Chapter 442

Olivia

The next day dawned with a mixture of anxiety and hope. Nathan and I, with the painting carefully wrapped in the backseat, drove to the local appraiser’s office. The quaint little shop, nestled between the bakery and the florist, showcased all kinds of antique items in its large windows.

“Ready?” Nathan asked as he pulled up to the curb and glanced over at me.

I nodded. “Ready.”

As we entered, the bell above the door jingled and announced our arrival. The appraiser looked up from behind the counter; he was wearing a pair of magnifying goggles that made his eyes look tiny through the glass, and was holding what looked to be some sort of precious stone in his hand.

“Good morning, Alpha Karl and Luna Olivia,” the older man said with a surprised look on his face. He lifted the goggles and placed them on his head to reveal a pair of deep-set, kind eyes. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Nathan and I exchanged a quick glance before Nathan approached the counter with the painting tucked under his arm.

“Actually, there is,” Nathan said.”

“Oh?”

“We were hoping if you could appraise this painting for us,” I chimed in as Nathan set the painting down on the glass counter and carefully unveiled it. The seascape, with its meticulous detail and vibrant colors, seemed even more alive under the soft lighting of the shop.

“We believe it might be a Dianna Miller,” Nathan added.

The old man adjusted the goggles on his head, leaning in for a closer inspection of the artwork. “Ah, this is quite a piece,” he murmured, his fingers delicately tracing the edges of the frame. “Give me a moment, please.”

Nathan and I exchanged glances as the old man slipped his magnifying goggles back over his eyes and got to work, a silent conversation passing between us. The wait was excruciating, every tick of the old clock on the wall stretching the seconds into eternity. We wandered the shop, eyeing various antiques; everything from vintage clocks to impossibly old artifacts.

Finally, the old man straightened up and cleared his throat. Nathan and I both whipped around to see him beaming at us with a look of unmistakable recognition on his face. “This, my dear folks, is indeed a genuine Dianna Miller painting. Quite a rare find, especially in such pristine condition."

Nathan let out a low whistle. “Man. I knew it was good, but I didn’t think we had a real Dianna Miller on our hands.”

“And to think you picked it up at a yard sale,” I whispered. I was flooded with a mix of relief and uncertainty. “What do you think it’s worth?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, given its authenticity and condition, I’d say you’re looking at a substantial amount,” the old man said. “It’s a rare piece, too. Dianna Miller no longer paints landscapes, and hasn’t for many years.”

As we left the appraiser’s office a little while later, with the painting securely back in the car, Nathan placed a hand on my shoulder. “So, what do you think, Liv? Are we going to sell it at the auction?” he asked.

I bit my lip, gazing out the window at the bustling streets. The town had begun to wake up. “I mean, we could, and it would definitely help us reach our goal,” I muttered. “But it doesn’t feel right, Nathan. Dianna refused to help us, and now we’re just going to sell one of her paintings?”

Nathan paused, eyeing me with confusion. “I don’t really see the issue,” he said. “We bought it, and it belongs to us. I don’t see the harm in selling it at the auction if we want.”

“But it’s a matter of principle, Nathan,” I said, feeling a little exasperated. “She’s reclusive, she… she doesn’t trust the outside world. We’d just be damaging her trust even more if we did something like this without her permission.”

Finally, Nathan nodded as though he seemed to understand my dilemma. “I get it,” he murmured. “What do you suggest, then?”

I paused, drawing in a deep breath. “Let me take the car,” I said. “I wanna go to her house again, this time with the painting. At the very least, maybe I can get her to give her approval before we do anything.”

“Alright,” he said gently. “If that’s what you think is the right thing to do, then I say go for it.”

Together, we climbed out of the car and met in front of it. Nathan leaned in, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me deeply. “I just want to say, thank you so much for all of the hard work you’re putting in,” he murmured. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

I smiled. “I’m the Luna now, remember? It’s for the good of the pack; it’s my duty.”

Nathan gave me an encouraging smile as he began walking toward the Council building. “Good luck, Liv,” he called out. “You’ll need it.”

The drive back to Dianna Miller’s house was filled with an anxious energy. I rehearsed what I would say, how I would convince her to at least hear me out. She had to show some reason; at the very least, she could just shout ‘yes’ or ‘no’ through the door. I’d take whatever I could get.

And if she said yes, well, then the painting would go to the auction. If she said no, I’d hang it back over our mantle and try to figure something else out. I wasn’t going to sell something of hers in this manner without her permission. It just didn’t sit right with me.

The mansion, as imposing and secretive as ever, seemed to loom larger as I approached. I pulled up to the gravel driveway just as I had the day before, and shut off the ignition with trembling hands.

I took a deep breath before stepping out of the car, the painting securely tucked under my arm. Walking up to the door, I raised my hand and knocked, the familiar echo of my actions from the day before playing in my mind.

“Ms. Miller, it’s Olivia again,” I called out, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. “I think I might have found one of your paintings. I just need your permission before we do anything with it.”

Silence greeted me, as expected. I knocked again, a little louder. “Please, Ms. Miller. I just want to do the right thing here.”

A voice, muffled and slightly irritated, came from behind the door. “I told you, I’m not interested. I don’t take visitors.”

“Ms. Miller, you don’t need to come outside,” I insisted. “I just need you to take a look and let me know if—”

“I said, no. Go away!”

I sighed, feeling the weight of frustration settle on my shoulders. But I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Stepping back, I tore the brown paper from around the painting and held the painting up to the window.

“Is this yours?” I asked, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet of the surrounding grounds.

There was a pause, a heavy, tangible silence that seemed to stretch on forever. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the door began to creak open.