The Uninvited Guest
Clara placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, signaling him to be silent. She stepped out of the closet, closing the door behind her until it clicked shut.
Standing in the center of the dimly lit gallery was Marcus Vance, Julian’s older brother and the true architect of the family's legal defenses. He wasn't smiling like Julian. He held a glass of scotch, his eyes scanning the paintings with cold detachment. When he heard the click of the door, he didn't jump. He simply turned his head.
"Clara," Marcus said, his voice deep and measured. "I wondered where Julian's lovely companion had vanished to. I didn't take you for an art enthusiast."
"The classics appeal to me," Clara replied, stepping into the light, masking her panic with a practiced, aristocratic poise. "The way artists capture ruin. It feels very honest."
Marcus walked toward her, his gaze dropping to her neck. "You're bleeding, Clara. A minor accident?"
"A snag on a brooch," she lied smoothly.
Marcus stopped three feet away. The scent of expensive cologne and peat moss surrounded him. "You know, my father always told me that the most dangerous people aren't the ones with weapons. It’s the ones with nothing left to lose. I looked into your background when Julian first brought you around. Clara Vance... or should I say, Clara Linwood?"
May you like
The mention of her real name sent a shockwave through her chest, but her face remained an unreadable mask.
"Your father was a foreman at the lower district site," Marcus continued, taking a slow sip of his drink. "A tragic accident. But pulling old ghosts out of the closet won't bring him back. It only creates more bodies."
