Chapter 59

Chapter 59:

🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙 🍙

A tall frosted-glass partition bisected the private room. Light spilled from behind it, casting two silhouettes—one seated, one standing.

Even blurred by the frosted glass, the man in the chair lounged with effortless command—broad-shouldered, composed, long legs crossed. Authority and wealth radiated from him like heat from a fire.

Cathryn drew a steadying breath. “Hello, Mr. Brooks,” she said politely.

The seated man didn’t answer. Instead, the standing figure spoke, his voice lowered and deliberate, as though masking its true timbre. “Ms. Moore,” he said, “you seem to care deeply for this painting—Midnight Lilies?”

Cathryn had always considered herself hard to shock, yet this felt almost theatrical—absurd, even. She knew Andrew only by name, a shadow glimpsed once through Ethan’s brief introduction. Nothing about him or his circle had ever brushed against her life. Why, then, this elaborate performance, as if she’d stumbled into the closing act of a play she’d never auditioned for?