Revenge on Ex - Rivals

A gallery director with silver-streaked hair and wire-rimmed glasses approached us, his eyes lighting up with recognition—not of me, but of Eleanor. He extended his hand with practiced elegance.

'Mrs. Vance, always a pleasure.' His gaze shifted to me, curiosity mingling with deference. 'And Mrs...?'

'Victoria Sterling,' Eleanor supplied before I could speak, her tone carrying a subtle weight that made the man straighten imperceptibly.

'Mrs. Sterling,' he repeated, as if tasting the name. 'I don't believe we've had the pleasure. I'm Daniel Harrington, director of nineteenth-century European paintings.'

I offered my hand with the quiet confidence Alexander had helped nurture in me. 'The Monet collection is exquisite, Mr. Harrington.'

'You have a discerning eye,' he said, clearly pleased. 'Are you familiar with our upcoming auction? We have several impressionist pieces that haven't been on the market in decades.'

The old Sarah would have stumbled, afraid of saying the wrong thing. But Victoria—the woman I was becoming—simply smiled. 'My husband mentioned it. The Sterling Foundation has always had a particular interest in preserving artistic heritage.'

I didn't need to say more. The mere suggestion of Sterling involvement was enough to make Harrington's eyes widen slightly.

'We would be honored by the Foundation's participation,' he said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. 'Perhaps I could arrange a private viewing?'

'That would be lovely,' I replied, touching the platinum band on my finger—my anchor in moments like these. 'Please coordinate with Mr. Croft.'

Eleanor watched our exchange with approving eyes. As Harrington excused himself, she leaned closer. 'Beautifully handled, my dear. You've come into your own.'

Her words warmed me, but my attention had drifted to the commotion near the entrance. Through the gallery's massive windows, I could see a sleek black limousine pulling up to the curb, its polished surface reflecting the golden lights of the museum entrance.

The car door opened, and a team of stylists emerged first, fussing like birds around their nest. Then came Amanda Chen, her pregnant belly draped in an emerald gown that seemed designed to announce her presence before she even entered a room. The cut was too low, the embellishments too numerous—the dress of someone desperate to belong.

I watched as she smoothed the fabric over her stomach, her movements practiced and deliberate. A photographer called her name, and she turned, flashing a smile that never reached her eyes. The camera flashed, capturing the image she wanted the world to see—the triumphant woman who had won, who had taken what she wanted.

If only she knew how little I cared about what she had taken.

Ryan emerged behind her, his hand possessively at the small of her back. Even from a distance, I could see the familiar signs of his discomfort—the slight tug at his collar, the forced smile. He had always hated these events, viewing them as necessary performances rather than opportunities for genuine connection.

'Quite the entrance,' Eleanor murmured beside me, her tone making it clear what she thought of such displays. 'New money always shouts so loudly.'

I took another sip of champagne, the cool liquid steadying me. 'Some people mistake attention for respect.'

Eleanor's approving chuckle was cut short as the doors opened and Amanda swept in, her eyes scanning the room like a predator seeking prey. When her gaze locked on me, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Recognition flickered across her face—not of Sarah Mitchell, but of the woman she had seen at the airport. The woman she believed was impersonating Victoria Sterling.

I watched as she leaned toward Ryan, her red-painted lips moving rapidly. His head turned, eyes narrowing as they fixed on me. I could read the confusion in his expression, the curiosity that would soon turn to something else entirely.

'That's her—our charity rival,' Amanda's voice carried just enough for those nearby to hear, a deliberate stage whisper designed to draw attention.

Ryan nodded, a smirk forming on his lips as he assessed me with new interest. The look in his eyes was all too familiar—calculating, measuring my worth against his own agenda.

Little did he know, the scales had tipped long ago, and not in his favor.