Chapter 2

After leaving Julian's estate, I didn't end up on the streets like he expected.

Before getting married, I had been an honors graduate from an Ivy League university with a degree in Art History.

Leveraging my old connections, I secured a position as a curator at a prestigious private art gallery downtown.

The gallery's owner, my former college professor, graciously provided Lily and me with an apartment.

Life gradually fell into a peaceful rhythm. Lily smiled much more often now.

Her absolute favorite part of the day was sitting out on the balcony after school, teasing the pet parrot my grandmother had left me.

However, that peace only lasted for two weeks.

One afternoon, as I was in the main exhibition hall directing the art handlers on hanging a series of oil paintings, a sudden, sharp flurry of footsteps broke the quiet.

I turned around, the smile freezing on my face.

Julian strode into the gallery flanked by four bodyguards in black suits. Clinging to his arm was Beatrice, her eyes darting around the artwork with a greedy, newfound fascination.

"So you are hiding here." Julian stopped in front of me. His eyes swept over my tailored business suit, and his frown deepened. "It's been two weeks, Genevieve. Haven't you had enough of this tantrum yet? Come home."

His tone was as condescendingly arrogant as ever, treating me like a runaway pet. He expected that with a simple wave of his hand, I was supposed to come wagging my tail back in gratitude.

"Sir, unless you are here to discuss a collaboration or purchase an art piece, please do not disrupt my work." I stared back at him.

Julian's face darkened. "Are you seriously going to talk to me with that attitude? I'm not here to fight with you today. Beatrice has been in a terrible mental state lately. Her doctor suggested she needs something to do to distract herself."

Beatrice released Julian's arm right on cue.

She walked up to a canvas and let out a dramatic, pretentious sigh. "Genevieve, I'm so envious of you. Getting to spend every day in such an elegant place. Julian told me you work as a curator here, and I really feel this job would be perfect for me. After all, I used to dabble a bit in painting."

Watching her overly affected performance, I couldn't hold back a cold sneer in my heart. She didn't know the first thing about art; she just wanted to steal my position.

Julian switched to a commanding tone. "Genevieve, step down and give this curator position to Beatrice. You have Lily to take care of anyway; working full-time isn't practical for you. Hand the job over to her, then come back to the estate. I'm willing to pretend none of this ever happened."

"Give it to her?" I looked at him as if he had just told the most absurd joke in the world. "Julian, has your brain rotted? This is a fine art gallery, not one of your underground casinos. A curator requires a professional degree in Art History, appraisal certifications, and industry connections. What exactly does she have? Her ability to squeeze out a few fake tears? Or her title as your dead brother's widow?"

"Genevieve!" Julian snapped, raising his voice. "Have you no shame? She's a widow raising a fatherless child! She needs this job far more than you do to rebuild her confidence!"

"A widow?" My gaze sharpened like a blade. "Julian, the woman raising a child on her own, struggling out in the world without a single shred of the Family's resources... is me! She's living out of your luxurious estate, spending your money, and being escorted by your bodyguards. And now she wants to snatch the job I earned on my own merit?"

Beatrice's face flushed pale then red before she quickly let the tears fall. "I'm sorry... Julian, I shouldn't have come. Genevieve is right. I don't know anything; I'm just a burden to you. Let's just go."

She wept softly, though out of the corner of her eye, she was calculatingly watching Julian's reaction.

Predictably, her tears obliterated whatever rationality he had left. He abruptly drew the pistol from his waistband and slammed it onto a nearby glass display case.

"Genevieve, this isn't a negotiation." Julian's voice seeped with chill killing intent. "Either you hand over the position today, or by tomorrow, I'll make sure this gallery ceases to exist downtown. You know perfectly well I can do it."

The art handlers in the gallery scrambled backward in terror.

I stared at the gun. I felt absolutely no fear—only a profound sense of mockery.

"I have no doubt you could," I replied calmly, pulling out my phone and smoothly dialing a few numbers. "But you seem to have forgotten something. The largest patron of this gallery is the Director of Cultural Affairs at City Hall. And that masterpiece you just threatened to destroy? It's the centerpiece auction item for the Mayor's wife's charity gala next month."

I turned my phone screen to face him. It showed an active call dialing out to the Police Commissioner's private line.

"Julian, are you absolutely certain you want to provoke an all-out war between the Mafia and City Hall right now over a woman's vanity? Do the Family elders know that you're acting like a dog in heat, ready to risk everything for your sister-in-law?"

Julian's face instantly turned livid. He knew as well as I did that the Family was currently lobbying for the legal controlling rights to a major port. A scandal at this juncture would ruin everything.

"You... you dare threaten me?" he hissed.

"It's a friendly warning." I canceled the call before it could connect. "Now get out of my gallery."

Julian stared at me, looking as if he were seeing me for the very first time.

"You are going to regret this, Genevieve." Grabbing Beatrice by the arm, he turned and stormed out.

But as they left, Leo—who had been trailing silently behind them the entire time—remained still.

His unblinking eyes were fixated on the corner of the exhibition hall, staring dead at the parrot I had brought over from our apartment.

The corners of the little boy's mouth slowly curled up into a chilling, deeply malicious sneer.