The air in the Christie's auction room was thick with the scent of old money and expensive perfume. Julian stood at the back, his posture relaxed, looking like a man without a single care in the world. He was currently bidding on a rare, mid-century abstract piece—the kind of art Elara used to love before her life became a darker shade of noir.
"Fifty thousand," Julian called out, his voice smooth and steady.
Elara stood beside him, her hand gripping her clutch so hard her knuckles were white. Inside the bag, the USB drive from Sophia felt like a piece of radioactive lead. Every time Julian looked at her and smiled, she saw the offshore accounts. She saw her own social security number written in his handwriting.
"You seem tense, Anchor," Julian murmured, not breaking his gaze from the auctioneer. "It's just paint on canvas. We can afford it."
"Can I afford it, Julian?" Elara asked, her voice a low, dangerous whisper.
He finally turned his head, his brow arching in amusement. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"I met Sophia," Elara said. The words were out now, impossible to take back. "She showed me the wire transfers. She showed me the accounts in the Cayman Islands with my name on them. The ones you set up from your office computer."
The auctioneer's hammer fell. Sold. But Julian didn't even blink at his new acquisition. His expression shifted instantly—the charming mask didn't slip; it just hardened into something colder, more crystalline.
"Sophia has always been a storyteller," Julian said, his voice dropping to a frequency that made the hair on Elara's neck stand up. "She's trying to divide us because she knows that together, we're untouchable. She wants the foundation, Elara. She'll say anything to get you to hand her the keys."
"Then tell me she's lying," Elara challenged, her eyes searching his. "Tell me my name isn't on those documents. Tell me you aren't planning to let me take the fall if the Feds come back."
Julian stepped closer, crowding her space until she was backed against a marble pillar. He reached out and touched the diamond earrings he had given her—the ones she was wearing tonight.
"I put your name on those accounts to protect you," he lied, the words sounding beautiful and poisonous. "If anything happened to me, that money is yours. It's your safety net. I'm not framing you, Elara. I'm ensuring that even if I go down, you stay at the top."
"By making me a criminal?" she hissed.
"You were a criminal the moment you took the phone, Elara. You were a criminal the moment you lied to the detectives." He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You didn't stay because you were a saint. You stayed because you liked the power. Don't start playing the victim now. It doesn't suit you."
He pulled back, his eyes searching hers for that familiar spark of loyalty. For a second, Elara felt the pull. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that the cage he built for her was actually a castle.
But then she remembered Maya's face. She remembered the girl she used to be—the one who loved art for the beauty of it, not for the price tag of a lie.
"The auction is over, Julian," Elara said, her voice cold and final.
"We're just getting started," he replied, turning back to the crowd as if nothing had happened.
As they walked out of the gallery and into the waiting car, Elara reached into her bag. She didn't pull out the diamonds. She felt the sharp edge of the USB drive. She knew what she had to do, but the hill was higher than she ever imagined, and the fall was going to be long.