Too Late to Reclaim His Queen

I masterminded a half-billion-dollar art auction to wash money for Miles’s family.

But at the celebration party, Miles gave all the credit to Rebecca. His childhood friend. The daughter of the family’s consigliere.

I stormed into his study.

“Miles, head curator was Rebecca? Are you sure about that?”

He looked up from a cloud of smoke, pulling me into his arms. His voice was a low, soothing rumble. “Valerie, I know you want to prove yourself, but this was all Rebecca. Especially the Caravaggio. The real one, worth three hundred million. She’s the one who pulled it off.”

His lips brushed my forehead, his breath hot. “I don’t love you because you can fix some old paintings. You’re my queen, always. My girl. You don’t have to worry about her.”

I almost laughed. The anger was choking me.

“She can’t tell the difference between oil and acrylic. How the hell would she know a real from a fake?”

“Enough!” Miles cut me off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I know what Rebecca can do. Don’t make a scene just because you’re jealous.”

His hands tightened, trapping me in his smoky embrace. “Don’t disappoint me, Valerie.”

But he already had.

When I’d had enough of his favoritism and his blindness, I walked.

And that's when he went crazy. Scoured the earth looking for me. Begging me to come back, saying he was blind, that he’d been wrong about everything.

The door to the private room slammed shut behind me.

Miles's words echoed in my ears: Don't make a scene just because you're jealous.

Jealous? A scene?

I took a deep breath and walked out into the main hall, my heels clicking on the floor.

Everyone was raising a glass. Celebrating the half-billion-dollar auction. My victory.

“Look at her face. Like the family owes her something.”

The sharp whispers came from behind a marble pillar.

I stopped, watching a few women in expensive gowns trade scornful looks.

“Rebecca was always meant to be head curator. What right does she have to fight for it?”

“Exactly! The Don and Rebecca grew up together. A perfect match. Then this little painter shows up out of nowhere and steals the fiancée spot. Rebecca hasn’t said a word, and she’s the one throwing a fit?”

Little painter.

My fingers tightened around my glass.

“Besides, Rebecca was the one working the collectors day and night for this auction. She was gone half of last month. Who knows what she was up to.”

Miles's cousin, Gina, was the worst of them. “She’s just some useless artist who knows how to mix paints. What does she know about real art?”

Useless artist who knows how to mix paints.

I almost laughed out loud.

They’d never liked me. Not from the day Miles announced our engagement.

But Gina? Who was she to talk?

Last time in Vegas, she’d lost three million at the tables and was too scared to tell the family.

I was the one who covered her tracks, using my connections to make the debt disappear before her father found out.

She’d been crying, hugging me, calling me the future Donna of the family.

And now she was standing with these bitches, mocking me.

I’d had enough. I walked over, champagne in hand.

“Gina,” I said, my voice dripping with sweet venom. “Next time your father drops a million on ‘antiques,’ make sure he brings an expert.”

She instinctively touched the diamond necklace at her throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That diamond cut wasn’t invented until 1953,” I said with a smile. “An heirloom from the House of Bourbon? Don’t embarrass yourself with fakes.”

The corner went dead silent.

Gina’s face turned beet red. The other women’s smiles vanished.

“And another thing,” I continued. “That three-million-dollar debt in Vegas. Who paid it for you? What were you calling me back then?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Ungrateful bitch,” I whispered, my voice low and sharp.

I turned and walked away, heading for the terrace.

My head held high, each step of my heels a deliberate, heavy strike.

But the moment I stepped outside, the humiliation hit me like a wave.

For five years, I had worked to prove my worth.

I wasn't just some painter. I was a formally trained, gifted art authenticator.

I was the one who turned the family’s dirty assets into priceless works of art with flawless provenances.

I was the one who made sure their blood money could sit safely in bank vaults around the world.

But in their eyes, I was just what Rebecca painted me as: a useless artist.

Every time I earned my stripes, Rebecca found a way to steal the credit.

This time was no different.

I’d spent three months scouring Europe and finally tracked the real Caravaggio to the Vatican.

But just as I was about to fly out, I got an urgent call.

My mentor in Florence was on his deathbed.

He had taught me everything. Made me who I am.

As for the painting… I already knew where it was. I could get it anytime after he stabilized.

I sent my assistant ahead to make contact with the collector while I rushed to Florence.

I stayed by his side in the ICU for three days and three nights, my eyes burning red, until his heartbeat finally steadied.

He opened his eyes, weak, and squeezed my hand, telling me he was fine and that I should get back to my work.

The moment I stepped out of the hospital room, I got the call from Miles.

He told me Rebecca had handled it. That she’d secured the Caravaggio.

I hung up, stunned, and frantically dialed my assistant.

Straight to voicemail.

The assistant I’d trusted with every secret… had vanished.