I knew the museum’s layout well from my years working in art restoration.

It was a place where I could blend in.

The next evening, the rain had turned to a thick, cold fog that blanketed Central Park.

I wore a simple black evening gown I had kept in my old apartment’s storage locker, my hair pinned up to blend in with the high-society crowd.

I slipped past the security desk using an old restoration consultant badge that hadn’t been deactivated yet.

The grand hall of the museum was filled with the soft murmur of wealthy patrons and the clinking of champagne glasses.

I spotted Victoria immediately.

She was wearing a stunning silver gown, her blonde hair styled in a flawless chignon.

She looked beautiful, but as I drew closer, I noticed the tension in her jaw.

She was standing near a marble statue of Daphne, holding a glass of champagne she hadn’t touched.

Julian was nowhere to be seen.

I took a deep breath, smoothing down my dress, and walked toward her.

I stopped right beside her, pretending to admire the sculpture.