The Capo's Regret: The Curse Was A Lie

(Kelsey POV)

The crack of my palm colliding with Bennett's face echoed off the high, vaulted ceilings.

It wasn't a polite slap.

It was a violent exorcism of fifteen years of suppressed fury.

His head snapped sharply to the side.

A crimson handprint bloomed instantly against his pale cheek.

The gallery fell into a suffocating silence.

The clinking of champagne flutes stopped.

The low hum of murmurs ceased entirely.

Bennett slowly turned his head back to face me.

His eyes were wide, initially paralyzed by shock.

Then, they narrowed into slits of pure, unadulterated malice.

"You will regret that," he whispered, the sound slithering through the quiet.

He didn't raise his hand to strike me back.

He did something far more calculated.

He pulled his phone from his pocket.

He tapped the screen once.

"Play it," he barked to a shadow in the corner I couldn't see.

Suddenly, the large digital monitors mounted on the gallery walls flickered and glitched.

My art vanished.

It was replaced by grainy, high-contrast footage.

It was me.

On my knees.

In our old bedroom in New York.

Bennett's voice boomed through the gallery speakers, distorted by the amplification but unmistakably him.

"Tell me who you belong to, Kelsey."

"I belong to you."

Shame washed over me like scalding oil.

I heard sharp gasps ripple through the crowd.

I saw fingers pointing.

Phones were coming out, screens glowing like predatory eyes.

They were recording my destruction.

"Stop it!" I screamed, my voice breaking.

Bennett just smiled.

He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, watching me crumble.

"See?" he announced to the room, his voice dripping with mock pity. "She isn't an artist. She's a whore who forgot her place."

I wanted to die.

I wanted the floor to crack open and swallow me whole.

I looked at Bennett, the man I had once thought I loved.

I didn't see a husband.

I saw a monster.

But then, the video stuttered.

The audio screeched into a high-pitched whine.

Then, a crash.

Judd had hoisted a heavy bronze bust from a nearby pedestal.

With terrifying force, he swung it directly into the main control monitor.

Glass shattered outward.

Sparks showered the floor.

The screen went black.

The silence returned, but this time, it was heavy and thick with danger.

Judd stood amidst the broken glass, his chest heaving.

He dropped the bust.

It clanged ominously against the floor.

He turned his gaze to Bennett.

"Get out," Judd said.

Bennett laughed, but the sound was brittle, nervous.

"Or what? You'll break more of her furniture?"

"Or I will break you," Judd replied, his voice low and lethal.

He walked over to me.

He didn't look at the stunned guests.

He didn't look at the ruined monitor.

He looked only at me.

He stripped off his suit jacket and wrapped it firmly around my trembling shoulders.

He pulled me into his side, creating an impenetrable wall between me and the world.

"She is with me," Judd announced to the room. His voice was steady. Clear.

"And if you ever try to contact her, threaten her, or humiliate her again, I will make sure the French police bury you under the jail."

He looked straight at Bennett, his eyes dark with promise.

"I don't care who your father is. Here, you are just a man who broke the law."

Sirens began to wail in the distance.

Someone had called the police.

Bennett's face drained of color.

He looked at his bodyguards, then frantically at the exit.

"This isn't over, Kelsey," he hissed.

He turned and signaled his men.

They retreated.

Like rats scurrying back to the sewer.

The guests were whispering furiously.

The gallery was a disaster zone.

But as I stood there, enveloped in Judd's jacket, inhaling his scent of cedar and rain, I didn't feel ruined.

I felt safe.

For the first time in my life, the monster had been chased away, and I was still standing.

Judd looked down at me, his expression softening.

"Are you okay?"

"No," I whispered.

"Good," he said, tightening his hold on me. "We'll start from there."