Page 46 of His Untouchable Heart

She clicked back to her files, and I watched her hands for a second—steady enough now, but I’d seen the way they trembled yesterday.

Whatever was weighing on her, it hadn’t left.

And I had a sinking feeling it wasn’t just the gallery’s ghosts keeping her up at night.

The breakroom smelled like overworked appliances and a hint of citrus cleaner, a contrast to the old-world opulence of the rest of the gallery. I poured myself another cup of coffee, grateful for the moment to stretch my legs and shake off the tight coil of attention that came from cross-referencing provenance logs all morning.

I’d just taken a sip when Gabrielle stiffened beside me.

I followed her line of sight to the hallway.

Judge Valencia strolled in like he had no concept of the wordunannounced—casually dressed in khaki shorts, a navy golf polo, and aviators tucked into the collar. He held a white pastry box in one hand, grinning like he was showing up to brunch.

“Well, I figured I’d drop by and see how my favorite restitution team is doing,” he said, lifting the box slightly. “Didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

I set down my cup slowly. “Judge Valencia. We weren’t expecting you.”

“That’s the fun of a surprise, isn’t it?” he said, breezing into the room. “I’m heading to Coconut Grove for a tee time—thought I’d check in on my way.”

His tone was bright. Too bright. Rehearsed.

Beside me, Gabrielle offered a weak smile. “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

She accepted the pastry box and set it on the counter, but I noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her coffee mug again—then set it down untouched.

The judge didn’t miss a beat. His eyes scanned the breakroom, then drifted past us toward the gallery floor. “Looks like you’ve got the place humming. Anyone interesting on the return list?”

“Three this morning,” I said. “One to Paris, one to Munich, one headed to a museum in Dubai.”

“Excellent. Excellent.” He nodded, still smiling, and then his eyes landed on the glass case across the gallery floor. “Is that…A Lady and Gentleman in Black?”

“It is,” I said, even before Gabrielle could answer.

He took a step forward, as if admiring it from a distance. “Quite the piece. Have we located the original owner yet?”

I turned to look at Gabrielle just as she was closing her laptop. Not shutting it down—just a tab. She stood slowly, smoothing her palms on her skirt.

“We’re still reviewing the provenance trail,” she said evenly. “No confirmed match so far.”

The judge nodded, as if that was the answer he expected. “Well, I trust you’ll let us know the moment anything changes. You know how it works—foundation protocol, legal precedent... If no heirs surface, the court prepares the piece for public auction.”

I remembered our conversation. He wanted that painting, and I wasn’t sure at what lengths he would go to get it. He had mentioned the protocol so mildly it almost sounded like a courtesy. But Gabrielle was still standing beside me. And I didn’t like the way his eyes lingered on her a fraction too long after he said it.

I stepped forward. “We’ve actually uncovered more than what was on the court’s initial list. If you have a few minutes, I can show you the vault.”

The judge glanced at his watch, all performative charm. “Tempting, but I’ve got a tee time in an hour, and I’m not dressed for rummaging around in a temperature-controlled vault full of priceless art.” He grinned and turned back toward the door. “Rain check?”

“Of course,” I said.

He gave a mock salute, his hand brushing the edge of his sunglasses. “Good work, both of you. Keep me posted.”

And just like that, he was gone.

The moment the door clicked shut, I felt the energy shift. Gabrielle let out a quiet breath and turned back toward her workstation, but her shoulders remained stiff.

I didn’t say anything. Not yet.

But I was starting to see the cracks she didn’t want anyone to notice.

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