Volume 1: The Night When the Iris Withered
The afternoon sun, like shredded golden silk, barely pierced through the thick Gothic floor - to - ceiling windows of the Rockefeller Manor. The light cast long shadows on the floor, swallowing up the intricate patterns on the priceless Persian carpet. Irene stood by the window, and the elegant black invitation in her hand felt as if it were searing her fingertips, like a branding iron. The invitation from Carl Howard's gallery was simple yet exuded an indescribable allure, as if whispering a forbidden melody that invited one to delve deeper.
The figure of Sean in the garden last night haunted her mind like a ghost. The desperate strength with which he had gripped her arm was completely different from the aloof shipping magnate at the daytime banquet. His hidden vulnerability and that suspicious "I don't believe it" were like a blunt knife, slowly and painfully cutting at her heart.
She needed answers, and Carl Howard might be the only way to the truth.
Taking a deep breath, Irene tried to sort out the chaotic thoughts in her mind. Carl always appeared at the moments when she was most confused and helpless. Those eyes that always wore a faint smile were like a bottomless lake. What turbulent waves were hidden beneath the calm surface?
She had to go to the Howard Gallery. She needed to figure out who Carl really was and what his purpose was for approaching her.
At 2:40 p.m., with the help of a maid, Irene changed into a well - tailored dark green velvet dress. The color of the dress complemented her emerald - green eyes and set off her fair skin. She carefully checked her makeup in the mirror. After making sure there were no flaws, she slowly walked out of the room.
Ten minutes later, a black Rolls - Royce Phantom slowly drove out of the Rockefeller Manor and headed towards the city center. Outside the car window, the gloomy sky seemed to hold countless secrets. The spires of Gothic buildings pierced the sky like swords, contrasting with the glass curtain walls of modern skyscrapers, showcasing the unique prosperity and decadence of the city. There was an overwhelming sense of oppression in the air, like the calm before a storm.
The Howard Gallery was located in a quiet alley in the city center. Compared with the noisy surrounding streets, it was extremely quiet, as if cut off from the rest of the world. The exterior wall of the gallery was covered with ivy, and the thick wooden door was closed, exuding a mysterious atmosphere.
Irene got out of the car and looked up at the gallery's sign - "Howard Art Museum" written in archaic English. She took a deep breath and walked towards the closed wooden door.
The door opened silently, and a waiter in a black uniform bowed respectfully to her.
"Miss Olivia, Mr. Howard has been waiting for you."
Irene nodded and entered the gallery.
The interior of the gallery was decorated in a style quite different from its low - key exterior. It was elegant and luxurious. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, emitting a soft light. The walls were covered with paintings of various styles, ranging from classical oil paintings to modern abstract art. The air was filled with the faint smell of paint and turpentine, mixed with the fragrance of expensive perfume, which was intoxicating.
Carl stood in front of a large abstract painting, with his back to her. He was wearing a dark blue velvet suit. His posture was upright, his shoulders had smooth lines, and every gesture exuded the elegant aura of a nobleman.
"You're here," he turned around, wearing a gentle smile. "Miss Olivia." His voice was low and magnetic, like the melodious melody of a cello.
Irene walked up to him and nodded slightly.
"Mr. Howard." She responded politely, while warily observing every subtle expression on Carl's face.
Carl extended his hand and pointed to the painting in front of them, with a hint of admiration in his eyes.
"This is the work of one of my favorite painters. He is good at using abstract strokes to express the most complex emotions hidden in the human heart."
Irene carefully admired the painting in front of her. The picture was composed of countless chaotic lines and intense colors, like a silent scream. She could feel the pain, anger, and despair contained in the painting, but she also vaguely caught a glimmer of hope.
"I don't understand art," Irene said frankly. "I just think it's very... oppressive."
Upon hearing this, Carl smiled softly, a meaningful look in his smile.
"Art doesn't require understanding. You just need to feel it with your heart. The key is, what do you see?"
