Page 26 of His Untouchable Heart

I sighed, letting my head rest against the back of the chair. “He did see us. There’s no doubt about that. And he also said he’d get back to me about the painting. That he’d be in touch in a few days.”

“Right,” she said. “Which means he doesn’t actually have a buyer yet. Or he’s still figuring out what angle to play.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But I keep going back to the footage. The tape was erased. Not edited—erased. Someone went in and wiped it clean like it never happened.”

Juliette’s brows pulled together. “You don’t think that was Curtain?”

“I don’t know. That’s what scares me. If it wasn’t him, who else knew? And why protect me?”

She leaned forward on her elbows, expression sharp. “You’re saying someone might be playing the other side of this. Like there’s more going on than just Curtain being his usual sleazy self.”

I gave a slow nod. “Maybe he does have his own evidence. But the fact that someone deleted the gallery footage means we’re not the only ones watching this unfold.”

Juliette was quiet for a beat, then reached for another taco. “Okay. Hypothetical. Let’s say he does have a piece he wants to move, and you’re expected to find a buyer. You’d need a discreet channel. Someone off the books.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you know someone off the books?”

She licked salsa off her thumb and nodded. “Louisa Ortega. University acquisitions committee. She helps place obscure pieces for donors—nothing illegal, but she’s dealt with gray areas before. And she’s not a fan of bullies.”

“Would she help us?”

“She’d help me,” Juliette said. “But we’re not going to her until we know what painting we’re dealing with. No names, no moves, until we know how risky this is.”

I nodded, grateful she wasn’t telling me to back out completely—because I couldn’t.

“And there’s one more thing,” I added, pulling out my phone and scrolling to Anthony’s last text. “I got a message from him this afternoon. That’s why he didn’t come in today. Judge Valencia called him in for a private meeting—said it was urgent. Right after, the judge sent him straight to Dallas.”

Juliette sat straighter. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. No warning. No explanation.”

“And you think the judge knows?”

I nodded, a tight twist forming in my gut again. “What if he saw the tape before it was erased? Or heard about it from someone else? If he suspects something inappropriate happened between Anthony and me?—”

“But he didn’t fire him,” Juliette said, cutting in. “He sent him to Dallas to keep working. If Valencia knew for sure, wouldn’t he have shut it all down?”

“That’s what I don’t get.” I stared at the skyline, trying to make sense of it. “Either he knows and doesn’t care—or he suspects something and is giving Anthony a chance to prove himself. Either way, it’s not exactly comforting.”

“No,” Juliette said, quieter now. “It’s not.”

We sat there for a moment, the tacos growing cold between us.

Suddenly, a gust of wind rattled the palm trees lining the edge of the building, sending loose fronds scraping across the terrace floor. I flinched and turned toward the railing, scanning the shadows like something—or someone—might be standing just beyond the glow of the city lights.

“I feel like we’re being watched,” I murmured, mostly to myself.

Juliette didn’t say a word. We stood up, wine glasses and tacos in hand, and disappeared inside. I heard the soft click of the terrace door locking a moment later. Then the rustle of blinds being pulled down, the dull thud of the front door being tested. Lock. Chain. Deadbolt. My sister was thorough, precise—quiet in a way that made my skin itch.

When she returned, she slid back into the armchair and picked up her glass like nothing had happened.

“Never hurts to be careful,” she said and took a sip.

I gave a nervous laugh. “God, we sound like paranoid art-world spies.”

Neither of us laughed.

I leaned forward on the couch to gather up the last taco, needing something to do with my hands, when my phone buzzed against the table.

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