The Bellamy Gallery gleamed that night like a jewel set against the quiet streets of Manhattan. Tall glass doors framed the entrance, spilling warm light onto the pavement, drawing in clusters of guests dressed in sleek gowns and tailored suits. Inside, the space pulsed with low jazz and the gentle clink of champagne flutes, polished marble reflecting every shimmer of gold leaf and brushstroke hanging on the walls.
For Gigi Jasmine, tonight should have been about art. About the collection she had built from scratch, each piece a testament to resilience, vision, and the name she had fought to keep alive after everything her family had lost. Yet, as she stood near the center of the room in her emerald gown, posture flawless though her pulse betrayed her, she knew the night carried heavier c
