Chapter 3

Kiera's message was a declaration of war. She thought she was untouchable, hidden away in her gilded cage. She didn't know I had the key.

I needed to get inside that gallery one more time, not just for evidence, but to see the truth with my own eyes, to hear it from their own mouths, unfiltered. The flash drive had the what, but I needed the why.

I scanned online job boards and found an opening for a temporary cleaner at the Reese Gallery. Using a burner account, I contacted the gallery's administrative manager, inventing a story about being a single mother in desperate need of work. A wire transfer for several thousand dollars, far more than the salary, sealed the deal.

The next afternoon, I pulled up to the service entrance with the rest of the cleaning crew. I wore a plain blue uniform, a baseball cap pulled low, and a disposable face mask. I kept my head down and my mouth shut.

I was assigned to Kiera's private office. The room was enormous, with a stunning view of the city. But I wasn't interested in the view. I was interested in the life they had built here. On the bedside table was a silver frame. It held a picture of Ivan and Kiera on their wedding day. They weren't officially married, of course-Ivan was married to me. This was a lie within a lie, a ceremony just for them, a fantasy they lived out in secret.

I moved through the house, cleaning mechanically, my eyes scanning everything. The walls were covered in family portraits. Leo on a pony. Kiera and Ivan laughing on a boat. The gallery's architecture had all the hallmarks of my entrepreneur father's signature style, while the curation of the art screamed of my film director mother's aesthetic.

In the staff breakroom, I found a friendly employee named Anna wiping down the counters. I kept my voice low and disguised. "It's a beautiful place. They seem like a very happy family."

Anna sighed, not looking at me. "They are. Mr. Hughes adores that boy. And Mr. Donovan... he's here more than he's at his own office, personally overseeing the gallery's business operations."

The words were a physical blow. My father had never offered to teach me anything. I had begged him to read my scripts, to give me guidance, but he always said he was too busy. He wasn't too busy for Kiera's gallery.

"And Mrs. Donovan?" I asked, my voice tight.

"Oh, she brings Hollywood producers and A-list stars here every week," Anna said, shaking her head. "Says Kiera is the daughter she always wanted, so spirited and strong."

The daughter she always wanted. Not me. Not the real daughter who had spent years dreaming of a mother's love.

My stomach churned. I had to get out of there. As I turned to leave the breakroom, I heard the sound of a car in the driveway. A sleek black sedan. Ivan's car.

I quickly grabbed a mop and started cleaning the main hall, keeping my head down and my mask on, pretending to be absorbed in my work so I could listen.

I could see them. Ivan, Kiera, and Leo.

Kiera was pouting. "It's just... exhausting, Ivan. Having her around. When are you finally going to get rid of her?"

My breath caught in my throat.

Ivan stood up and pulled Kiera into his arms. He kissed her forehead. His voice held a sharp edge of impatience. "Don't talk about her like that. She's still a Donovan, after all. Everything I can give you and Leo is because of her. If you hadn't gotten pregnant back then, I would never have betrayed her."

The words hit me harder than any insult. So I wasn't just a placeholder. I was the woman he betrayed out of obligation. Kiera's jealousy, I realized, must have festered even deeper hearing that. It explained her relentless cruelty.

I had what I needed. I turned to slip away.

"Hey, you." Ivan's voice cut through the air. "You're new."

I froze, my back to him.

"Turn around. Take off your mask." His tone was sharp, authoritative. He was a regular here, he knew every face. The thought that he was more familiar with the staff of his mistress's gallery than with my own life sent another shard of ice through my heart.