And I hated that I noticed her.
From my vantage point near the edge of the museum’s gallery, I watched them work the crowd. My whiskey satuntouched in my hand as my eyes tracked their every movement. The handshake Victor offered a diplomat. The way Ariana smiled at a congressman’s wife without showing her teeth. Polished. Strategic. Rehearsed.
This was their kingdom.
But kingdoms fall.
And I’d make damn sure Victor fell hard. That they both did.
A man in a dark suit approached Victor, interrupting him. The exchange was quiet, hushed behind the polite hum of socialites and politicians comparing vacation homes and luxury cars. Victor’s mask slipped, just a flicker, but I saw it. A fracture in the performance. He briefly turned toward Ariana and whispered something to her before excusing himself from their circle and vanishing with the man through a side door.
I considered following them to see if whatever had Victor on edge could give me more information. But then a flash of red caught my eye.
Ariana moved through the room, graceful and deliberate. I expected her to approach another cluster of socialites to charm, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. She just kept walking.
Against my better judgment, I followed her.
I told myself it was tactical. That studying her was part of the mission.
In reality, there was something else pulling me toward her. What that was, I couldn’t articulate. I just needed to be near her.
I kept to the edges of the crowd, avoiding servers and curious eyes, slipping between a marble column and a sculpture of a Grecian goddess draped in silk.
Ariana moved with purpose. But it wasn’t the easy glide she exhibited when working the room with Victor. There was no performance now. Just a woman seemingly on a mission.
She paused at the threshold of the 19th-century landscape gallery, briefly glancing over her shoulder before disappearing inside.
And I followed her yet again, my legs pulling me toward her instead of Victor.
The gallery was dimmer, quieter. A sanctuary hidden within the chaos. Velvet ropes guided visitors through oil-drenched landscapes with perfect skies and rolling meadows.
In the silence, the click of my shoes against the marble felt as loud as thunder. But Ariana didn’t move. She kept her back to me, her eyes focused on one of the larger paintings.
I stayed near the archway at first, studying everything about her. Her shoulders weren’t rigid. Her spine didn’t carry the unfaltering stiffness I’d come to associate with her. Instead, she seemed almost…relieved. Like she could breathe.
I drifted closer, my legs moving of their own accord as I pretended to examine a painting a few feet down. She didn’t look at me, but I saw her peripheral flicker.
This was the closest I’d ever been to her. I’d spent the past several months watching her from afar, but I never approached her. I intended to stay in the shadows until I put my plan into motion.
Which was all the more reason I shouldn’t be here right now.
But I couldn’t find the strength to leave.
“It’s peaceful,” I remarked, my deep voice cutting through the silence.
“More lonely, if you ask me.”
My gaze drifted toward her. She still hadn’t looked away from the painting, but something in her expression shifted. Her brows drew in slightly. Her lips parted just enough to suggest she wanted to continue her thought, but stopped herself.
“How so?” I prodded, inching closer.
“People want to see peace when they look at art,” she replied. “They search for beauty. Serenity. Something that tells them the world is okay. If you look at the big picture, sure. It looks peaceful. No one notices the broken fence. Or how the roses haven’t been tended to. Or how the sky’s too pale. Like it’s been drained of all its color. All its life.”
Her voice was steady, but I heard the crack just beneath the surface.
“It’s still beautiful,” I offered.
I never understood or appreciated art. I wasn’t brought up that way. The only art I knew was how to survive in the wilderness.
