Chapter 3

Julian was visibly anxious on the drive over.

Several times he opened his mouth to speak, only to swallow his words.

I leaned against the window, staring at the passing traffic, silent.

We were both acting, playing the role of a happily married couple heading straight into a meticulously planned trap.

Little did he know, I had a copy of the script.

The Blue Nightingale Gallery was located in the most expensive district downtown, heavily guarded and strictly invite-only.

The valet greeted Julian politely and opened the car door for us.

Julian took my hand, trying to act natural, and whispered, "Stay close to me, okay?"

His palm was cold and clammy with sweat.

I wore the backless black dress he had suggested.

Before leaving, I had applied flawless makeup, using a heavy-duty waterproof concealer to completely hide the butterfly tattoo on my back.

The gallery was intimate but packed with well-dressed, influential figures.

The air smelled of expensive champagne and high-end oil paint.

Julian led me through the crowd toward a man standing at the far end of the gallery.

The man stood with his back to us, admiring a massive oil painting.

Dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit, his broad shoulders and commanding presence exuded an intimidating authority.

"Mr. Vance," Julian called out, his voice laced with sycophancy.

The man slowly turned around.

It was Arthur Vance.

His gaze swept past Julian and landed squarely on me, analyzing me like an appraiser evaluating a rare artifact.

The look made my skin crawl.

"Mrs. Miller, a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, his voice deep and smooth.

"Likewise, Mr. Vance," I replied with a polite nod and a practiced smile.

Julian rubbed his hands together nervously. "Vance, Nora doesn't know much about art. I hope you'll forgive her."

Vance ignored him, keeping his eyes locked on me. "Mrs. Miller is stunning. Especially..."

He paused, his eyes sliding suggestively down toward my bare back.

"...your highly artistic features."

I sneered inwardly.

Go ahead, keep acting.

Vance raised his champagne glass in a silent toast to me.

"To art."

He took a sip.

I took a glass from a passing waiter's tray and took a drink as well.

Julian turned even paler.

The exhibition's theme was "Desire and the Cage." The displayed pieces were bold and full of tension.

Vance guided me through the paintings as if he owned the place, while Julian trailed behind us like a pathetic puppy.

Vance's art commentary was sharp and professional, but every double entendre felt like a dirty whisper.

"Look at this one. A butterfly caught in a spiderweb. Beautiful, fragile, and utterly helpless yet seductive."

He watched my face closely for any reaction.

I simply listened, maintaining my polite, pleasant smile.

"You seem to have a fascination with butterflies, Mr. Vance," I remarked nonchalantly.

Vance's lips curled into a predatory smirk.

"Only when it's a truly unique specimen."

Just then, the gallery lights suddenly dimmed.

A spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating a massive easel in the center of the room covered by a red velvet cloth.

The host stepped onto the stage, speaking enthusiastically into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you have all been waiting for. We are about to unveil the most mysterious and exquisite masterpiece of this exhibition!"

"The artist wishes to remain anonymous, but the subject is said to be the creator's lifelong, elusive muse!"

Beside me, Julian began to tremble.

Vance turned his head and whispered in my ear, his voice barely audible to anyone else, "The show is about to begin."