Chapter 214:


    Inside the gallery, the air was thick with expensive perfume and the quiet hum of high-stakes transactions. Grayson stood at the mahogany desk, his fountain pen hovering over the purchase agreement. Beside him, Belle was practically glowing, her fingers tracing the smooth, iridescent curves of the vase with possessive hunger.


    “It’s exquisite, Gray,” she whispered, her eyes shining with triumph. “It will look perfect in the center of the grand foyer.”


    Grayson didn’t answer. He pressed the nib to the paper, his signature sharp and decisive.


    “A tragic beauty, isn’t it?”


    The voice was aged, resonant, and weighted with quiet authority. Grayson looked up to see Nathaniel Cross making his way toward the disy stand. The legendary collector and art historian stopped a few feet away, his gaze fixed on The Tear of Time as though he were standing before a gravestone. He let out a long, heavy sigh.


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    The curator immediately scurried forward, bowing slightly. “Mr. Cross! What an honor. Are you here for the closing? This piece just sold for four times its estimated value.”


    Nathaniel didn’t nce at the curator. His eyes remained on Grayson. “Mr. Lancaster, do you have any idea what the story is behind that vase? Or is it merely a trophy to you?”


    Grayson set the pen down, his expression polite but guarded. “It is a remarkable piece of craftsmanship, Mr. Cross. For a collector, that is usually enough.”


    Nathaniel shook his head slowly, a look of profound disappointment crossing his face. “This was the final work of Evelyn Carson. She created it in the weeks following the discovery of her husband’s infidelity, at the very moment her daughter’spany was being dismantled by vultures. It was never meant to be a decoration. It was her Tear of Time — a symbol of rebirth after total destruction.”


    The surrounding crowd, previously buzzing with gossip, fell into sudden, heavy silence.


    “More importantly,” Nathaniel continued, his voice hardening, “Evelyn left a clear wish in her will. She wanted this vase to go to her granddaughter, Isolde. It was the only piece of her soul she wanted to pass down. Unfortunately, it was seized during the debt liquidation years ago.”


    Grayson’s hand jerked, his fingers tightening around the pen. Isolde’s grandmother. A dying wish.


    A cold realization washed over him, making the air in the room feel suddenly thin. He hadn’t merely outbid a rival. He had publicly stripped Isolde of herst connection to her family’s legacy — taken her grandmother’s grief and turned it into a bauble for his mistress. He remembered the look in Isolde’s eyes moments ago. It hadn’t been anger. It was the look of someone watching a sacred grave being robbed.


    Belle, sensing the shift in Grayson’s mood and the judgment pressing in from the room, tightened her grip on his arm. She gave a dismissive littleugh. “Oh, please. It’s art. Whoever pays for it owns it. If Isolde couldn’t hold on to her own family’s things back then, that speaks to her ownck of capability. You can’t me Gray for having better taste — and a better bank ount.”


    Nathaniel Cross turned his gaze to Belle. It was a look of such icy disdain that she visibly flinched.


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