Page 32 of The Art of Loving You

The camera zoomed in on my father being led to a black SUV. “It remains unclear if others connected to the gallery—such as family members or business associates—are involved. This story is still developing.”

The room fell silent except for the murmur of the news. I stood abruptly, my pulse pounding. My hands flew to my hair as panic clawed at me. “I need to do something,” I muttered, pacing before turning back to Ella. “I can’t just sit here.”

“Lucas, stop,” she said firmly, stepping in front of me, her hands on my chest. “There’s nothing you can do.”

I shook my head. “I have to help him. I have connections, lawyers?—”

“No, Lucas.” Her tone sharpened. “This isn’t something you can fix.” She searched my face. “Don’t you see? This is exactly what I was afraid of. They’ll pull you into this too.”

Her words hit like a punch. “Why would I be pulled in?”

Ella crossed her arms, hesitation flickering across her face. “Because they don’t care if you were involved or not. You’re his son. They’ll assume.”

I stared at her, my father’s face still burned into my mind. The whispered implications. The world was tilting on its axis. “Whatdo you mean this is what you were afraid of?” I asked. “Ella, what aren’t you telling me?”

She bit her lip, her telltale sign of hesitation. “Lucas…” she exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want to tell you—not like this—but there’s no point in hiding it anymore.”

I braced myself. “Tell me what?”

“It started with Maria and Marshall,” she said carefully. “Marshall works for the Dade County District Attorney’s Office. When he heard about my connection to you and your family, they warned me.”

“Warned you?” My stomach twisted. “About what?”

Her gaze softened, and sadness laced her voice. “About your family’s dealings. The gallery. They told me it’s not just rumors—there’s evidence linking your father to looted art.”

I stared at her, the words sinking like stones in my gut. “You believed them?”

“I didn’t want to,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “But then I remembered about that conversation I overheard between you and Elizabeth in New York.”

I frowned. “Wait—you overheard—what exactly?”

She hesitated, steeling herself. “I heard Elizabeth warning you about Alistair. She said he was playing with fire and that he’d stop at nothing to protect his secrets. She told you to get out before it was too late.”

I clenched my jaw, the memory of that conversation rushing back with a fresh wave of guilt. I’d brushed it off, convincedI could handle whatever fallout might come. Now, it was clear how naïve I’d been.

Ella continued, her voice softer now. “That’s when I realized… I couldn’t be part of this. I couldn’t risk getting pulled into something so—so dangerous, Lucas. That’s why I wanted to end things.”

I exhaled sharply, running a hand over my face. “Ella, I—” I stopped, unsure of what to say. An apology felt too small, too hollow, for everything she’d gone through because of me. “I didn’t know,” I said finally. “I didn’t know what to do. I knew it was wrong, but…”

Her expression shifted, something between relief and frustration. “It’s not just about being unethical, Lucas. It’s about the fact that you’re in the middle of it, whether you realize it or not.”

Her words stung because they were true. The implications were everywhere now, closing in faster than I could process. I sank onto the couch, my head in my hands. “This is insane,” I muttered.

Ella sat beside me, close enough that her warmth was a reminder she was still here despite everything. “There’s more,” I said, my voice low. “Something that doesn’t sit right with me.”

She tilted her head, waiting.

“A few days ago, I was in my father’s office,” I explained. “A woman was there. Svetlana. She was there to pick up a painting—a Chagall.”

Ella’s eyes widened, her lips parted slightly. “Which Chagall?”

I hesitated, realizing the weight of what I was about to say. “The White Angel.”

Her reaction was instant—a sharp intake of breath, her hand flying to her mouth. “Lucas, do you have any idea—do you know what that means?”

“Of course, she bought it from my father,” I admitted. “Now I think she was there for something else. She was part of the sting operation.”

Ella’s question hit me hard. “Lucas. Is it true? Does your family deal in stolen art?”

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