The Heir's Game

CHAPTER 004

ISLA POV

I barely slept through the night. I kept waking up, wondering if I should sneak around the house and find some evidence. I was afraid of getting caught, so I restrained the urge. There were better ways to get about it, and all I needed was patience.

The servants dropped by to prepare my bath, but they didn't pick an outfit for me which I was grateful for. After a long soak in the bathtub, I changed into a simple black sheath dress, styled my hair in a tight ponytail, and wore the ballet flats I had brought along with me. I took my phone and small purse, slipping them on my shoulder.

The moment I opened my door, a sharp gasp escaped my throat. “Jesus!” I jumped back in fright, heart in my throat.

“Good morning, Miss Veronne.” Patricia greeted with her usual solemn expression.

“Good morning,” I replied, gently patting my chest to calm my racing heart.

“Mr. Moreaux is waiting for you in the dining room. Your breakfast has been served.”

I shook my head, “You called him Mr Partout yesterday…”

“We refer to Mr Moreaux by any name he instructs us to use. I believe you have no more questions?”

I did have more questions, but Patricia’s demeanor was too intimidating for me to ask further. “No. Thank you.”

She nodded, “Come with me.”

She led me to a completely different hallway and to a door as large as that of a supermarket.

*What in the world?*

The door opened on its own, and we walked in, but Patricia stopped by the door, while I continued into the dining room, which looked like a museum of its own. There were so many authentic sculptures just lying around like it was furniture. Art pieces and ancient artifacts, it took every bit of my composure not to drool at the beauty of art.

“Good morning Isla.”

Luca’s voice pulled me back to the real deal; he sat at the very end of the twenty-four-sitter dining table. As I slowly approached him and took my seat, I noticed how disheveled he looked.

He looked like he hadn’t slept. There were dark circles under his eyes, barely noticeable, but it was there. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his hair still damps from a shower. He looked less composed, and more… real.

“Good morning, seems like you didn't enjoy the bliss of sleep last night,” I said, sliding off my purse and placing it on the next seat.

“And you seemed to have enjoyed yours.” He replied with a smirk that made my heart skip a beat.

*Do I have dark circles too?*

I didn't look in the mirror this morning, didn't bother because I wasn't a fan of how I looked. I opened the plate of food that was sitting right in front of me. It was an English breakfast.

I could have passed this for care and thoughtfulness, but staring at his plate, he was having something else. Tasty-looking pastries and a cup of hot chocolate. How delightful.

***************

After breakfast, Luca and I stepped out of the dining room. We didn't speak much about his job offer, and I noticed my silence was making him uneasy.

“I want to see the Goya again,” I said smoothly, hoping to start a leading conversation.

Luca halted, then tilted his head to look at me. “ I have something better to show you.”

“Come.” He said.

“Where are we going?” I asked cautiously.

“Trust me,” he said and continued, leading me down the stairs and I followed.

Not because I trusted him, but because every part of me needed to know what else he was hiding.

The stairs wound downward, below the foundation of the estate, into a new wing. We passed through a steel door that required his fingerprint and a retinal scan. On the other side was another door; sealed, it looked impossible to break in. Luca keyed in the code himself. He was fast, so I caught nothing but the first number.

*8*

When the doors opened, I couldn’t breathe. I thought the dining room was adorned with the beauty of art. But stepping into this hidden hall, I lost my breath. Dozens, or maybe hundreds of art pieces. Some I recognized from theft reports I read in art crime briefings. Some I had only ever seen in textbooks. Some… I could swear the world thinks is destroyed.

And in the farthest corner, lit by a single spotlight was…

A portrait

.

A woman in a red dress. Golden curls swept back. Brown eyes with a piercing gaze. I stumbled closer, my throat heavy. This was the dress she wore to her last gala invite. She was so excited about it, but when she returned, her eyes held the saddest dim I had ever seen in my life.

She looked younger than I remembered, but it was her. My mother, in oil and canvas, painted in reverence and obsession, and at the bottom was a signature, V.M.

My heart stopped. She didn't paint this, someone else did. I turned to Luca, every nerve in my body weakened.

“Who painted this?”

His voice was quiet. “Victor Moreaux, my uncle.”

“What!” I gasped, my legs wobbling under me. Luca tried to reach me, but I backed away.

“I am sorry… but please don't touch me.”

“I know she went missing five years ago, and that you have relentlessly searched for her,” he said. “Be my spy, and I will join your search, and make sure this mystery is solved.”

I couldn’t speak. The puzzle pieces were shifting too fast. My mother, missing and presumed dead, was painted like a divinity by Victor Moreaux five years ago.

Victor Moreaux had died three years back; the cause of his death was unknown, everything about it was shut down, and no other news than his death leaked that year. Could it be that it is truly my mother…

I bit my tongue. No. She's not dead, and she obviously has nothing to do with Victor. He just made a stupid painting.

“They loved each other,” Luca revealed, killing every last inch of hope I had left.

“How? And why?

”

“There were multiple oppositions, and I could give you names if you agree to my offer. We can both start from somewhere.”

I glared at him, but he just reached for my face and wiped the tear stains I didn't realize were there.

His hands were rough, yet soft and gentle on my face, my racing heart slowly calmed, and I gulped to clear my throat. There was a flash of concern in Luca's eyes, or maybe it was just my imagination.

“So what do you say?” he asked, backing away and giving the space I didn't think I needed.

I sulked in a deep breath, and let out a sigh, glancing back at the painting, I said. “I am in.”

Once again, I agreed to be a spy. Not for Julian Ward or Luca Moreaux. But for my mother, Aurora Verrone.