Chapter 3

The Elysian Gallery was a temple of white walls, polished concrete floors, and reverent silence. Augustus Pruitt hated it. He was leaning against a ridiculously uncomfortable leather sofa, flipping through a heavy art book, not registering a single image. It was all just color and shape, meaningless and overpriced.

Across the room, Herlinda Bolton stood before the painting, Metamorphosis. She was posed, one hand on her hip, her head tilted at a thoughtful angle, as if she were in a museum. She was performing appreciation.

"Gus, I simply can't believe you bought this for me," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. "I fell in love with it the moment I saw it online."

"Hm," Augustus grunted, not looking up from his book.

Herlinda's smile tightened for a fraction of a second before she recovered.

The gallery manager, Julian Finch, kept glancing nervously toward the glass entrance doors, wringing his hands. He had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling.

His premonition proved correct.

The heavy glass door swung open with enough force to make the little bell above it jingle frantically.

June Perez stood in the doorway.

Her hair was a mess from the drive, and a wild, feverish light burned in her eyes. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling under her black sweater. She looked like a storm that had just been unleashed.

Three sets of eyes locked onto her.

Herlinda's expression shifted from surprise to a smug, challenging smirk. She took a half-step closer to Augustus, a subtle claiming gesture.

Augustus's face hardened. A deep frown creased his brow. Of all the places he didn't want to see his wife, this was near the top of the list.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low and laced with ice.

June ignored him completely. Her gaze was fixed on the nervous gallery manager. She strode across the polished floor, her boots making sharp, angry clicks.

"Mr. Finch," she said, her voice clear and steady. "As I said on the phone, our agreement stands. That painting is mine."

Julian paled, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. He looked helplessly from June to Augustus, a man caught between a rock and a very, very hard place.

It was Herlinda who spoke, her tone as sweet as poison. "June, darling. There's always a first-come, first-served rule. But sometimes, a grand gesture is more important than a reservation, don't you think?"

The implication was clear: Augustus's money trumped June's deposit.

June finally turned her eyes on Herlinda. They were cold, devoid of any emotion but disdain. "Miss Bolton, I am speaking to the gallery manager."

That was when Augustus moved. He pushed himself off the sofa and stepped between the two women, a solid, immovable wall. The gesture was overtly protective of Herlinda. It was a public declaration.

"June, stop it," he warned, his voice a low growl meant only for her. "Don't embarrass yourself. Herlinda likes the painting. I bought it for her. Now go home."

"No."

The word was quiet, but it hung in the air with the weight of steel. She looked at her husband, at the man who was supposed to be her partner, standing there shielding another woman from her. A familiar ache pulsed in her chest, but she pushed it down.

"That painting has a special meaning to me," she said, her voice starting to tremble with the force of her suppressed emotions. "I will not give it up."

She tried to explain, to make him understand, even though she knew it was hopeless. "Its name is Metamorphosis. It represents..."

"I'm not interested in the story behind a painting," he cut her off, his voice sharp with impatience. He looked at her, and his eyes were filled with that same ugly contempt from last night. "You just can't stand to see me buy a gift for Herlinda, can you? That's all this is."

He had taken her most personal, private passion and twisted it into a petty, jealous spat. He was incapable of seeing her as anything other than a greedy, possessive shrew.

As if on cue, Herlinda put a hand on his arm, her expression a perfect mask of concerned innocence. "Gus, maybe we should just let it go... I don't want you two to fight because of me."

Her fake magnanimity was like gasoline on a fire. It made June look like the unreasonable one, the troublemaker.

Augustus's jaw tightened. He looked at June's defiant face, at her refusal to back down, and something inside him snapped. A cruel, calculating light entered his eyes.

"You want the painting?" he asked, a cold smile touching his lips.

"Fine."

He turned to Julian Finch, his voice ringing with authority and arrogance.

"Let's have an auction. Right here, right now." He looked back at June, his eyes glittering with malice. "Let's see what you're willing to pay. Let's see what you can possibly offer against me."