“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I said softly. “The moment of transformation, right before she loses her freedom entirely.”

Victoria turned her head, her sharp blue eyes scanning my face.

She didn’t look angry; she looked startled, her grip tightening on her glass.

“Do I know you?” she asked, her voice low.

“No,” I whispered. “But you know my husband. The real one.”

Victoria’s face went completely pale.

Before she could speak, her phone buzzed inside her small silver clutch.

She looked down at the screen, and I saw the caller ID: *Father*.

She looked back up at me, terror flickering in her eyes.

The heavy oak doors at the entrance of the gallery creaked open, and two men in dark suits stepped inside, their eyes scanning the room.

Victoria grabbed my wrist, her fingers cold as ice.

“Not here,” she whispered.

She pulled me behind the marble pedestal, her grip so tight my skin went numb.

“The service stairs,” she muttered, pointing toward a narrow door disguised by the gold wallpaper.

“Go. Now.”

I didn’t argue.

I slipped through the door just as the two men in suits approached the statue of Daphne.