Chapter 217: "The Prism Fine Art Gallery"

By daylight, the Prism Fine Art Gallery belonged to the public.

Anyone could walk through its glass doors, admire works they couldn’t afford, and perhaps leave with something equally overpriced from the gift shop.

Tonight, however, the Prism wasn’t really a gallery.

There were no tourists, no students, no journalists drifting through its immaculate halls.

The people permitted through the doors had arrived by invitation only: collectors, celebrities, old-money families, and representatives of Borgata’s underworld, though most of the latter had dressed elegantly enough to pretend they belonged to entirely different professions.

Among those invited were Aren and Jordan.

Their purpose for attending was somewhat different from that of most people in the room. While the other guests had come to purchase things they weren’t legally supposed to own, Aren and Jordan were, officially, on their second date.

There were only two noticeable differences from the first.

The first was that Jordan had finally been freed from his sling. His recovery had been remarkable, helped by the fact that he’d done little besides eat, rest, and obey his doctors with unusual discipline.

The second difference became apparent when Jordan glanced down at the empty space beside Aren’s heels. There was no scruffy, golden-eyed creature staring solemnly back at him.

"You didn’t bring Biscuit?" he asked. "Is he all right? He seemed fine when you brought him to work on Monday."

"Ah, Biscuit is fine," Aren replied in the steady voice she’d practiced several times before coming tonight. "Mrs. Pecora wanted to take him to a puppy spa, so I thought it might be fun to let him go and enjoy himself."

That wasn’t entirely false.

It merely omitted the more important reason: she was supposed to investigate House Bellini on Isidore’s behalf tonight — and search for anything that might connect them to Ombra.

Fortunately, she’d rehearsed her explanation enough that Jordan didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.

"I see." He smiled, although he still looked faintly disappointed. "I was hoping to take him out for a little treat after this."

"We can do that next time."

"Definitely."

Biscuit’s absence aside, Jordan hadn’t arrived tonight without a plan of his own. Ever since their conversation outside Castellano Club The First, he’d been thinking about the promise Aren had made to him and Caio, and there was something he’d wanted to ask her for a long time.

"There’s... something I’ve been wondering about." His hand closed around hers as they walked. "Something from the Trials."

Aren turned toward him.

"During the third round..." He watched her carefully. "Did you let me win?"

Aren’s steps slowed.

"...What?"

Jordan noticed the hesitation.

"I remember the angle when you engaged me," he continued. "You could’ve avoided what happened. Couldn’t you?"

"No!" Aren stiffened. "I actually didn’t see that coming!"

The conviction in her expression lasted only until she remembered the promise she’d made, and her shoulders gradually lowered.

’Ah... no.’

’Maybe I should be more honest with him.’

"Well..." she began reluctantly. "I might have seen it coming. And I might have stepped into your attack... not entirely by mistake."

Jordan’s brows rose as he stared at her. He hadn’t expected her to admit it so easily.

The longer Jordan remained silent, the guiltier Aren looked. Then, to her surprise, an enormous smile spread across his face.

"God, I’m glad I wasn’t imagining it."

Aren blinked.

"You’re not angry?"

"Why would I be angry?"

"Because I deceived you."

Jordan laughed.

"You let me win. That’s significantly harder for me to complain about. Though I still don’t understand why you were hiding what you could do."

His amusement softened into curiosity.

"You did something similar during the first round too, didn’t you? Is there a reason I should know?"

Aren hesitated as she considered it.

"Well... um, I like competing. But I didn’t enjoy drawing too much attention to myself." She lowered her voice. "But mainly... Lady Natalia was planning bad things because she wanted you to lose. I didn’t want that to happen to you."

Jordan watched her quietly, something warm and tender spreading through his chest.

’She was worried about me?’

Before he could tell her how that made him feel, however, a familiar voice drifted toward them.

"Oh dear, how lovely. It seems Borgata’s sweetest couple has finally arrived."

Lucilla Bellini approached with all the polished elegance expected of the evening’s hostess.

At first glance, she looked exquisite as always — immaculate gown, ginger hair arranged flawlessly, the jewelry at her throat costing more than most people earned over several lifetimes.

At second glance, however, the strain showed. After all, she’d spent most of the past week fighting Accardi Bank over Bellini Media’s debt, only to lose that battle spectacularly.

Regardless, tonight, Lucilla carried herself like a woman determined to host the most magnificent private auction of the year — if only to prove to Borgata’s underworld that Lucilla Bellini remained the most respectable heiress among the Ten Houses.

"I’m delighted you both came."

Lucilla’s smile was sweet when she reached them.

"After everything that’s happened recently... I was beginning to worry Borgata had forgotten how to appreciate beautiful things without turning them into a public catastrophe."

The subtle reference to a "public catastrophe" wiped the smile from Jordan’s face.

He knew exactly what she was doing.

His expression remained courteous, but whatever warmth had been there disappeared entirely.

"Lucilla. Nice exhibition."

"Why, thank you."

Lucilla accepted the compliment with effortless elegance. When her gaze shifted toward Aren, however, the warmth in her smile diminished by the smallest degree.

Aren was looking at her differently tonight.

There was an unfamiliar coldness in her gaze now — sharp, direct, and so openly hostile that Lucilla could almost feel it against her skin.

"Lady Lucilla," Aren greeted, each word perfectly polite and distinctly unfriendly. "How is the legal process regarding your production crew progressing? I’m still waiting for compensation for the damage caused to me personally."

A cold chill slipped down Lucilla’s spine. She recovered almost immediately, her sugary smile never quite leaving her lips.

