Chapter 117 The Collision #3
"I am merely honest," Carlos corrected, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register. "Your work deserves an international stage. If the institutional banks are too blind to see the massive opportunity standing right in front of them, that is their loss."
Before Teresa could formulate a response, a clear, instantly recognizable voice rang out from across the crowded gallery space, shattering the private bubble they had built between them.
"Teresa! There you are!"
Carlos froze, his corporate mask instantly locking back into place as he turned his head toward the source of the interruption.
Approaching them through the crowd was a strikingly elegant, blonde woman dressed in premium designer attire. She carried herself with an innate, unshakeable confidence that clearly broadcasted she was used to commanding every single room she ever walked into.
Carlos’s eyes narrowed as the pieces violently slammed together in his mind.
Celina Quinn Mason. Justin’s wife.
Teresa's entire face illuminated with joy the moment she saw her friend. "Celina! Oh my God, I didn't think you were going to be able to make it out tonight with everything going on."
"Of course I made it," Celina said fiercely, instantly stepping forward and pulling Teresa into a tight, warm embrace. "I wouldn't miss your collection for anything in the world."
As she pulled back, Celina's gaze casually drifted over to the tall man standing in the shadows beside her best friend. The moment her eyes locked onto his face, her warm smile instantly faltered, her posture freezing as absolute shock took hold.
"Carlos?"
"Celina," Carlos said evenly, his voice smooth, cold, and entirely unreadable as he inclined his head in a polite, clinical greeting. "It has been a very long time."
"Five years," Celina stated, her tone instantly shifting into a carefully guarded, hyper-vigilant corporate neutrality. "I... I had heard a rumor through the corporate channels that you were back in Manhattan."
"I touched down this morning," Carlos confirmed, his dark eyes meeting hers with an unyielding intensity.
Celina’s gaze flicked rapidly between Carlos and Teresa, a sharp, calculating panic flashing across her features before she could mask it. "I see you've already met my best friend."
Teresa looked between the two of them, a deep, immediate confusion furrowing her brow as she sensed the sudden, icy drop in the room's temperature. "Wait... you two already know each other?"
"Carlos is Justin's cousin," Celina explained, her voice carrying a heavy, protective warning as she looked at Teresa. "The black sheep of the Mason family."
Teresa’s expression fractured - surprise flashing through her eyes, followed instantly by a sudden, devastating comprehension, and then something significantly more complicated as she looked back at Carlos. "Oh."
The single word hung suspended in the air between them, heavy with years of unspoken family warfare, corporate exile, and bitter rivalries.
Carlos felt the incredible warmth and genuine connection of the last ten minutes instantly evaporate, violently replaced by the freezing, harsh reality of his family's sins and his own impending war.
"I should let you two catch up," Carlos said smoothly, stepping back out of Teresa's immediate perimeter.
He looked directly into Teresa’s dark eyes, holding her gaze with a fierce, lingering intensity.
"It was an absolute pleasure meeting you, Teresa. Your collection is truly exceptional. Don't let the short-sighted fools tell you otherwise."
"Thank you," Teresa said quietly, her dark eyes still searching his face, wide and filled with an unspoken question.
Carlos offered a curt, polite nod to Celina, then turned on his heel and walked decisively toward the gallery exit. The noise of the elite crowd closing in around his broad shoulders once more.
But even as he pushed through the glass doors and stepped out into the biting, cool night air of Chelsea, he couldn't stop the images from violently flashing through his mind.
Teresa Stewart.
Celina’s absolute best friend. Justin’s wife’s inner circle.
Which made her, by direct extension, an integrated piece of the exact world Carlos was preparing to tear apart - and a player in the bloody family war he was about to reignite.
Every corporate survival instinct he possessed yelled at him to walk away.
To completely forget about the intense, electric connection he had felt in that brief conversation.
He needed to lock his focus entirely onto what mattered: securing his board seat, claiming his father's thirty-five percent shares, and saving his legacy.
But as Carlos walked down the darkened Manhattan street, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his mind spinning at a million miles an hour, he couldn't shake the haunting image of Teresa standing in front of her masterpiece - paint-stained hands, intelligent eyes,
looking at him like she could see right through his armor.
And for the first time since his plane had crossed into New York airspace, Carlos felt something other than cold rage and ruthless determination settling into his bones.
He felt hope.
Even if it was poised to be the most complicated, dangerous, and utterly impossible, hope he had ever encountered in his entire life.