Chapter 5

Crystal chandeliers flooded the Ashbourne Foundation's main gallery with light on opening night.

My mother's paintings glowed under carefully calibrated beams. Every fissure in the pigment, every brushstroke, was visible.

I wore a sharply tailored black evening gown and a metal badge identifying me as Lead Curator.

From checking the label beside each painting to briefing critics on the treatment of damaged color fields, my voice never wavered.

Tonight, the exhibition was mine to carry.

"The microcracking has been handled beautifully."

Footsteps sounded behind me.

Caelan Ashbourne stopped two paces away, a glass of untouched champagne in his hand. His…