𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝟏

PILOT

BANG!

"Pull!" Mikhail shouted as another disc soared into mid-air as the platinum male pulled the trigger, precisely shooting the disc and letting it break into smithereens. In the winter holiday house of the countryside in Moscow, the current heir to the Kadamskiynov fortunes was spending his early graduation holidays going back and forth spending time with his mother -whom was currently watching her son pigeon clay shooting with his grandfather's gift he had received a month ago- and in the city, being further groomed by his father.

"Do you have anything better else to do, than making a racket?" his mother joked as she petted her large Borzois canine, sitting on a large red velvet couch as it watched her mistress' son lazily. Bogdana Alesveena Kadamskiynova was laid back on her seat as she took a petite bite of her cracker layered with Pule cheese spread and sprinkled Beluga caviar.

Bogdana was nothing like her husband, a caring philanthropist -quite amusing since she reigned from a family that made weapons and nukes that now was run by her older brother- and never was fond of the idea of controlling lives. From a young age, she was hardly ever given freedom, being homeschooled and then later shipped off to Switzerland for finishing school she had never met her set-in-stone husband till after she had finished her education.

The salvic auburn-haired female had only deemed approval from her husband's family after giving birth to Mikhail, even though she came from a suitable family.

Eight years ago she was surprised by the fact her son was already being courted at such a young age. Questioning her husband immediately after taking a trip to Antwerp in Belgium she had paid the price for arguing with him.

She had grown to be very fond of Talia the moment she had laid eyes with her, she wasn't snobbish nor unproperly trained, she had learnt she had sacrificed her independence that she could have had for her family and Bogdana deeply admired that. Talia had done her absolute best to try to learn as much as she could about her betrothed's culture, language, food, and everything, including in taking an interest in female figure skating which had set her to be deeply loved by Mikhail's grandmother. Not only she had used her charisma to sweep off Mikhail's first family, but every other relative to friends.

"No," he shrugged, "Pull!"

"What about the ring yet? Talia's birthday is only in a few months-,"

"I've checked with the Vanderhaden's already, they're on schedule," he waved off as he put down his gun, giving it to one of the staff. Truth be told the Vanderhan's - an elite Belgium jewellers dynastic family that only made a few exclusive pieces that started from the hundred- of millions to soaring off to billions- had been creating a single piece of jewellery for Talia for four running years now, it was set in stone that Mikhail would propose to the Asian heiress at her -undoubtedly lavish and huge- birthday party.

The mother's soft hazel eyes only softened as she pondered what designer she or more importantly her mother had insisted for her to design the dress, and the dress itself. No doubt the original budget for the party and the dress itself.

"Master Mikhail," one of the blonde's PAs that his father assigned came in with one of the house's phones.

"Yes?" he turned taking off his glove and leaving it to rest on the glass table.

"It's the lady, Lady Talia is calling you from New York," she informed as his expression lit up.

"Thank you," he nodded as he pressed his ear against the device.

"милая*, I've missed you dearly. How are you?" Mikhail smiled through the phone as Talia, in the presidential suite of her hotel she was staying at, watched the snow trickle down the streets of New York City.

* милая: a name that can get given to loved ones meaning dear, darling, loved one. Pronounced as: MEElaya

Talia had now spent two days in New York, staying in the Presidential Suite of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Though her family had insisted on her staying in their hotels, she found it not a bother to stay at still one of New York's esteemed hotels. The 53rd-floor suite with its stylish and spectacular design, bodacious artworks -that made it one of her favourite features to her- and of course its amazing views of the never-sleeping city.

The first day Talia had tackled getting a painting that her aunt had wanted desperately, buying -and making negotiations with the head to say she could give them an authentic piece of Madame Mazu's priceless artworks that they had given it to her in a heartbeat-, then further taking a quick shopping spree, and today she had met up with her South African friend Camille Englepoel -a rising model star to which was Talia's childhood friend- and had done again done more shopping except with the fact Talia had organised their favourite shops to be closed just for them -though Talia had only bought one piece from Chanel.

"Misha," Talia laughed at her betrothed's childish and bubbly personality was heard through the call, "I'm fine, nothing special," she shrugged as she sipped her green tea.

The seventeen-going-on-to-eighteen female, tired from her day was dressed in her simple black silk-satin pj's from La Perla, without its matching buttoned top, and a simple grey long-sleeved top with the batman logo. Talia was unlike her many of the girls her age who had money to spend. Instead of blazing down 5th avenue in a pricy Chanel or Dior coat, or Prada boots and a Louis Vuitton bag in hand like any American millionaires daughters she seemed to settle in a thick jumper and sweater both from Zara or if she felt she had to look a little important a coat and matching pants from H&M.

