Chapter 1

The heavy oak doors of the Mercer Gallery groaned as I pushed through them, the familiar scent of polished wood and expensive perfume wrapping around me like a second skin. It was a scent I associated with my childhood, with the formal dinners where I had to sit perfectly still while my father, Arthur, held court with investors and critics. But tonight, the air was different. Charged with a static electricity that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. I was twenty-eight, old enough to know better, but the moment my heels clicked against the marble foyer, I felt that familiar, dizzying pull in my gut. I had chosen a dress that was a calculated risk—silk, champagne-colored, cut low in the back to showcase the elegant line of my spine, but fitted tightly at the waist to accentuate the curve of my hips. It was a dress for a woman who knew her worth, or so I told myself. But as I scanned the room, looking for him, I felt like a child again, waiting for approval, waiting to be seen. The gallery was a cavernous space of white walls and exposed brick, filled with the soft, murmuring