Page 14 of His Untouchable Heart

I nearly choked on my coffee. “You’re already house-hunting?”

“Manifesting,” she corrected. “We get this painting back, we take the settlement money, and boom. New life, new home, maybe even new men.”

I shook my head, unable to stop a small smile. “You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I prefer to think of it as optimism. Which, by the way, you could use a little more of.” She paused. “Speaking of which, has Anthony come to his senses yet?”

I stiffened, knowing exactly where she was going with this. “Juliette?—”

“Oh, come on. You’re practically living at that gallery, and after what happened between you two, you’re telling me he’s not helping dig up anything on our painting?”

I rubbed my forehead. “No. He’s not. And we agreed not to talk about… that.”

Juliette snorted. “Youagreed. I never did.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s been acting weird ever since. Distant. More than usual.”

“Maybe because he’s not as detached as he pretends to be,” she mused. “You know, just because a guy is emotionally unavailable doesn’t mean he’s immune.”

I didn’t answer right away. Because honestly? That possibility had been circling in the back of my mind all morning.

Anthony wasn’t the type to let his guard down. And yet, for that one moment in the gallery, he had. And now, instead of ignoring me outright, he was keeping just enough distance to make me notice.

Juliette sighed dramatically. “Look, I get it. Some guys are weird. But what if he actually cares, and he just has no idea how to handle it?”

I didn’t want to think about that.

“I should go,” I said, glancing at the files spread across my desk. “I have a lead to chase down.”

Juliette made a sound of disapproval. “Fine. But don’t let him push you away too easily, Gabs. You’re way too good at pretending you don’t care.”

I ended the call, setting my phone down beside my laptop.

Juliette had meant it as a warning. But all it did was leave me feeling even more aware of Anthony than I wanted to be.

As I made my way through the gallery, a murmur of conversation caught my ear. Two delivery men stood just inside the entrance, one scanning a clipboard while the other adjusted the garment bag slung over his shoulder.

“That’s the one,” the taller of the two said, nodding toward the shipping label. “Custom order. Guy’s got expensive taste.”

I slowed my steps just enough to catch a glimpse as the garment bag was unzipped slightly—a sleek black suit, crisp and pristine, with Brioni stitched into the lining.

My brows lifted.

Brioni? That wasn’t just an expensive suit. That was one of the most exclusive designers in Miami, the kind of brand that catered to billionaires, CEOs, and men who didn’t blink at five-figure price tags for something they’d wear twice.

I kept walking, my mind already turning over this new piece of information.

Anthony had never been flashy. In fact, he had always carried himself like a man who didn’t care about wealth, like money was something he had but rarely acknowledged. But now? It seemed like something had shifted between the custom suit and the murmurs I’d overheard from staff.

When I reached his office, my suspicions deepened.

Sitting on a table by his office door, still in its gift box, was a bottle of Château Margaux 2005—one of the most expensive wines in the world. Not the kind of wine you drank but one you collected. A single bottle could cost more than ten thousand dollars.

I stared at it, then glanced at the closed door to his office. What the hell was he doing? Was this how he coped? Was he throwing money at things that didn’t matter to distract himself from something that did? Or was this the real Anthony—not just a man with money, but someone who knew exactly how to use it?

I thought about the missing paperwork from my desk.

Had he taken it? Was he arranging for something behind the scenes?

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