Chapter 8

Kelsey POV

The invitation arrived by courier, demanding attention before I even opened it.

It was heavy, cream-colored cardstock embossed with gold leaf lettering.

*You are cordially invited to a Private Viewing at the Musee d'Orsay. A gesture of peace and appreciation from Alpha Bennett Randolph.*

A handwritten note was clipped to the formal stationery.

*I remember how much you loved the Impressionists. Please. Let me make it up to you. Just one evening. - B.*

I shouldn't go.

My brain screamed at me to burn it, to watch the gold lettering curl into ash.

But curiosity is a dangerous thing. It is a poison that tastes like hope. A small, treacherous part of me wanted to see him. I wanted to see if the regret I had sensed in his letters was real.

So, I treated the evening like a battle.

I dressed in a sleek black dress that hugged curves I had spent years hiding under modest Luna robes. I put on red lipstick-a shade dark enough to look like a warning.

The museum was closed to the public. It was silent, echoing with the ghosts of history and the faint hum of climate control.

Bennett was standing near a Monet, staring into the blurred strokes of a water lily pond. He looked thinner. His arm was in a sling.

"Kelsey," he breathed when he saw me.

For a second, his eyes lit up. It was genuine warmth, familiar and heartbreaking.

"Bennett," I said, keeping my distance. "Why am I here?"

"I wanted to show you I care," he said, stepping closer, his voice thick with emotion. "I wanted to give you a memory that wasn't... painful. I rented the wing. Just for us."

The air shifted.

The cloying scent of vanilla drifted in, choking out the smell of old oil paint.

"And it was such a brilliant idea," a voice cooed.

Aria stepped out from behind a statue. She was wearing a white gown that looked suspiciously like a wedding dress, the fabric pooling around her like spilled milk.

She linked her arm through Bennett's good one, staking her claim.

"Didn't he do a good job?" Aria beamed at me. "I told him, 'Bennett, poor Kelsey loves old paintings. We should do something nice for her before we officially take over.'"

My blood ran cold.

"You... you planned this?" I looked at Bennett.

\He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight, but he nodded. "Aria thought it would be a good closure. She organized the catering. She picked the flowers."

"And look!" Aria clapped her hands. "I found this in your old room. Bennett said I should give it to you."

She pulled a velvet box from her purse. Inside was the sapphire necklace Mark had mentioned. The one for blue eyes.

"It's a parting gift," Aria smiled, her teeth white and predatory. "Since you're just a guest in our story now."

I looked at Bennett. He was letting her do this. He was letting her take credit for his apology, twisting it into an act of pity.

"You really are a puppet," I whispered, the realization settling in my chest like a stone.

"Kelsey, don't be rude," Bennett frowned, the warmth in his eyes replaced by confusion. "Aria is trying to be kind."

"Kind?" I laughed, a harsh sound that bounced off the high ceilings. "She's marking her territory, Bennett. And you're just the fire hydrant."

I turned around, my heels clicking sharply on the floor.

"Enjoy the art," I called over my shoulder. "It's the only thing real in this room."

I walked out into the Paris night. I didn't cry. I didn't shake.

I felt nothing but a profound, icy clarity.

He was gone. The boy I loved was dead.