Too Late to Reclaim His Queen
I masterminded a half-billion-dollar art auction to wash money for Miles’s family.
But at the celebration party, Miles gave all the credit to Rebecca. His childhood friend. The daughter of the family’s consigliere.
I stormed into his study.
“Miles, head curator was Rebecca? Are you sure about that?”
He looked up from a cloud of smoke, pulling me into his arms. His voice was a low, soothing rumble. “Valerie, I know you want to prove yourself, but this was all Rebecca. Especially the Caravaggio. The real one, worth three hundred million. She’s the one who pulled it off.”
His lips brushed my forehead, his breath hot. “I don’t love you because you can fix some old paintings. You’re my queen, always. My girl. You don’t have to worry about her.”
I almost laughed. The anger was choking me.
“She can’t tell the difference between oil and acrylic. How the hell would she know a real from a fake?”
“Enough!” Miles cut me off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I know what Rebecca can do. Don’t make a scene just because you’re jealous.”
His hands tightened, trapping me in his smoky embrace. “Don’t disappoint me, Valerie.”
But he already had.
When I’d had enough of his favoritism and his blindness, I walked.
And that's when he went crazy. Scoured the earth looking for me. Begging me to come back, saying he was blind, that he’d been wrong about everything.