I’d just landed, and before I could even drop my luggage, my agent was already pushing me to attend a business gala.

"Eleanor, every influential gallery owner and collector in New York will be there. You have to make an appearance."

I glanced down at my outfit.

A simple white shirt I wore for a comfortable flight, a pair of slightly faded straight-leg jeans, and plain white canvas sneakers. I had no makeup on, just a thin layer of tinted moisturizer to hide the jet lag.

Hardly gala attire.

But I didn't care. My talent and my market value had earned me the right to not kiss anyone's ass.

I took a cab to the venue. As I was about to walk up the steps, a thick arm blocked my path.

"Sorry, ma'am. This is a private event tonight," the bouncer said, his eyes scanning my jeans and sneakers with a sneer.

I was about to pull out my invitation when a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Eleanor? Is that really you?"

It was Leo, Lucius's suck-up of a lieutenant, the one who loved to kiss ass and run his mouth. He strode toward me in a tailored suit and polished leather shoes.

His eyes raked over me with exaggerated surprise. "Well, well, if it isn't the Don's most loyal little puppy. Three years, and you end up looking like this? Rough."

I ignored his taunt and reached for my invitation.

"Don't even try it!" Leo snapped, slamming his hand down on my purse. "You found out the Don was here and came camping out, hoping to get back with him, didn't you? Playing the pity card by dressing like a charity case? That's a new low, even for you."

I lifted my head and stared at him. My voice was ice. "Get your hand off me."

Leo froze, clearly not expecting that tone from the meek girl he remembered. He recovered with a sneer. "Alright, drop the act. Everyone knows you can't survive without Lucius."

He turned to the bouncer and jerked his chin up arrogantly. "She's with me."

The bouncer’s attitude flipped instantly. "Of course, Mr. Leo. Right this way, sir," he said, bowing.

"Go on in," Leo said, winking at me. "The Don's in a great mood. Just closed a deal on the South Side turf. If you get on your knees and beg him now, he might even toss you a few bucks for some new clothes."

He pushed open the heavy, ornate doors and swaggered inside.

I watched him go, a scornful smirk playing on my lips.

I put my invitation back in my bag and followed him in, my face a mask of indifference.

The moment I stepped inside, I saw him: Lucius Falcone, surrounded by his cronies. Three years had smoothed the sharp edges of his youth, replacing them with a colder, more commanding presence.

A beautiful young woman was draped on his arm. She wore a fire-red, low-cut gown, her expression as bold as her black hair and red lips. It wasn't Tina.

Looks like his taste—and the speed at which he replaced women—hadn't changed.

I gave them a single, detached glance and turned toward the bar.

But Leo’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Don! Look who's here!"

"It's Eleanor! Your old groupie you couldn't get rid of!"

A brief silence fell over the ballroom.

The next second, a hundred pairs of eyes were on me like spotlights. A mix of mockery, curiosity, disdain, and pure glee at my misfortune. A web of malice.

"Is that really her? How does she have the nerve to come back to New York?"

"God, look at what she's wearing. Did she run out of money and come back to beg?"

"She left in such a huff, I almost thought she had a backbone. Guess it was all just a game."

"I told you. A gutter rat like her could never truly leave the power of the Falcone family. See? Not even three years, and she's back, starving and crawling for scraps."

The ugly whispers were everywhere.

I just stood there, my spine ramrod straight.

No shame. No retreat.

I let them stare, my gaze cutting through the crowd until it locked with Lucius's.

He looked up sharply. The moment he saw me standing in the doorway, his pupils contracted. The lazy confidence on his face froze, replaced by shock and something else… something I couldn't read.

I didn’t even flinch at the wave of mockery and venom.

With everyone watching, I walked calmly to an empty seat in the corner. I pulled out the chair gracefully and sat down. When a waiter passed by, I took a glass of champagne from his tray and took a small sip. My movements were fluid, as if I hadn't noticed Lucius staring at me from the head table, his eyes burning holes into my back.

My composure was clearly a disappointment to those hoping for a show.

"Who does she think she is, acting like some kind of princess?"

A woman in a deep-V, magenta dress slinked over. It was Mia, a Falcone family hanger-on. I remembered her trying desperately to get into Lucius’s bed, only to be kicked to the curb harder than even a plaything like Tina. Seeing me looking "pathetic" was the highlight of her year.

She looked down at me, holding her wine glass. "You disappeared for three years. I thought you'd landed some rich old man. Turns out you were just rotting in a slum somewhere. What's the matter? The dumpsters outside aren't as full as they used to be?"

The crowd roared with laughter.

A man with a beer gut was next. He stroked his chin, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Hey now, Mia, don't be so harsh. The poor girl must have had a rough time overseas. Who knows what kind of 'services' she had to perform to survive."

He spat out the word "services," his eyes crawling over my faded jeans.

"Tell you what, my nightclub needs someone to clean the toilets. Out of respect for the Don, I'll even pay you double. A thousand bucks a month. Better than begging on the street, right?"

The laughter grew louder. Someone even whistled.

Through it all, Lucius said nothing. He sat like a stone statue, his eyes occasionally flicking toward me.

