Champagne glasses clinked between the paintings while guests argued over their favorites. They read *Aria Thorne* from the cards beside each canvas. Nobody introduced me as Dante Rossi's wife.
Collectors asked about brushwork and pigment. A critic stood in front of one canvas for so long that Jean-Pierre had to steer traffic around him.
The far doors flew open.
Valeria stood in the doorway, her hair tangled and her designer dress rumpled. Mascara tracked down her face. Tabloid reporters crowded in behind her, already taking pictures.
"There she is!" Valeria shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. "The woman who destroyed my life!"
Conversation stopped. Jean-Pierre moved to block her, but I caught his arm.
"Let her speak."
Valeria stumbled into the center of the room and raised
