Page 19 of His Untouchable Heart

This wasn’t a casual visit. Curtain had closed that door for a reason—sealing us in, ensuring privacy. Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t going to be good.

He took his time—straightening his sleeves, smoothing his jacket—before finally lifting his gaze to meet mine. His eyes glimmered with amusement, and I knew he was enjoying the tension.

“Gabrielle, I admire your dedication,” he mused, stepping further into the office. “Here so early, already working.” His voice was smooth and confident, sliding into the room whether it was welcome or not.

I remained in my chair, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Curtain?” I asked in an even, detached tone.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “Ah, straight to business. I appreciate that.”

He moved past my desk, glancing at the large window overlooking the gallery floor. I caught his reflection there—the slight tilt of his head as if he were admiring the space as his own.

“I’ve always found this gallery fascinating,” he murmured, dragging his fingers along the back of a guest chair. “So much history. So many secrets.” It was clear his interest wasn’t just in the art.

I folded my hands in my lap, determined to appear unfazed. “If you’re looking for a particular piece, I’d be happy to arrange a viewing. Otherwise, I have work to do before we open.”

Curtain chuckled softly. “That’s what I like about you, Gabrielle. Always professional.” His reflection shifted as he turned back toward me, and I met his gaze squarely. “Then I assume you have a reason for being here,” I said smoothly.

His smile widened, but it was insincere. “Oh, I do.” He stepped closer, yet I didn’t move or blink—a silent refusal to give him any ground.

After a pause, he said as casually as if commenting on the weather, “You and Moreau. Your red dress over your hips—I saw it all.” His words hit like a punch, stealing my breath. But I remained composed. The air shifted, charged with something dark. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said with a straight face.

With a click of his tongue, he replied, “Oh, Gabrielle. I thought we were past pretending.” He edged even closer.

I clenched my jaw until my teeth ached as the indiscretion Anthony and I shared materialized before me—and Curtain seemed to revel in it.

Tilting his head with mocking amusement, he mused, “By the next morning, the security footage was gone. I assume Moreau erased it.”

I felt a sudden chill.

He wasn't merely playing games; he savored every moment. Yet, I denied him the satisfaction he sought. Lifting my chin, I met his gaze with indifference. "If the footage is gone," I said smoothly, "there's nothing left to discuss."

For a moment, annoyance and satisfaction flickered across his face before his smirk reappeared. "A shame," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the buttons of my blouse before meeting mine. Disgust twisted in my gut. "I’d hoped to watch it again."

The icy words locked my body in defense, but I remained still. Unmoved, I uncrossed my legs, shifting slightly as if mildly inconvenienced, and raised an eyebrow. "Then that's your loss," I replied flatly.

His smirk wavered but quickly returned. "Perhaps. But there are other pleasures," he said, stepping back and giving me space. I could breathe, yet I knew it wasn't over. He wanted something, and I dreaded discovering what.

Curtain let out a slow breath as if he had all the time in the world. That same smug amusement clung to him, wrapped around his every move, like he was savoring a private joke I wasn’t in on.

But this wasn’t just about gloating.

He moved leisurely through my office, his fingers examining a plant in the corner before turning back toward me. That smirk of his faded, and something else took its place—something sharper, more deliberate.

"Now," he said, his voice dropping lower, more measured. "Let’s talk about what you can do for me."

I didn’t react, even though every nerve in my body told me to brace for whatever was coming next.

Instead, I tilted my head just slightly, keeping my voice neutral. "I wasn’t aware I owed you anything."

That smirk returned, slow and knowing. "Ah, Gabrielle. Always quick on your feet."

I didn’t respond. I let the silence stretch.

Curtain let it linger momentarily before exhaling. Then, as casually as he asked me to arrange a lunch reservation, he said, “I have a painting I need to move. It’s a very special piece."

My expression hid the pain I felt as my stomach tightened.

A stolen painting.

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