Page 23 of The Kat Bunglar

She needed to focus on the big picture.

6 Days Earlier

July 3rd

Los Angeles

Laila Malik

Laila stared at the canvas in disbelief.

It depicted a woman drowning, her hair streaming in every direction, legs tangled in seaweed, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape. But what caught her attention most were the wedding rings on the woman’s fingers. They matched the emerald set she had left behind in Chicago.

Her breath hitched. The tattered dress—the way it clung to the woman’s body—looked eerily like the sundress she had worn to Gabriel’s house that night. The night that had haunted her ever since.

“What do you think?”

She closed her eyes briefly. She would recognize that voice anywhere. It was deep and warm—like aged cognac. A shiver went up her spine.

“I think...” she said, forcing a light laugh, “she’s wearing my dress.”

“Mmm...” Gabriel’s gaze remained fixed on the painting. “It’s been hard to get that dress out of my mind.” He turned his head then, meeting her eyes. “It’s been hard to get you out of my mind.”

Laila froze.

“Are you this f-friendly with all women?” she stammered.

He arched a brow. “How do you mean?” He reached out and plucked an invisible piece of lint from her shoulder, the casual intimacy making her throat go dry.

“I mean the curator. You and her...” she hesitated. “Are you two... together?”

Gabriel let out a quiet laugh. “Isabella?” He shook his head. “Absolutely not. We’ve known each other for thirteen years. She curated my first show in Mexico. She’s happily married.”

Laila nodded, though she wasn’t sure she believed him. Her gaze flickered back to the painting.

“I’m married too,” she said softly.

“Happily?” Gabriel asked, just as softly.

The word pierced her.

She felt him shift closer, his presence filling the space between them. The faint trace of his cologne teased her senses, and her body—traitorous, reckless—leaned into him.

“Sorry to interrupt, Gabriel.”

Isabella’s smooth voice sliced through the moment like glass.

“This is the buyer we spoke about earlier,” she added.

The overeager man at her side stepped forward, beaming. “Mr. Santos, I’m a big, big fan. Tell me, have you ever considered doing a show in Doha? I think your work would be huge in Dubai as well.”

He grasped Gabriel’s hand in an enthusiastic shake as Isabella slid in beside him, already steering him across the room.

Laila exhaled. The spell was broken.

She turned back to the painting, trying to steady herself.

“It’s an interesting piece, isn’t it?”

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