Chapter 833 Andrew Claude Monet
The sudden sound made Hera jolt, snapping her back to the present. She hadn’t heard anyone approach—not a single footstep. That’s how deep in thought she had been. Her head turned quickly toward the voice, and she found herself staring at a young man—no older than two to four years her senior.
But his eyes... his eyes were sharp and unsettling, as if they could see straight through her. Instinctively, Hera straightened her back and met his gaze, unsure whether to feel intrigued or on guard.
Hera studied the man for a moment. There was a quiet maturity to him, a calm kind of presence that made his gaze feel more introspective than invasive. She didn’t feel awkward under his stare—just strangely disarmed, as if lying to him wouldn’t even be possible.
"Do you like this painting?" he repeated, his eyes now shifting to the canvas in front of them.
"Hmmm... maybe," Hera replied honestly. She wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t exactly the subject that drew her in—it was something else. A strange sense of familiarity. The brushwork, perhaps? "Do you know Oscar-Claude Monet?" she asked suddenly, the thought slipping out before she could second-guess it.
He turned back to her with a smirk. "Of course. Founder of Impressionism... and my ancestor. Why?"
Hera’s eyes widened—gradually, then all at once, until they were as round as saucers. She’d only mentioned Monet in passing, trying to put her finger on why the brushwork had felt so familiar. Impressionism. That was it. But... ancestor?
She stared at him, blinking in disbelief, not sure if he was being serious or just teasing her.
Then, the man laughed—deep and carefree, as if they were old friends sharing an inside joke.