The Billionaire's Doll Walks Away Forever

The gallery assistant returned. He handed the heavy black card back to Dayami along with a thick receipt.

Dayami slid the card back into her purse. The satisfying click of the clasp closing echoed in the tense air.

Helen Mercer spun around, her heels digging into the polished floor. She grabbed Walter Chandler's arm and dragged him toward the exit. The heavy glass door slammed shut behind them.

Dayami let out a slow breath. The tight band around her ribs loosened. She looked at the assistant.

"Please put the painting back on the wall."

She turned around, ready to walk out and find a taxi.

"Ms. Cantrell? Or should I say, Nora Aron?"

A smooth, deep voice came from behind her.

Dayami's spine locked. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Nora Aron was the name she used when she dealt with art suppliers and obscure gallery owners. It was the shield she used to keep the Hamilton name away from her work.

She turned around slowly.

A man in a perfectly tailored navy suit walked toward her. His expression was warm, his eyes intelligent and observant.

"I recognized you," he said, stopping a polite distance away. "I am Iaan Glass. The curator here. You attended our pre-opening four years ago. Your insights on Rothko were unforgettable."

Dayami's shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch. He was an old acquaintance. He did not know her real secret.

She offered a small, polite nod. "Mr. Glass. It has been a while."

Iaan waved the assistant away. He looked at the empty space where Helen had been standing.

"That was quite a performance. But I suspect you are not as ruthless as you appear." He pointed to the painting. "You could have kept it."

Dayami rubbed her thumb over her bare ring finger, a habit she could not break.

"I just needed some quiet. I am glad they got what they wanted in the end."

Iaan's eyes softened. He looked at her face, really looked at her, and Dayami felt exposed.

"Art should bring peace, not conflict. I am sorry you had to experience that here."

He gestured toward a small, semi-private seating area in the corner of the gallery.

"Please, sit for a moment."

Dayami followed him. She sank into the plush leather chair. Iaan poured a glass of water from a glass pitcher and handed it to her.

She took a sip. The cold water soothed her dry throat. She looked up and her eyes locked onto a different painting hanging on the far wall.

"The use of light there is incredible," she murmured, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Iaan smiled. "You have a great eye. That is a piece by The Canvas Ghost."

Dayami's fingers tightened around the glass. The water rippled. The Canvas Ghost. That was her.

She forced her facial muscles to remain perfectly still. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"A very mysterious artist. No one knows who he or she is."

Iaan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Indeed. Their work is nearly impossible to acquire. They sell on their own terms, through a blind trust. We have been trying to get in touch for years."

Dayami's pulse beat rapidly in her ears. She had no idea her work was so highly valued here.

"What is so special about them?" she asked, keeping her voice flat.

Iaan looked at the painting. His expression turned serious, almost reverent.

"The Canvas Ghost does not just paint landscapes. They paint solitude. They paint the quiet dignity of enduring a storm. Their work has soul."

Dayami's stomach flipped. A sudden tremor went through her, a feeling she had not experienced in years. It was not sadness, but a painful, shocking sense of being seen. For three years, she had lived in a penthouse with a man who looked right through her. Now, a stranger was looking at a canvas and seeing her exact soul.

Her breath hitched in her throat. She had to clench her fists tightly under the table to keep her composure.

Iaan watched her. He did not ask why she looked like she was about to cry.

"Nora," he said softly. "You look like you are going through something. I do not mean to pry, but if you ever need a friend to talk to..."

Dayami looked up. The genuine concern in his eyes made her chest ache.

"Thank you, Iaan."

Iaan checked his watch. "I was about to go for dinner. Would you care to join me? We can talk more about art. Or anything else."

Dayami hesitated. She had never had dinner with another man since she married Elek. Her entire life was dictated by Elek's schedule.

Then she remembered Elek's cold back this morning. She remembered his hand shoving her against the glass.

She set the water glass down on the table.

"I would love to."