Talia simply didn't care, she cared about practicality over looks. If she could she could have gone strutting down 5th avenue or Oxford street in her favourite matching set of pj's with printed sausage dogs from peter alexander in her slippers. Really she didn't care. If she was told to dress up by her parents or family then that would be a different story.

The ravenette was considered to be the shining light of the family of her looks. Her streaming line of aunts only pushed their daughters to look like her. The way she currently looked, the way she preferred, she was labelled as your average pretty person, dress up a little like her cousins and some makeup and every other high school teen who deemed attention and every single modelling agency would be flocking to her; it could only be hard to imagine what she looked like when she had a special event going on.

"Will you be coming home soon милая?" he pouted.

"Just one more day, I'm going to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I heard they managed to snag one of my paintings," she chuckled.

"Don't be gone too long, I won't see you for a while soon since you're going back to school soon," he replied.

'That was right,' she thought. This was her last year at Alderbridge Academy and her first without Mikhail. All of Alderbridge's graduating classes never came back to Alderbridge the following year unless it was to get something they had left behind, everyone wanted to get out, and Talia wouldn't even deny it. Not to mention Talia attended with Mikhail his graduating party... a lot of things went down.

"Don't worry, no more last-minute events, I'm all yours when I get back,"

"Okay, love you милая, get some rest," he insisted.

"Alright, Misha," she signed off, ending the call.

---

Talia had stared at her very own painting hung on the ivory wall, behind a red rope that separated the audience from the painting.

Madame Mazu
Unknown Unknown
Muriel

She kept anonymous of her identity as her paintings rose to fame. She had started out only a few years ago and her first painting had sold at an auction -through the help of her mother- in London for over fifty million dollars.

Why? Why were her artworks worth that much even not a known artist, she wasn't old, and she hadn't died. Her artworks revolutionised the way of 'splatter' painting.

Splatter paintings were painted dripped, 'splattered', thrown or flicked paint onto a horizontal canvas. Of course, seeing the result would give off an abstract or uncontrolled look, unlike a painting painted with a brush.

Talia's artworks were dripped and splattered, but she had genuinely located the paint to form objects, places or things. For example, her first artwork -phoenix- was well a phoenix, of splattered and drizzled paint formed into a phoenix taking flight. Unlike brushed, it wasn't blended, yet boldly made visible.

Muriel. The name she had given was the name to her latest artwork that she was staring at. The painting captured a girl with a flowy dress dancing by the ocean.

"The painting is rather calming is it not?" a male voice had spoken out as the female whipped her head to see a tall broad squared built male with thick black hair gelled back, his hands in the comfort of his navy Oscar da la Renta coat.

Talia could only see half of his face, his Grecian nose was seated under framed black glasses and his greek-like statue-sculpted jaw.

Talia wanted to say many things, like 'can you mind your own damn business' but settled by saying:

"It is I suppose," she replied as the male figure, easily six feet tall looked at her.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. The painting is quite beautiful. If you look closely at the ocean she somehow made it look so illusional, as if they are moving. Abstract in a way," he commented.

Talia was taken aback by the comment, in reality, that part was a mistake she had made, it was funny how everyone interpreted art.

"It looks like the painter messed up a little if you ask me," Talia responded.

"Well aren't you an art critic? I think she did that on purpose," he winked as Talia playfully rolled his eyes, "Oh, and I love the jumper," he teased at her anime sports team jumper.

"Thank you," she bitterly replied, "And may I ask Clark Kent why do you think so confidently that the painter is a girl?" as the man raised his brow in confusion.

"The glasses," she whispered. "I know they're fake," she returned the wink as he was shocked that she had picked that up as he blinked.

"How?" he bloated.

"Artistic eye I should say, Mr Lanhaster?" she said in a hushed tone as the boy American boy billionaire gulped in embarrassment as she continued to walk to the next room as the Lanhaster billionaire heir rushed to her side immediately.

"How did you know?!" he whispered-shouted.

"It's truly not hard to recognise you without the glasses, you and your girlfriend have been all over the news lately. And may I say I loved the tux you wore recently for your charity ball but you could have done better with the designer," she swiftly insulted as Lucian's brown orbs narrowed at her but soon formed into a smirk.

"Either way I did look dashing, did I not?" he bragged as Talia made a sharp turn as Lucian continued to walk. Stopping he looked around to not see Talia at his side as he looked around, spotting her jumper as he silently dashed to her.

"Oh, won't you look at that, the lost puppy has come back to me," she remarked as he grimaced at her statement.

"You're so cold," he shivered, "You remind me of someone,"

"Your cruel-hearted girlfriend?" she mused.

