Chapter 2

For a second, the entire lobby goes silent.

The collection belongs to my family.

My father recently decided to consign a group of jewelry, paintings, and antiques that had been sitting in storage for years. He told me I could keep whatever I wanted, or sell none of it at all.

Instead, I chose to bring the entire fifteen-million-dollar consignment to the New York office.

Ethan had been complaining about his annual numbers for months.

I thought this would help him.

Now I am not so sure I want his office getting credit for any of it.

The silence lasts only a few seconds before someone laughs.

“Fifteen million?”

Another employee snorts. “If she really had a fifteen-million-dollar collection, Mr. Cole would be down here himself.”

Diane looks at me as if I have just told the worst joke she has ever heard.

Vanessa laughs too.

Then a young employee hurries over, looking uneasy.

“Vanessa, we actually do have an eight-figure consignment scheduled today.”

Vanessa’s smile stiffens.

The employee glances at me.

“The client is a Whitmore. Could she be—”

“Are you serious?” Vanessa cuts her off.

She gives me another long look, then scoffs.

“Someone like her?”

“Go check the full appointment details. It’s obviously not her.”

The employee hesitates, then leaves.

I have heard enough.

I reach for my handbag.

I would rather go home and ask Ethan exactly what has been going on behind my back.

But before I can pick it up, Vanessa smacks it off the counter.

My bag hits the floor.

Everything inside spills across the polished marble.

I stare at her.

Vanessa folds her arms. “Leaving now?”

She smiles.

“Funny timing. You heard we were checking the appointment and suddenly you want to run.”

“This is how you treat clients?”

“Clients?” She lets out a short laugh. “You haven’t proven you’re one.”

I crouch to gather my things.

“You know you can be fired for this, right?”

“Fired?”

Vanessa looks almost offended by the idea.

“This is a private, family-owned auction house. Ethan runs this place.”

She points at herself.

“And I’m his fiancée. Who exactly do you think is going to fire me?”

Her finger presses against my shoulder.

“I think your fifteen-million-dollar collection is fake, and now you’re trying to leave before everyone finds out.”

Then she freezes.

Her gaze drops to the floor.

“What is that?”

Before I can stop her, she bends down and picks up a gold key fob.

Her face changes instantly.

“Why do you have this?”

I look at the key fob in her hand.

Years ago, I had two matching pieces made by a private jeweler for Ethan and me. Both were engraved with the same private date.

One for him.

One for me.

Vanessa turns it over in her palm.

Her eyes narrow at the engraving.

“I’ve seen Ethan’s.”

I hold out my hand.

“Give it back.”

“Where did you get this?”

“I paid for it.”

Her face flushes.

“You paid for it?”

She grips the key fob tighter.

“This matches Ethan’s. Same design. Same engraving.”

“That’s because—”

She throws it at my feet.

The gold piece strikes the marble with a sharp crack.

I look down.

One corner has been badly dented.

Vanessa points at me.

“No wonder you’ve been picking a fight with me since you walked in.”

Her voice rises.

“You’re sleeping with my fiancé.”

For a moment, I genuinely do not know what to say.

She steps closer.

“You came into his office, you have a matching gift, and you keep acting like you own the place.”

Her eyes burn with anger.

“You’re his mistress, aren’t you?”

Diane makes a disgusted sound.

Vanessa continues, louder now, making sure everyone in the lobby can hear.

“You sleep with another woman’s man and then come here carrying the things he gave you just to provoke me?”

I bend down and pick up the damaged key fob.

“There are security cameras everywhere.”

I look back at her.

“You just destroyed my property. Keep going, and I’ll call the police.”

“The police?”

Diane gives a sharp laugh.

“If that belongs to Ethan, then Vanessa had every right to take it.”

She points at me.

“If you’re sleeping with someone else’s fiancé, don’t show up at his workplace looking for sympathy.”

I take out my phone.

Before I can dial, the front doors of the auction house open behind us.

A familiar voice cuts through the lobby.

“What did you just call my daughter?”

I turn.

My mother, Margaret Whitmore, is standing at the entrance.

Her face is pale with disbelief.

She looks straight at Vanessa.

“Who exactly are you calling a mistress?”