Chapter 2
Next morning.
I opened the door to my Porsche, and the first thing I saw was a black lace bra draped over the gearshift.
A rhinestone anklet lay carelessly discarded on the passenger seat. The faint, sickeningly sweet smell of drugstore perfume lingered in the leather interior.
Caleb was the only person in the world who had the spare key to this car.
I picked up the lace fabric with two fingers, dropped it into the nearest trash can, and turned around to take my Range Rover instead.
Today was my father’s memorial service. I had no time to entertain a twenty-two-year-old’s pathetic attempts at rebellion.
The Voss Gallery was bathed in muted lighting. New York’s art elite, board members of my father’s gallery, and top collectors gathered in somber blacks and greys.
The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating with grief and respect for the grandmaster, Harold Voss.
Thirty minutes into the opening ceremony, the doors creaked open.
Caleb walked in. Lila trailed closely behind him, her fingers tightly clutching his sleeve.
"Sorry we're late," Caleb whispered loudly as they approached the front row, drawing the eyes of several board members. "Lila was feeling a bit dizzy this morning. I had to take care of her."
I suppressed the cold disgust rising in my chest. "Sit down and be quiet."
But Lila let out a soft sigh, complaining about the heating in the gallery.
Then, she unbuttoned her oversized beige trench coat and let it slip off her shoulders.
A collective gasp rippled through the front rows.
Lila was wearing a silk slip dress. A glaring, blood-red dress.
In a massive hall filled entirely with mourning clothes, that bright red fabric looked like a walking, arrogant open wound. It instantly hijacked the attention of the entire room.
The respectful silence shattered into harsh whispers.
"Oh," Lila murmured. "Did I do something wrong? Caleb, you didn't tell me there was a dress code. I just wore my favorite dress."
Now, not even I can control my temper anymore. I stepped down from the podium.
“Either take off these clothes, or get out of here.”
Caleb frowned deeply, immediately stepping in front of Lila to shield her. "Diana, calm down. She didn't know the rules. It’s just a dress."
"At my father's memorial service, you wear a blood-red party dress?" I stared right through her fake, teary eyes. "Is this how your parents raised you, Lila? Where is your basic human decency?"
"I... I didn't mean to..." Lila sobbed loudly, covering her face.
"Change the dress right now, or get out of my gallery," I commanded, leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.
Lila turned around, and ran out of the gallery doors into the pouring rain.
Caleb whirled around, his eyes burning with fury. He shot me a look of pure disgust.
"You are unbelievable!" he hissed, before grabbing his coat and sprinting out to chase his precious childhood friend.
Two hours later, during the intermission, the door to my private VIP lounge slammed open.
Caleb stormed in. “Lila s just a young girl—she doesn’t understand any of this dress code. Why are you giving her such a hard time?”
"Are you happy now?" he snapped, striding toward my desk. "You publicly humiliated a twenty-one-year-old girl. She was so panicked she tripped on the gallery steps. Her ankle is swollen to twice its size!"
I took a slow sip of my black coffee. "Is she dead?"
"You are so much heartless!" Caleb slammed his hand onto my desk, rattling my coffee cup. "She needs proper treatment right now. Arrange for her to go to the Voss family's private clinic. Get your top sports medicine doctors to do a full workup and rehab for her. Consider it an apology."
He said it so naturally. Like my family's elite medical team was his personal Uber service.
"No," I said, putting the cup down.
Caleb froze. He stared at me as if I had spoken a foreign language. "What did you say?"
"The Voss Clinic isn't for people who disrespect the dead." I said smoothly. "Take her to a public emergency room."
“You’re becoming increasingly unreasonable.”Caleb spat, tearing off his wet tie.
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the lounge, slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls.
By 11 PM, the memorial service was finally over. I was entirely hollowed out.
I drove back to my private villa in the Hamptons, craving nothing but silence and sleep.
The house was supposed to be empty. Instead, the lights in the dining room were blazing.
I walked in. Lila was sitting at the head of my dining table.
She was wearing one of my silk robes. In front of her was a bowl of my chef’s special ginseng soup—a rare recipe brewed specifically for my severe insomnia.
She was blowing on it gently, taking a sip.
Caleb walked out of the kitchen, holding a warm towel.
"Diana, you're back," he said, walking over. "Listen, Lila's ankle is really bad. Her dorm is on the fourth floor, and there's no elevator. I brought her here to recover."
I stared at the girl sitting in my chair, drinking my soup. "Here?"
"Yeah," Caleb continued, stepping closer, flashing that handsome face that usually broke all my rules. "She needs good sunlight and a spacious bathroom to heal properly. I told her she could take the south-facing master bedroom with the terrace."
My blood stopped moving.
The master bedroom.
The room I had painstakingly designed with “him”. The custom bed we had picked out together.
"Since you work late at the studio anyway," Caleb said, entirely confident I would yield, just like I had for the past three years. "You can just move your stuff to the guest room down the hall. It’s only for a month."
He crossed his arms, waiting for me to nod.
He took it for granted that I would agree.
Why wouldn't I? I had spent years pulling strings to get him into every exclusive auction, buying out entire shows just to boost his ego.
In his mind, he wasn't just a student; he was the golden boy of the Voss empire.