"I wouldn't say Verena-, yeah she is," he admitted

"Which part?" Talia questioned as she observed a sculpture.

"Both I suppose," he shrugged, "she lives up to her reputation at school and well I guess I can't deny we are in a relationship,"

"What made you doubt?" Talia asked still looking at the artwork.

"Eh, family-wise, school-wise. Just expected I guess at some point," he said as Talia shook her head.

"uh, hierarchy mating, got it," Lucian look disgusted at her term.

"Mating?" he revolted.

"What? It's a natural thing in both society and the animal kingdom. The more dominant male visible will get and attract more suitable females to impregnate them," She explained, "Hierarchy wise its only natural for the world to split itself into a living food chain and levels. Animals do it, sexual attraction, etc. It's simply an imprint in our minds I suppose," she shrugged as she walked down the hallway leaving Lucian stunned.

"It was nice meeting you," she waved off.

---

"Vorrei un due tiramisu, per favore" Gianna de Bellucci ordered, the waitress nodded as the brunette's eyes turned back to her lover Lorenzo.

She had been dating him for almost an entire year now in secret, always making constant trips to Milan as she could to see him. The once party girl who had a revolving door of one-night stands seemed to be completely taken by the middle-class boy.

Lorenzo had lived a simple life. A few luxury items here and there -to not even grasp the surface of what Gianna had- but truth be told, Lorenzo Cosellini was the most average guy you could ever meet. In fact, the male was still completely shocked that he was dating a girl of Gianna's beauty and she had impeccable manners and cooking skills that were loved by Lorenzo's family.

"My love," Lorenzo began in Italian as he held her hand as her delicate cheeks began to flush a shade of cerise.

"Lorenzo," she giggled.

"We have been together for almost a year now," Lorenzo began, "And I was wondering since we are both graduating and I won't see you by probably the end of the year but I was wondering. If you can move here with me, we can be together in Milan, and also... guess who got into the University of Milan?" Gianna gasped putting her hands on her mouth.

"Oh my God, you did! That is amazing!" she exclaimed, "I can see it now," she put her hands in the air as Lorenzo put his hand on his face.

"In five- no four years' time. Lorenzo Corsellini, famous photographer," she dramatically swept her hand to the side as he chuckled.

"Famous and will take millions of photos of his beautiful partner," he added as she scoffed.

"What? You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and the world must know it," he argued  making her chortle. The tiramisu was placed in front of them as Gianna grabbed her fork.

"No," she chastised as she pointed her fork at him.

"What?! No! I won't allow it," he refused as she rolled her hazel orbs as they dug into the desert.

"So when are you going back to school?" he asked

"A week," she replied.

"I'll miss you. Will be seas apart since you're studying abroad," he pouted.

"I know. But I'll try my best to be in contact with you," she promised.

Her phone vibrating she looked at the message from her mother.

How's shopping going?

Fine. She replied. She would then after have to buy something quickly before she returned home in Florence as she quickly finished her tiramisu.

The two finished, Lorenzo had insisted on escorting her back.

"It's fine from here Lorenzo," she replied getting off the scooter.

"Are you sure?" he asked as she nodded.

"Okay, see you," he kissed her as he drove off.

Lorenzo stopped at a traffic light and then looked behind to see her black purse. The light turned green, the Italian male turned around as he then spotted her. About to call out he saw her walking to Via Montenapoleone, the most expensive street in Milan.

"Why is she going that way?" he mumbled as he followed her carrying her purse.

Gianna's black boots quickly waltzed down the street as she first stepped inside Prada. Both Lorenzo and her had never set foot together in the street, Gianna knowing he could never afford something. The two of them would mock together -well Lorenzo did and Gianna would just tag along- of how some of the brands were completely overpriced and uncanny. He would always question why women would to many sunglasses or bags when one was enough and when you could go to a normal store and buy one. What infuriated him most was Giambattista Valli's to what he had described as 'puffy' gowns. Why do women spend so much money on a single gown that looked utterly ridiculous?

"She doesn't have her purse and money," he said to himself as he saw a few moments later the brunette with not but one but two bags from Prada.

Lorenzo was completely bewildered. He followed her to the next store she entered - Versace - and looked through the windows to see his girlfriend quickly looking through the racks and picking a piece up and then throwing it onto the counter. She took out a shiny black card and scanned swiped as she bid the person farewell.

And it didn't end there. The last store was none other than Fabi boutique where it took longer for her to come out of the store. But she managed to come out with another bag.

Lorenzo watched her high ponytail swing back and forth as she made her way down the street and then exited it still in disbelief.

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