sat in the sunroom, the morning light streaming through the

der she wasn't willing to make. Instead, a strange, brittle clarity had settled

droom apartments in the West Village. Small, anonymous places with

nd jarring in the morning stillness. An unknown number.

el

Perez?" a man's voice asked.

s is

an Finch. I'm the manager at

d. A knot of unease tighte

osis." Julian's voice was laced with an apology she could already

d on the Persian rug. The world, which had felt so sh

ice cracking. "I paid the deposit. We

the blow. "Another client came in this morning. They made an offer... a very substantial one. One the gallery owner f

ed to pound. A frantic, painful rhythm. That painting wasn't just a piece of art. It w

ay none of the panic clawing at her throat. "The price is negotiab

ke a deep breath. "Mrs. Perez, I'm afraid it's not that simple. The b

ul of people in New York City who could make a top SoH

e demanded, the

"Our client list i

my paintin

"The buyer was Mr. Augustus

elly perfect, that she almost laughed. A hysterical sound bubbled

cou

e. Augustus had no interest in art. He wouldn't know a Mone

ht it for

d, and in its place, a white-hot rage erupted. It surged th

" she asked, her voi

hey're just finaliz

l it. I'm

before he

ken her dignity. He had taken her hope. And now, he was taking the last piece of her past

t this

on a pair of jeans and a simple black cashmere sweater, shoving her

toward the garage. "Mrs. Perez, shall

Her eyes were blazing with a f

of the garage, to the classic, silver Audi TT she had bought with the prize money from

comfort. The engine roared to life with a satisfying snarl, t

and peeled out of the garage,

Manhattan, a single thought repeate

is from her. He woul