The girl in red by his side, however, was clearly annoyed. I’d overheard her name. Isabella Ricci. Of the Ricci art dynasty.

She scoffed, leaning forward with a look of pity and undisguised contempt. "Eleanor, is it? I've heard about you. How you used to follow Lucius around like a pathetic puppy."

"I have to admire your nerve. You have the thickest skin I've ever seen," she said, pausing to let the audience enjoy the show. "But at least you knew your place. You knew you and Lucius were worlds apart and had no future, so you ran. Too bad it looks like you failed out there, huh?"

"Now, Lucius is the Don. And me? I run my family's art business. I'm busy negotiating collaborations with top international artists. If you're in a tough spot, we can help you out."

"No, thank you," I said calmly.

Isabella sneered, her tone shifting to boastful. "Don't be proud. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

She raised her voice for everyone to hear. "I've already used the Ricci family's most powerful connections to get in touch with the hottest, most mysterious artist on the international scene—E.V.!"

At that name, my hand holding the champagne flute paused for a fraction of a second.

The room filled with gasps.

"E.V.? The genius whose painting just sold for eight million euros in Paris?"

"My God! I heard she never appears in public. Billionaires have offered fortunes just to meet her, and she turns them all down!"

"Ms. Ricci can get her? If she pulls this off—hosting E.V.'s New York debut—the Ricci family's value will skyrocket!"

The blatant shock and flattery from the crowd was exactly what Isabella wanted. She puffed up like a proud peacock, turning her head to look down on me.

Her gaze was like she was tossing a coin to a beggar.

"You hear that, Eleanor? This is how the real world works. Once I lock down this exclusive deal with E.V., the scraps from my table will be enough to feed a pathetic stray like you for a lifetime."

Isabella laughed contemptuously. "Out of respect for Lucius, once the deal is done, I could consider 'giving' you a job. How about… a janitor at the gallery I'm preparing for E.V.?"

Just as she finished, the ballroom doors opened. A woman poked her head in, looking anxious. "Ms. Ricci, my apologies. I've gathered all the research on the artist, E.V. And about the artist herself..."

"What did the artist say?!" Isabella cut her assistant off, practically vibrating with impatience.

The entire room held its breath. This was E.V., the most mysterious genius in the art world. None of them had a clue that the artist herself was sitting right there, being ridiculed by all of them.

"Ms. Ricci, it's all set. The artist has accepted your invitation."

"We've scheduled a meeting at the gallery tomorrow morning to discuss the details."

"Tomorrow morning? Why not tonight?" Isabella frowned.

"The artist has a private engagement tonight and declined our dinner invitation," the assistant explained quickly.

Isabella’s annoyance vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated pride. She turned and strutted back to Lucius, linking her arm through his.

"Lucius, did you hear that?" Isabella’s voice was sickeningly sweet, but her eyes were triumphant as she scanned the room. "Tomorrow, I'm closing the biggest deal of the year. In all of New York, only I could get E.V.!"

The room erupted in another round of fawning praise.

"Simply incredible, Ms. Ricci! Your connections are second to none!"

"The Don has a good eye! With a partner like Ms. Ricci, the Falcone family will be more successful than ever!"

But Lucius said nothing. He just stared into his drink, lost in thought.

Isabella shot me a look, and a new idea sparked in her eyes.

"Oh, by the way," she said, turning to her assistant and dragging out her words. "Could you check if we have any openings for, say, a cleaning position in our galleries or properties?"

The assistant blinked, confused.

Isabella pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. "This is Miss Eleanor. She used to be… loyal to Lucius. Now that she's fallen on hard times, as his future wife, I feel it's my duty to 'help' her out."

That woman, Mia, immediately let out a shrill laugh. "Ms. Ricci, you're too kind! But you really shouldn't get involved with her!"

"You probably don't know," Mia sneered, "but her father is a degenerate gambler. He owed millions in loanshark debt and had collectors after him day and night!"

Someone else chimed in, "Yeah! People like that are nothing but trouble! You hire her, and the debt collectors will be smashing up your gallery by tomorrow!"

They all piled on, painting me as a walking disaster.

Isabella clutched her chest in a dramatic gasp. "Oh my heavens, is that true?"

She looked at me, her face a mask of fake sympathy and fear. "Eleanor, that's such a shame. I really wanted to offer you a lifeline, but it seems my hands are tied. I can't have my hard work ruined by your... family troubles."

I didn't even bother to look up at her pathetic performance.

I set down my champagne glass and met her eyes, my own gaze flat.

"I told you, no thank you," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the noise of the party with perfect clarity.

"I have a job."

Isabella laughed. "A job? Waiting tables? Or pouring drinks in some dive bar?" She sighed theatrically. "Eleanor, take my advice. Quit whatever shady job you have before you get into real trouble."

The gazes around me shifted from mockery to disdain, as if they could already picture me doing something dirty for money.

At that moment, the assistant, who was still standing by the door with her files, finally got a clear look at my face.

Her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped.

The thick stack of research on the artist "E.V." slipped from her arms and scattered across the floor. But the assistant didn't even notice. She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice a horrified squeak.

"Miss Vance?! What… What are you doing here?!"