All Chapters of Love in Deceit: Chapter 41 - Chapter 45

AYALA POVThe sound came just as I stepped back from the canvas to evaluate the color balance—three soft knocks on the studio door. Not forceful. Not hesitant. Just… measured.My heart jumped.I wiped my hands on a paint-stained rag, my pulse already quickening. Part of me whispered Vladimir. But it was too soon, wasn’t it?I crossed the room slowly, peeking through the window first.It wasn’t him.A man stood on the stoop. Mid-thirties, maybe older, in a sharply cut gray coat and dark trousers. His hair was cleanly trimmed, his jawline angular. Hands behind his back like he’d been waiting a while.And he wasn’t alone.Behind him, parked across the street, was a black town car. Not flashy. Just… expensive in the way quiet power always was.I opened the door a crack.“Can I help you?”The man nodded politely, his voice low and smooth. “Miss Shomer?”“Yes,” I said cautiously.“I represent the foundation that awarded your grant. I was asked to deliver a personal letter—along with a few c

VLADIMIR POVThere was something insulting about sunlight when your soul was dragging behind you like a war-torn flag.The sky outside his floor-to-ceiling windows had bled into a weak gold — the kind that looked like hope from a distance but felt more like judgment up close. Vladimir Lancaster stood barefoot on the cold marble, a scotch glass in one hand and silence coiled in the other.His shirt was wrinkled. Hair unkempt. The man reflected in the window was barely the version of himself he liked to parade around boardrooms and balconies. He looked tired. Human. Possibly a little haunted.He would’ve called himself a fool if there were anyone left around to argue with him.Andrei had dropped the letter off yesterday. No fanfare. No tracking number. Just a sealed envelope, cream paper, black ink, his handwriting — careful, brutal honesty in cursive. It had taken him three false starts, two crumpled drafts, and one very loud curse in Russian that had startled a maid before he’d manage

Ayala's POVThe paper felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than a destination. Like it carried a choice she wasn’t ready to make.Greece. Athens.Two days from now.Return: open.It wasn’t just a trip. Matteo was offering her air. Distance. A world without Vladimir’s shadow stretching over every step she took. She had always wanted to visit Greece, but why was she reluctant? Why did it feel like she owed it another person to turn down the offer, why was she choosing another over herself again.She set the ticket down on the counter as though it might burn her fingers if she held it any longer. The quiet of her apartment wrapped around her, but it wasn’t comforting. It was the kind of quiet that made her hear the blood in her ears, the echo of her own breathing. She looked at the wildflowers Matteo had given her, now beginning to droop at the edges. They smelled faintly of sun and earth, so different from the cold, calculated perfection of roses Vladimir once sent her