"One thousand?" he repeated slowly, as if tasting the number on his tongue.
He stared at the canvas in his hands, still gleaming under the overhead lights, then looked back at the man.
That was the value he saw?
Interesting.
A slow, amused smirk tugged at Rex's lips—cool, effortless, a little dangerous.
But he remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Taking his lack of reaction as hesitation, the store owner puffed up with the smug confidence of a seasoned businessman.
"Judging by your age, you must be a fledgling artist." He said with a kind patronizing tone. " Honestly, you should be grateful I'm offering you a thousand dollars. Because most people wouldn't even look at art from someone your age.
