The woman didn’t hear him over the classical music.
Marcus took another step. His voice broke, louder this time. Raw and devastating. “Elena.”
The woman froze. Her shoulders instantly went rigid, the graceful posture snapping into absolute tension. Slowly, agonizingly, she turned around.
When her dark eyes found his, all the blood drained from her beautiful face. She turned as pale as a ghost.
For three excruciating seconds, the world stopped turning. They stared at each other across the marble floor. Marcus saw the small, familiar scar above her left eyebrow. He saw the gold necklace he had given her for their first anniversary still resting against her collarbone.
It was her. She was older, sharper, but it was unmistakably the wife he had mourned for five agonizing years.
Elena’s lips parted. Her hand began to tremble violently.
The crystal flute slipped from her fingers. It hit the marble floor with a sharp, explosive crash, sending shattered glass and champagne spraying across the immaculate white tiles.
Chapter 2: The Ransom of the Dead
The sound of the shattering glass cracked like a gunshot through the quiet gallery. The soft classical music seemed to fade away. The wealthy patrons turned their heads, their hushed conversations abruptly dying out as they stared at the woman in the emerald blouse and the man in the navy suit who looked as though he had just been electrocuted.
An older security guard hurried across the room, his hand reaching for the radio on his belt. “Ms. Vance? Is everything all right?”
Elena didn’t look at the guard. She couldn't take her eyes off Marcus. Her chest was heaving, her breathing shallow and panicked. She looked like a trapped animal, desperately calculating the distance to the nearest exit.
“I’m fine, Carl,” Elena said, her voice shaking so badly it was barely a whisper. She held up a trembling hand to stop the guard from coming closer. “Please... just get someone to clean up the glass. I need... I need a moment in my office.”
Before Marcus could say a word, Elena stepped over the shattered crystal, grabbed him by the sleeve of his expensive suit, and pulled him toward a heavy oak door at the back of the gallery.
Her grip was painfully tight. Her hands were ice cold.
She pushed him into the private office, followed him inside, and slammed the heavy door shut behind them. The click of the deadbolt locking echoed loudly in the small, windowless space.
The office was filled with the scent of lavender and vanilla—the exact perfume she had worn on their wedding day. The smell hit Marcus so hard he stumbled backward, his back hitting a filing cabinet.
Elena backed away from him until she hit her heavy wooden desk. She wrapped her arms around her own stomach, her eyes wide with sheer terror. Tears were already spilling over her eyelashes, cutting tracks through her makeup.
“You’re alive,” Marcus said. The words tore out of his throat, raw and bloody. He reached a hand out, desperate to touch her, to prove she wasn't a hallucination, but he didn't dare close the gap. “Elena, you’re alive. I buried you. I held a handful of dirt and threw it on your coffin. How are you here?”
Elena squeezed her eyes shut. A ragged sob broke from her chest. “Marcus... you aren't supposed to be here. You can’t be here.”
“I met her,” Marcus said, his voice breaking. He took a step forward, the anger finally starting to bleed through the overwhelming shock. “I was walking down Elm Street because my car was getting detailed. I dropped my wallet. A little girl in a pink sweater handed it back to me. A little girl named Maya. With my skin. With your eyes. She is five and a half years old, Elena. Is she mine?”
Elena’s knees buckled. She sank down onto the edge of her desk, covering her face with her shaking hands. “Yes. She’s your daughter.”
Marcus let out a guttural sound—a mix of profound joy, devastating grief, and agonizing betrayal. He grabbed the edge of a chair to keep himself from collapsing.
“Why?” he yelled, the sound bouncing violently off the office walls. “Was I that terrible to you? Was our marriage that broken? Why would you put me through hell? I wanted to die, Elena! For three years, I prayed that I wouldn't wake up in the morning because the pain of losing you was completely unbearable! Why did you do this to me?”