Alle Kapitel von PAINTED IN SIN: Kapitel 1 – Kapitel 10

Verity Langford stood near the center of the gallery, smoothing down the front of her black silk dress for what felt like the hundredth time. Soft lighting illuminated her paintings on the white walls of West 24th Street in Chelsea. This was her first exhibition in two years, and the turnout had been better than she expected. People moved slowly between canvases, murmuring about brushwork and emotion. A few collectors had already spoken to her about commissions. She should have felt proud. Instead, her stomach stayed tight with nervous hope. Tonight mattered a lot to her. Not just for her career, but for her marriage. She had spent weeks preparing, choosing which pieces to show, agonizing over every detail. Kingsley Langford, her husband, had promised he would come. He had even sounded excited when she reminded him last night. “Wouldn’t miss it, babe,” he had said, kissing her cheek before leaving for another late meeting. For once, she had let herself believe him. She checked her

Verity pulled up to the grand Sinclair family home at Marpleton Drive in Bel Air just after sunset. The sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion glowed warmly under landscaped lights, but tonight it felt more like a battlefield than a sanctuary. She sat in the car for a long moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady her breathing. She had barely stepped out when Kingsley appeared from nowhere, near the entrance. He looked disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, hair messy like he had been running his hands through it for hours. “Verity, wait—please.” He rushed toward her, voice cracking. “Baby, don’t go in there yet. Just talk to me.” She stopped on the stone pathway, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “There’s nothing left to talk about, Kingsley.” He reached for her hands, but she pulled them away. Tears glistened in his sharp blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. What you saw… it was a mistake. A terrible mistake that went on too long. I love you, Verity. I do. I was

Verity stood in the kitchen of the Central Park West penthouse, stirring a pot of pasta she had no intention of eating. The simple act of cooking had always calmed her, but tonight the sauce simmered untouched while her mind refused to quiet. She had spent the entire day trying to push yesterday’s confrontation out of her head, but every few minutes the image of Kingsley and Judith flashed behind her eyes like a cruel loop. Her phone chimed on the marble counter. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked it up. The number was unknown, but the voice on the other end was crisp and professional. “Ms. Langford? This is Elena, Mr. Quentin Langford’s personal assistant. Mr. Langford has reviewed two of your recent collections that are currently under negotiation with a private buyer. He would like to discuss the details in person this evening. Would you be available?” Verity blinked. Two collections? Already? “Yes,” she said quickly, before doubt could creep in. “I can meet him t

Verity woke up in her Central Park West penthouse. For a few quiet seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the familiar weight of sadness to settle over her chest. But it didn’t come. Instead, her mind drifted back to Quentin’s office. The way he had looked at her when she stood naked in front of him. The raw hunger in his eyes. The way his hands had framed her face as he fought for control. And then those words — calm, direct, and completely in control. ‘Marry me.’ Verity sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around her body. She could still feel the ghost of his jacket on her shoulders, the heat of his fingers between her thighs, the way he had stopped himself even when she had begged him not to. She should have felt ashamed. She had thrown herself at a man she had disliked for years — her husband’s older brother. She had been naked, desperate, and willing to use him for revenge. But Quentin hadn’t taken what she offered. He had looked her in the eyes and offere

The lounge hummed with quiet sophistication around them. Soft jazz floated through the air while Verity and Monica settled deeper into their corner booth. The white wine in Verity’s glass caught the warm light as she took another sip, feeling strangely lighter than she had in months. Monica was still staring at her like she had grown horns. “You’re getting married to Quentin Langford?” Monica repeated, voice rising. “Kingsley’s older brother? The notorious playboy billionaire? Vee, have you lost your damn mind?” Verity couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I knew you’d react like this.” “React like this?” Monica leaned forward dramatically, eyes wide. “Girl, this isn’t a reaction. This is a full-blown concern! You just escaped one Langford brother and now you want to tie yourself to the worse one? That’s not upgrading, that’s jumping straight from the frying pan into the damn fire!” Verity laughed softly for the first time in days. Monica’s exaggerated expressio