said, picking up a glass. "Free food always tastes better."
He took a sip, eyes lighting up.
"Okay… this is definitely five-star level content," he whispered to himself.
Suddenly, Luv paused mid-sip.
Something caught his attention.
He turned slightly—glancing back toward the entrance.
Two guests had just stood up from their seats, making way for someone.
Curious, Luv shifted his angle—
And then he froze.
His eyes narrowed.
"Wait… that face…"
At the entrance, a man stepped inside with calm, controlled confidence.
It was Nico.
The moment he entered, three staff members rushed forward, bowing slightly as they greeted him with visible respect.
"Welcome, sir."
"Good evening, sir."
"Please, this way."
Luv's eyebrows shot up.
"Oh ho… VIP entry?" he thought, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
Without wasting a second, he quietly pulled out his phone and started recording.
His voice dropped to a low whisper as he began vlogging.
"Guys… this is getting interesting," he murmured. "Looks like some high-profile entry just happened."
A nearby guest noticed him and frowned.
"Why is this vlogger here?" the man muttered to another. "He should stay in a corner with others like him."
Luv heard it.
Of course he did.
But instead of reacting, he simply smirked.
"More drama… more views," he thought.
Meanwhile, Nico walked forward without looking around, his expression unreadable.
Every step carried quiet authority.
The staff guided him toward the seating area, and he took his seat calmly—like he belonged there more than anyone else.
Luv zoomed in slightly with his camera.
His curiosity had now turned into full interest.
As Nico took his seat, his expression remained calm , but his mind was anything but. A thought resurfaced. Sharp. Unsettling.
Before coming here, he had received news. The job he had arranged the theft of something tied take that painting which is related to Rati's emotions but she get failed. It had been ruined by a single mistake. A costly one.
That was the only reason he was here now. Not for the event. Not for the art. He was here to take that painting by himself.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. Something went wrong… and I don't like unknown variables.
Before arriving at the gallery, Nico had tried to contact his ma'am.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He had called her personal number… no response.
Her office line… nothing.
Even her home number… silence.
Seven times , No answer.
But on the eighth call , Someone finally picked up.
Here's, Nico's voice had turned sharp, controlled.
"Ma'am, it's me , Nico." A pause.
"I've received the report. The operation failed. The target wasn't secured."
Silence.
He continued anyway.
"There was interference. Unexpected variables. I need confirmation what exactly happened on your end?"
Still nothing, No breathing and No voice.
Just… a hollow silence on the other side.
Nico's eyes had narrowed. "Ma'am?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"…Who is this?" he asked, his tone dropping colder.
But the line remained dead.
No answer. No sound. Just presence.
And then, The call disconnected.
Back in the present
Seated in the grand hall of the Artoris Art Gallery, Nico slowly lifted his gaze.
His eyes moved across the room sharp, observant, missing nothing.
The soft hum of conversation began to fade as the lights dimmed slightly.
Then, the event began.
A well-dressed host stepped onto the stage, adjusting his mic with a polished smile.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he began warmly. "How are our honored guests tonight?"
A ripple of polite applause followed.
"Thank you all for joining us. As you know, today's event is a special painting auction featuring some truly extraordinary pieces."
He paused, letting the anticipation build.
"We have prepared something… very interesting for you."
Across the hall, whispers began to rise.
Guests leaned toward one another, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
An elderly VIP man, dressed in an elegant suit, frowned slightly as he looked around.
"Hm. The event has started," he muttered. "But where is that beautiful lady?"
From behind him, a young man leaned forward and replied in a low voice,
"I heard her health isn't good today, sir."
The old man's expression darkened.
His voice dropped colder, sharper.
"That's a lie."
The young man stiffened.
The old man continued, his eyes narrowing,
"I've heard something else… Something happened here yesterday."
A brief pause , Then, almost in a whisper
"A painting was stolen."
The words hung heavy between them.
The young man swallowed.
"Stolen…? From here?"
The old man gave a faint, knowing look.
"Not just any painting," he said quietly. "An important one."
On stage, the host remained unaware of the tension spreading through the crowd.
He smiled, gesturing toward the covered displays.
"Now then , let us begin the auction."
Lights shifted.
Curtains prepared to rise.
And somewhere in the audience, Nico observing that event silently.
As the auction began, the hall transformed. One by one, the masterpieces were unveiled with surgical precision, each greeted by a wave of hushed admiration.
"Starting at five lakh," the auctioneer announced.
"Seven!"
"Ten!"
"Fifteen!"
Voices rose with smooth confidence. In this room, wealth flowed like water. Hands lifted, numbers climbed, and with every strike of the gavel "Sold!" another treasure found a new master.
Among the crowd, Luv leaned back in his chair, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Should I throw a bid in?" he mused to himself, half-joking, half-tempted by the adrenaline.
Then, his gaze shifted. Nico.
The man was a statue. Still seated. Still silent. Just... watching. Luv narrowed his eyes. "Something is definitely off," he whispered. "He doesn't belong in a place like this."
