Page 44 of Sinfully Yours

If you ask me, I'm not the kind of person you cross without consequences either. And Liam's ex? Well, she tested that theory.Damn her.

I grip the edge of the counter, staring unblinking at the rising steam from the kettle, the tight coil of determination winding itself stronger in my gut.

Liam doesn't want to talk? Fine.

Then I'll get my answers from her.

It's not my finest plan. I know that. But after drowning myself in coffee and choking down an energy bar that tastes like cardboard and bad decisions, I have just enough momentum to push forward—out the door, into the car, straight to the gallery.

It carries me until I step inside.

The silence isn't just quiet. It's hollow, stretched too thin, pressing in from all sides. It settles over my skin, curling at the edges of my nerves, and for the first time, I wonder if I've walked into the lion's den empty-handed.

The glass doors whisper shut behind me, the scents of polished wood and fresh paint settling deep in my lungs. The gallery is sleek, modern, its pristine white walls punctuated by massive canvases that don't suggest wealth so much as flaunt it. A few patrons wander the exhibit hall, speaking in low, reverent tones as if afraid to disturb the art.

I barely see them.

But then again, I didn't come for the paintings. I came for Vanessa.

The woman behind the reception desk glances up, her smile polite but detached, the kind practiced through repetition. "Good morning. Welcome to the Chase Gallery. Let me know if you need any assistance."

I return the courtesy with a nod, a reflex more than anything, before moving deeper inside. My heels meet the marble floor with soft, deliberate clicks as I pass displays of bold abstraction and meticulously framed modern pieces. They're beautiful in a distant way, the kind of beauty meant to be admired but never touched.

Near the back of the gallery, a hallway comes into view, discreet but intentional. A sleek black-and-gold plaque is mounted beside the entrance.Private Offices.

Bingo.

I move without hesitation, my pulse steady, my path clear. No one stops me. Maybe they assume I belong here. Maybe they just don't care. Either way, I make it down the hall without issue, stopping in front of a large, glass-paneled door markedVanessa Chase – Director.

I don't knock.

I open the door and step inside.

Vanessa is sitting behind a massive black desk, one leg crossed over the other, a tumbler of something dark and expensive in her hand despite the fact that it's barely past ten in the morning. She doesn't look surprised to see me.

If anything, she looks amused.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she drawls, setting her glass down with a soft clink against the desk's glossy surface. "Ava Bennett. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her voice is smooth, dripping with faux hospitality. Her eyes, however, give her away.

They move languidly over me, assessing, cataloging, as if she's determining whether I'm worth her time or just another insignificant inconvenience to wave away.

I close the door behind me, tilting my head slightly. "I thought I'd take a look at the gallery."

Her lips curve. "Is that so?"

I shrug, stepping further inside. "You said it yourself the other night. I don't belong in your world. So I thought I'd see for myself." I let my gaze sweep over the office—elegant, meticulous, designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, the shelves lined with books I'd bet she's never actually read. "This is quite the empire you've built."

Vanessa laughs and leans back in her chair. "It is, isn't it?"

Her gaze is scrutinizing and cold, but I make sure to match it. "What do you want with Liam?"

Her smile doesn't falter, but she turns a corner of her lip upward. "Straight to the point. I like that." She picks up her tumbler again, swirling the liquid inside. "But you're asking the wrong question, darling."

I arch a brow. "Am I?"

"Oh, yes." She takes a slow sip before setting the glass down again. "The question isn't what I want with Liam." She tilts her head, studying me like I'm something she's considering purchasing. "It's what you want with him."

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