Irene pondered for a moment and then said slowly, "I see pain, struggle, despair... It's like being trapped in a cage with no way out." She unconsciously clenched her fists, as if she could feel the same way.
A flash of surprise crossed Carl's eyes. He seemed not to expect Irene to have such profound feelings.
"You have a very keen sense, Miss Olivia." He praised.
He paused, then his smile faded, and his tone became serious.
"I didn't invite you here just to appreciate paintings. I want to talk to you about something... about the Rockefeller family."
Irene's heart skipped a beat. She knew that Carl was finally revealing his true intentions.
"What do you want to talk to me about?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.
Instead of answering directly, Carl smiled and turned towards the depths of the gallery.
"Come with me. Some paintings might give you some inspiration."
They walked through one exhibition hall after another, admiring paintings of different styles. Carl seemed to know every painting like the back of his hand. He used vivid language to explain the creative background and artistic value of the paintings to Irene. His voice was low and gentle, as if telling one fascinating story after another.
On the surface, Irene listened attentively, but inside, she was on high alert. She knew that Carl must be testing her, trying to find flaws in her words and deeds to confirm her identity.
Finally, Carl stopped in front of a portrait.
It was a brightly colored oil painting of a young and beautiful woman. She was wearing a white lace dress and holding a bouquet of blooming irises. Her eyes were clear and bright, like an innocent girl, full of purity and kindness.
Irene's heart almost stopped. She recognized the woman in the painting - Olivia.
"This is..." she asked, feigning surprise, her voice trembling slightly.
"This is a portrait of Olivia, the work of a friend of mine. He captured her most beautiful moment." Carl said calmly, with a hint of sadness in his eyes.
"She's beautiful," Irene said softly, trying her best to suppress the unease in her heart and imitate Olivia's demeanor.
Carl turned his head and looked at her meaningfully, his gaze as penetrating as X - rays through her disguise.
"Do you really think she's beautiful?" he asked, his tone full of implications.
Irene took a deep breath and nodded.
"Yes, she's beautiful and very... pure."
The corner of Carl's mouth curled into a faint smile, making it impossible to fathom his true thoughts.
"Olivia's purity was the most precious thing in the Rockefeller family." he said, with a hint of warning in his eyes.
Irene knew that she had to end this dangerous conversation as soon as possible.
"Mr. Howard, what exactly do you want to say?" she asked firmly, looking straight into Carl's eyes.
Carl sighed and said slowly, "Miss Olivia, I just want to tell you that the Rockefeller family is far more complex and dangerous than you can imagine. Being in the middle of it is like walking on thin ice. One false step, and you'll fall into the abyss."
Irene's heart sank. Carl's words confirmed her suspicion that the Rockefeller family indeed hid huge secrets.
"Why are you telling me this? What's your relationship with the Rockefeller family?" she pressed, trying to extract more information from Carl.
Carl smiled, a mysterious look in his smile.
"My relationship with the Rockefeller family is far more complicated than you can imagine. As for why I'm telling you this... it's just that I don't want to see another innocent soul get caught up in this bloody power struggle."
He paused and continued, "And... I think you're a lot like her, the innocent and kind Olivia. I hope you can protect yourself."
Irene tensed up. She knew that Carl had already started to doubt her identity. His seemingly concerned words were actually a test.
"Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Howard. I'll be careful." she said, her tone a bit distant.
"You're welcome, Miss Olivia. Remember, if you need help, feel free to come to me. I'll do my best to protect you." Carl said, his eyes full of concern, but Irene felt a chill.
Irene nodded and turned to leave the gallery.
After walking out of the gallery, Irene felt extremely tired. Carl's appearance had not dispelled her doubts; instead, it had made her more confused. Who was he really? Why was he helping her? Was he also hiding some secrets?
She looked up at the sky. The gloomy clouds blocked the sun, as if heralding an impending storm.
This game of identity was far more complex and dangerous than she had imagined. She had to be more careful, or she might end up in ruins. She had to find out the truth, for herself and for the real Olivia.