Feeling a sudden pang of hunger, Luv's attention drifted toward the buffet. "First food, then the cold drinks," he muttered, pushing himself up. He moved to the snack counter, casually piling his plate. As he turned, his eyes collided with Nico's.
For a fleeting second, a spark of recognition flickered between them. Nico's expression twitched a microscopic fracture in his mask. I've seen him before, Luv thought, but where?
Before the thought could take root, Luv raised his hand with a cheerful, irreverent grin. "Hey there!"
Nico didn't blink. He simply looked away, treating Luv like a ghost.
Luv chuckled under his breath, unfazed. "Busy man," he whispered to his sandwich. "Or maybe he's just using the 'Secret Millionaire Method' buying random art to dodge the taxman?" Shrugging, he wandered toward the exit, still snacking.
The Target Appears
Back inside, the auctioneer stepped forward with renewed gravity. "And now… ladies and gentlemen… our next piece."
The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence. The velvet cloth was whisked away.
The painting emerged: A lone, shadowed figure standing on the deck of a ship, seen from behind, hoisting a massive shark suspended in the air. The air in the room didn't just change; it curdled.
Nico's eyes sharpened into blades. This is it, a voice echoed in his mind. The exact description. The target.
Memories of a desperate phone call surged back to him. He remembered his subordinate's trembling voice: "We failed, sir. Please, forgive us." Nico had replied with cold finality: "I can forgive you, but my superiors? They aren't so merciful. I'm coming to oversee this myself."
"It won't be easy to take, sir," the man had warned. "N2Four said it's buried in a room full of decoys."
"No need," Nico had snapped. "I'll handle it my way."
Leaning forward, Nico's predatory focus locked onto the canvas.
"Starting bid thirty lakh!" the auctioneer cried.
"Fifty!"
"One crore!"
"Three!"
"Five!"
The numbers escalated with unnatural speed. It was a storm. Collectors who had been silent all night were suddenly screaming numbers, their faces twisted with a strange, frantic greed. This wasn't a hobby anymore. It was a war.
"Ten crore!"
"Fifteen!"
"Twenty!"
The tension became electric, vibrating in the floorboards. Then, a voice cut through the chaos like a gunshot.
"Thirty crore."
Here, Nico didn't shout. He spoke with a calm, terrifying certainty. The room froze. Heads snapped in his direction. But the fever was too high to break.
"Thirty-two!"
"Thirty-five!"
"Forty!"
As the numbers spiraled into the heavens, a frantic movement began behind the scenes. Employees were whispering urgently, their faces pale. As , Nico noticed instantly. They're going to stop the bid.
He didn't hesitate. He stood up, his voice ringing out with the weight of an ultimatum.
"One hundred… and five crore."
Silence. Absolute and suffocating. The auctioneer's gavel hung frozen in mid-air.
Was that too much? he thought, his heart momentarily loud in the quiet. No. Stop. The price is nothing. I have to get this done. Whatever it takes. Whatever the condition.
"Is he mad?" a VIP guest lady whispered, clutching her pearls. "That painting isn't worth a amount of that!"
But Nico wasn't bidding on art. He was buying the room or we say buying the attraction of this vip.
"Going once…" the auctioneer stammered. "Going too..."
"Stop! Stop the auction immediately!"
Staff swarmed the stage... "Sir, please this painting cannot be sold!" an assistant cried. "It was brought out by mistake! It is not for sale!" here chief cook relished that why all staff employees running and panicking, here he thought that once some important art or painting get stolen as he seen his junior chef face which shows that he don't have any idea than he moved forward as he seen stage he understand what's going on show many staff gather at one place.
Confusion erupted. Guests stood, shouting for explanations. Nico's eyes narrowed into dark slits. Too late for me. What now ?
The Arrival " Do not proceed any further!"
The voice came from the back of the hall, cutting through the noise like a blade. Here siddharth walked forward, his presence radiating a controlled, dangerous urgency. He stepped onto the stage, looking down at the crowd with an unshakable dominance.
"I apologize for the confusion," Siddharth said, his voice firm. "But this painting is not and will never be for sale. It is… extremely important to this establishment."
His eyes swept the room, landing briefly, pointedly, on Nico.
Here's, he didn't flinch. He raised his voice, his tone laced with a hidden threat. "I placed the highest bid. By the laws , that painting is mine. I want it. Now."
Than Siddharth offered a thin, with cold smile. "Impossible sir . As I said, it was a clerical error. The piece is priceless."
"But he met your price and offer highest ," a new voice rang out from the entrance.
Every head turned. A young man sat in a wheelchair, framed by the doorway. His presence was unexpected, yet he carried an aura of quiet authority. Nico gasped, his mask finally slipping. "You? Why are you here?"
At the corner area of the building, Luv watched the standoff, a fresh drink in his hand and a grin on his face.
"Well .....well," Luv whispered to himself. "It looks like the boring part is over. Now, the real auction begins."