Chapter 437

Nathaniel's grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.

What kind of game is she playing? Does she really think she can just disappear on me? Not a chance, Evelyn Whitmore.

His voice was ice when he finally spoke. "Find her. I don't care where she is—search every corner of this earth if you have to. You don't stop until she's back in front of me."

Lucas swallowed hard, the chill in Nathaniel's tone sending a shiver down his spine. "Understood, sir."

A month later.

Thessa City.

One of the stops on Raphael Devereaux's highly anticipated world art tour.

The gallery entrance was pristine, its marble floors gleaming under soft lighting. A poised woman in a tailored suit stood by the doors, an orange silk scarf draped elegantly around her neck. Her smile was polished, practiced—until her gaze landed on the young woman approaching.

Evelyn wore a simple light blue shirt, faded jeans, and white sneakers. Casual. Comfortable. Entirely out of place among the gallery's elite patrons.

The woman's smile stiffened. "I'm sorry, miss, but I can't allow you inside."

Evelyn stopped. "Why not?"

The woman's lips pursed. "This exhibition is for serious buyers only. Given your... attire, I doubt you qualify."

Evelyn glanced at the sign outside. "It says 'open to the public.'"

"Free admission doesn't mean everyone gets in," the woman sniffed. "Our clientele expects a certain standard. You'd only disrupt the atmosphere."

Evelyn tilted her head. "And you're the one who decides who meets that standard?"

The woman's eyes raked over Evelyn's outfit with open disdain. Cheap fabric. No designer labels. Probably can't even afford a coffee here, let alone a painting.

"Miss," she said sharply, "I suggest you take a good look at yourself before wasting my time. If you have no business here, leave."

Evelyn didn't move. "My business is seeing the exhibition."

The woman scoffed. "Did you not notice everyone else is dressed appropriately? You'd stick out like a sore thumb. Our guests would question the gallery's reputation if we let someone like you wander around."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "Since when does an art gallery have a dress code?"

The woman's patience snapped. "We do. Now, are you leaving, or do I call security?"

Evelyn crossed her arms. "Go ahead. Call them. Actually—why not get your manager while you're at it?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "Our manager is expecting VIP guests. He doesn't have time for—"

A deep voice cut her off. "Is there a problem here?"

The manager himself had just arrived.