Art Professor Destroys Student's Painting, But The Louvre Curator Arrives Unexpectedly
Previously: A cruel art professor brutally destroys a young painter's work, only for a shocking intervention by the Louvre to change everything. But the professor's rage has far-reaching consequences.
An Unexpected Arrival and a Shattered Ego
Just as Gregory Thorne's cruel triumph seemed complete, the crunch of ice under tires shattered the frozen tableau. A sleek, midnight-black Maybach, the epitome of luxury, glided to a halt beside the cathedral steps. The heavy doors opened, and out stepped not just chauffeurs, but figures of immense influence: Henri Dupré, the Chief Curator of the Louvre, his navy wool overcoat immaculate, and Vivienne Chen, a Senior Vice President from Sotheby's, radiating an aura of power in her camel cashmere trench.
"Remove your filthy boot from that masterpiece, Thorne, before we have you arrested for destroying world heritage!"
Dupré's voice boomed, a thunderclap in the frigid air. Thorne's arrogant smirk vanished, replaced by a mask of stunned disbelief. His pupils dilated, his world tilting on its axis as he stared at the two art world titans.
Vivienne Chen moved with swift, decisive grace. She stepped between Gregory and me, her gloved hand extending a heavy, gold-inlaid Montblanc pen. She opened a crimson velvet folio, revealing not just papers, but a verified cashier's bond bearing the official seal of the Musée du Louvre. Her gaze, when it fell upon me, was filled with crystalline reverence.
"Mademoiselle Vance, Sotheby's and the Louvre board have officially authorized a certified wire of ten million dollars upfront to acquire your entire private collection tonight."
The words hung in the air, a stark contrast to Thorne's earlier venom. He stood petrified, his jaw slack, his face draining of color until it was the ghostly grey of the falling snow. His umbrella slipped from his numb fingers, clattering onto the icy stones like a fallen soldier.
I blinked away the stinging tears, my own shock momentarily giving way to a surge of adrenaline. I stood taller, a regal poise settling over my trembling frame. I took the golden pen from Vivienne's outstretched hand, my fingers brushing against her soft white glove. Without a backward glance at the ruined man behind me, I stepped over his fallen pride, over the remnants of his cruelty, and walked towards the waiting Maybach. The interior promised warmth, a stark contrast to the icy landscape Thorne had created.
”The interior promised warmth, a stark contrast to the icy landscape Thorne had created.