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2026-09-02 23:09:17
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DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS. Chapter Forty-Four
Imogen"I have two canvases that need a final varnish coat by Tuesday, Eugene. I can't just take off for the weekend."I had my phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder while I wiped my palette knife with a rag. The studio was a battlefield of turpentine bottles and drying racks, and the last thing my brain could handle was packing an overnight bag."The varnish will dry without your supervision, Imogen," Eugene's voice came through the speaker, crisp, unhurried, and indifferent to my panic. "A car is arriving at Mercer Street at ten. Pack comfortable clothes. We are spending two days at the lake lodge.""Eugene, no—""Give me the phone," Shannon grunted in the background. There was a muffled scuffle, a rustle of fabric, and then Shannon was on the line, his voice dropping into that low rasp. "Minnie."I sighed and tossed the rag onto the counter. "Shannon, I'm in the zone. If I stop now, the momentum dies.""You haven't slept more than five hours a night since the Zurich preview,"
DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS. Chapter Forty-Three
ImogenI was five seconds away from locking myself in the bathroom and faking the stomach flu."Eugene, take the cufflinks off. You look like you're about to question a crooked politician," I snapped, pacing back and forth across the rug in the sitting room.Eugene adjusted the gold links at his wrists with cold, infuriating care. "It is a normal dinner, Imogen. I am dressed properly.""You're wearing a three-piece suit in your own house on a Thursday night!""He's establishing dominance, Minnie, let him live," Brett snorted from the sofa, tossing a coaster up and catching it. "Though personally, I think Shannon's combat boots send a clearer message. Namely: I have buried men in shallow graves and I'll do it again."I whirled on Shannon. He leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed, scowling at the front entryway like he expected a hit squad instead of a thirty-one-year-old art curator holding a bottle of wine."Shannon, please," I begged, pressing the heels of my hands against my te
DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS. Chapter Forty -two
Imogen“It’s just a workspace, Imogen. Don’t be dramatic.”That was Eugene’s idea of a casual announcement over Tuesday morning scrambled eggs.He slid a brass key ring across the breakfast island, the keys clattering next to my coffee mug. Attached to the ring was a sleek titanium tag with an address etched into the metal: 14 Mercer Street.I set my fork down, narrowing my eyes at him. “Eugene. Mercer Street is right in the middle of the historic arts district. The only things over there are multi-million-dollar lofts and fancy flagship stores.”“And your studio,” he replied, lifting his espresso without a single flicker of guilt. “Third and fourth floors. Private freight elevator, good northern light, strong floors, and proper ventilation.”“A loft,” I repeated, my eye twitching. “I told you yesterday I needed a corner with better daylight. A corner, Eugene.”“The air quality on Fifth was bad,” Klint said from the stove, stirring a pot of oats. “Those old ceiling fans were pushing d
DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS. Chapter Forty one
ImogenHis hand was warm.Not the clammy, tight grip Francis used to keep on my wrist whenever we walked into a charity gala, like he was holding a dog on a short leash. Adrian’s fingers just curled loosely around mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles with a quiet, steady patience that made my knees feel like jelly.“Yeah,” I breathed, the word barely louder than the hum of the freight elevator down the hall. “You can.”Adrian didn’t pounce. He didn’t jerk me against his chest like some conquering hero claiming a prize.He just took one slow, deliberate step forward, closing that tiny gap between our boots. His free hand came up, hovering for a split second before his fingers settled against the side of my jaw. His skin was warm, slightly rough from stretching cedar frames, his palm cradling the curve of my cheek with so much gentleness it made something deep in my chest ache.When his mouth met mine, my brain short-circuited.It was soft. Unhurried. A quiet question, not a demand
DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS. Chapter Forty
ImogenWorking with Adrian was dangerous.Not because he was pushy—he had the patience of a saint—but because keeping my guard up around him took conscious effort, and I was getting lazy.We’d spent three days on the fourth floor of the pavilion sorting out the layouts for Berlin and Tokyo. The room was a wreck: blueprints taped over the exposed brick, empty coffee cups lined up on the sill, paper color swatches scattered across the floor.Every time I pitched an idea, I braced myself out of habit. I’d explain a scale study, and my stomach would drop while I waited for the usual critique—too aggressive, too dark, or a lecture on how real galleries worked.Adrian never did that.He’d lean over the desk, tap his pencil against his teeth, look at my rough sketch, and say, “If we blow that panel up to three meters, the humidity in Tokyo will warp the stretchers. We brace it with cold-rolled steel or we back it with matte aluminum. Your call.”He didn’t treat me like an injured bird, and h
DIVORCED, I RETURNED TO MY POWERFUL BROTHERS. Chapter Thirty-nine
FrancisI told my assistant I was attending the Midtown preview because three logistics board members held seats on the museum committee.It was an easy excuse to give in the car. Professional presence. Showing up after the board inquiry.None of it was true.I went because the Reddin Foundation had co-sponsored the catalog release. I went because I couldn’t stop looking for any trace of what I had thrown away.The main hall was crowded. Glasses clinking, string players in the corner, critics moving between displays with small recorders.I stood by an archway holding a glass of scotch I hadn’t touched, pretending to read the program notes.Then I saw her.The breath went right out of me.Imogen was standing near the terrace glass with a glass of water in her hand. She wasn’t wearing the pale, high-collared dresses I used to pick out to keep her looking presentable next to my clients. She had on a plain black knit sweater, dark trousers, and scuffed flat boots. Her hair was pulled back
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