Chapter 5

(Kelsey POV)

I retreated to the sanctuary of my studio.

It was the only space in this sprawling estate that still felt like mine.

The sharp, chemical tang of turpentine and varnish wasn't just a smell; it was a shield.

I turned the lock with a decisive click.

But I didn't work. I didn't pick up a brush.

Instead, I sat in the gloom, surrounded by the shadows of half-finished canvases, and listened.

I had been busy since the accident.

I wasn't just restoring art anymore.

I was curating evidence.

When I realized I was the last to know about Aria, I swore an oath to myself: I would never be blind again.

I had used my access as the "trusted wife" to plant tiny, high-fidelity bugs throughout the penthouse.

In Bennett's office.

In the master bedroom.

I slid my headphones over my ears.

The audio was crisp, cutting through the silence of the studio.

I heard the clinking of glasses.

Then, I heard the high-pitched chime of Aria's giggle.

"He's going to leave her, isn't he?" Aria asked.

Bennett's voice filtered through, heavy and thick with scotch.

"She's useful, Aria. The Don likes her. She keeps the charity board happy."

"But she's so depressing," Aria whined. The sound grated on my nerves. "And now she's crippled. It's embarrassing."

"She's a Randolph," Bennett snapped. "She stays until I say she goes. But you... you are the priority."

I slid the headphones off and set them gently on the desk.

My hands were steady.

I wasn't hurt.

I was calculating.

Suddenly, the studio door rattled violently against the frame.

Then, the lock gave way, and the door burst open.

Bennett strode in.

He looked furious.

"Why aren't you at the house?" he demanded.

He marched across the room and seized my arm.

I winced.

My bruise was still tender beneath his grip.

"Let go," I said calmly.

He didn't.

Instead, he jerked me closer.

The cloying scent of Aria's perfume clung to his shirt, suffocating me.

"You are making us look bad, Kelsey. Hiding away here."

"I'm working," I said.

"You're sulking," he corrected.

He finally released me with a shove and began to pace the room.

"We need to come to an arrangement," he said.

"An arrangement?"

"Aria is moving into the penthouse full-time. The baby needs stability."

I stared at him, blinking slowly.

"You want your mistress to live with your wife?"

"It's big enough," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "You can stay in the east wing. You keep the name. You keep the credit cards. You just... accept her."

He looked at me, expecting gratitude.

As if he were offering me a crown instead of a cage.

"Be a sister to her, Kelsey. Help her raise the heir."

I laughed.

The sound scraped against my throat-dry, rusty, and devoid of humor.

"You want me to babysit the child you claimed you couldn't have?"

"It's the curse..." he started.

"Stop," I said.

My voice was sharp, cutting through his excuses.

"Stop lying, Bennett."

I stepped into his space.

"The curse kills women who carry your blood, right? That's the story?"

"Yes."

"Then why is Aria still alive? She's six months pregnant. If she's your cousin, she shares your blood. If the curse is real, she should be dead."

Bennett froze.

His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering in his cheek.

"So either she's not your cousin," I continued, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "or the curse is a lie you told to keep me barren. Which is it?"

He didn't speak.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Then, he sneered.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

He loomed over me, using his height as a weapon.

"She is giving me what you couldn't. That makes her valuable. You are... decorative."

He jabbed a finger into my chest.

"And right now, you are a broken decoration."

I felt a coldness settle deep in my marrow.

There it was.

The truth.

He didn't care about logic, or loyalty, or love.

He only cared about what he could use.

His phone rang, shattering the tension.

He looked at the screen.

His face softened instantly.

"Hey, baby," he answered.

He turned his back to me.

"Yeah, I'm coming. No, don't cry. I'll bring the ice cream."

He hung up.

He looked at me one last time, his eyes flat.

"Be at the Don's birthday party on Saturday. Wear something that covers the bruise."

He tossed a small velvet box onto my worktable.

"A peace offering," he said.

Then he left.

He walked out of the door and out of my life.

I opened the box.

It was a bracelet.

Thin gold.

Generic.

I had seen the exact same design in a department store flyer.

It was an afterthought wrapped in velvet.

I walked to the trash can.

I dropped the bracelet into the bin.

It clattered against an empty coffee cup with a hollow sound.

I looked at the calendar on the wall.

Saturday.

The Don's birthday.

The entire family would be there.

Security would be focused on the perimeter.

It was the perfect time to vanish.

I picked up my restoration knife.

The blade gleamed wickedly under the studio lights.

I wasn't going to be a decoration anymore.

I was going to be a memory.

And I was going to make sure it was a memory that haunted him forever.

I started packing.

Not clothes.

Just hard drives.

I was leaving, but I was leaving a bomb behind.

Tick tock, Bennett.

Tick tock.