"Oh, I’m afraid these matters take time, Ariana darling. Courts, lawyers, internal investigations — you know how dreadfully slow institutions can be. Bellini Media was naturally committed to establishing the truth before recent... complications disrupted the process."

Aren regarded her through half-lowered eyes, unable to believe how thick-skinned this woman was.

Lucilla was talking as though she were still in contact with the production crew, diligently pursuing some kind of investigation, while every single person responsible for the incident was in Jeremiah’s custody.

Or at least... they had been.

Given that Jeremiah was Jeremiah, Aren wasn’t entirely certain whether those people were still alive at all.

’Horrible lying woman.’

’You absolutely deserve it if Mister Castellano really does what he promised.’

"That’s reassuring," Aren said with a small, perfectly courteous smile. "I would hate to think the people responsible might escape the consequences — simply because the company investigating them encountered financial difficulties."

Lucilla’s smile froze.

The insult registered perfectly.

Unfortunately, acknowledging it would require admitting there was something to be insulted by in the first place.

"How surprisingly thoughtful of you."

"Thank you very much."

Beside Aren, Jordan turned his head slightly. Unease crept through him as he watched the two women smile pleasantly at each other while exchanging words sharp enough to draw blood.

’Uh-oh.’

’Something’s definitely going on between her and Lucilla.’

Before he could decide whether to ask, a subtle commotion near the entrance drew the room’s attention, suggesting that someone important had arrived.

All three of them turned to find Ylenia Ombra already inside the gallery.

As usual, Ylenia was dressed entirely in black. Her gown was quiet and elegant, almost severe amid the brighter colors surrounding her.

Rather than stopping to admire any of the artwork, she was already making her way toward a corridor leading deeper into the building. Several men in dark suits accompanied her, slim suitcases in hand, their presence discreet but unmistakably commanding.

The moment Lucilla saw Ylenia, her entire demeanor changed.

"Oh, it seems our friend Ylenia has arrived!" Her eyes brightened as she glanced between Jordan and Aren. "Would you two care to join me, or are you too busy being lovey-dovey?"

"Nope, thank you," Aren replied curtly.

Jordan shook his head.

"We’re fine."

"What a pity." Lucilla smiled effortlessly. "Then please, enjoy yourselves. I should go greet our friend."

With that, she swept away in the direction Ylenia had disappeared, leaving Jordan and Aren near the edge of the main exhibition room.

Aren silently watched Lucilla go.

This was precisely the opportunity she’d been waiting for. She immediately turned toward Jordan and extended her champagne glass to him.

"I’m sorry, Jordan, but I need to use the restroom for a moment. Could you please hold this for me?"

Jordan, naturally, found nothing suspicious about the request. He took the glass from her and glanced around the exhibition hall.

"Sure. Come back to this section when you’re done. I’ll wait for you here."

"Thank you."

Giving him one last warm smile, Aren slipped into the crowd.

Initially, she moved toward the corridor marked for the restrooms, making it look as though she was following the signs.

Once enough bodies separated her from Jordan, however, she changed direction and quietly headed toward the private wing where Lucilla and Ylenia had disappeared.

Left behind, Jordan remained where she’d left him for perhaps half a minute longer. Just moments later, he glanced down at Aren’s nearly empty champagne flute, his brow furrowing.

’Maybe I should order another glass for her while I wait.’

’It’ll be a nice surprise.’

With that idea in mind, he headed toward the bar in the adjoining gallery.

The bartender looked up as Jordan approached.

"Another drink for you, sir?"

"Another glass of Blanc de Blancs, please," Jordan said, setting Aren’s flute on the counter. "Not too full."

"Certainly, sir."

It was the drink she’d been sipping all evening, and judging by how quickly she’d worked her way through the glass, she seemed to like it. He could already imagine the way her entire face would light up when she came back and found her glass newly filled.

Around him, conversations blended into a low hum beneath the gallery’s music.

Somewhere behind him, someone was discussing the provenance of a painting he had naturally never heard of.

Jordan lifted his own champagne and took a sip, idly listening as he waited.

Maybe he could pick up something interesting enough to talk about when she returned. It might save him from having to admit that, despite being surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of fine art, he understood approximately none of it.

Then, just as he lowered his glass—

A flash of platinum-blond hair moved through the crowd at the far corner of the room.

It disappeared around another turn almost immediately.

Jordan’s eyes narrowed.

’Ariana?’

She wasn’t particularly tall, but there was no way he could mistake her in a crowd.

His gaze shifted toward the corridor where the restroom signs were located, then back toward the passage she’d just disappeared into.

’Isn’t the women’s restroom the other way?’

’Why is she going that way?’

By then, he knew the rough layout of the gallery. He was fairly certain the Prism hadn’t adopted the unusual architectural practice of placing its women’s restroom directly inside a restricted private wing.

’Wonderful.’

Jordan exhaled through his nose.

’She’s just been open with me for one moment, and now she’s doing strange things all by herself again.’

Perhaps he could have waited.

He probably should have waited.

But an uncomfortable itch had already settled beneath his skin, fed by the possibility that Aren was about to walk herself into something dangerous without telling him.

After all, that was the same direction Ylenia Ombra had disappeared in only moments earlier.

Jordan himself knew very well that among the Ten Houses, House Ombra was always one of the most discreet — it was also one of the most dangerous to mess with.

"Actually, never mind, mate."

He turned back toward the bartender and set down his glass with a decisive click.

"I’ll come back for the drinks later."