The cloying nickname on the screen made my eyes sting. Still, I answered.
His voice was as affectionate as ever. "Alessia, are you busy?"
"I just finished up."
"How was your day? Worn out?"
"I'm fine."
"I'll be back tomorrow. I've got a huge surprise for you. You're going to love it."
He continued to speak in that gentle tone, but the sound of his voice made my stomach churn.
"Oh?" I managed a light laugh. "I'm dying to see it."
The next morning, just after I had finished handling some family business, I received an encrypted email from Cassia.
"Everything you asked for is in here. This Ivy woman has some serious ambition."
I opened the attachment. It was a screenshot of Ivy's feed on a private social media app, open only to billionaires and high-ranking mobsters.
Her latest post was a close-up of the emerald ring, worn on her slender finger, right next to the thorn bird tattoo. The photo was artfully taken, the lighting suggestive, and the caption read: "Some crowns are meant to be seized."
I clicked on the next post. It was a selfie of her at the private dock of our lakeside villa. Ivy was in a bikini, leaning against my favorite Riva yacht. The caption: "He said that from now on, this is my harbor."
My harbor. The one he’d sworn was mine and mine alone.
I stared at the words and let out a harsh laugh of disbelief.
My gut twisted, but I kept scrolling.
There was a photo with the master bedroom of my and Preston's home clearly visible in the background. Ivy was wrapped in a silk towel, holding my purebred Persian cat, and smiling sweetly. "Waking up in the castle. So restorative."
In another, she was sitting in my vintage Aston Martin, holding my favorite cigar. "I love the scent of his car. He says it's the only thing that truly relaxes him."
Every photo, every caption, was a blatant claim on my life.
I closed the photos and opened another folder. It contained the file Cassia had dug up on Ivy. She came from nothing, a dancer at a third-rate nightclub with a sordid history. Climbing into the inner circle of the Gallo family should have been impossible for someone like her.
The only standout detail was her supposed "natural intuition" for classical art.
That detail stuck with me.
I continued scrolling, and when I saw the last photo, my entire body went rigid.
In the picture, Ivy stood before a massive oil painting, holding restoration tools and smiling with deep satisfaction. That painting was my missing masterpiece—Seraphina's Lament.
