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CHAPTER THREE

VANESSA

I glancedat myself in the long mirror, nerves wreaking havoc in my stomach. I was wearing the rose-colored dress I’d chosen for my gallery’s grand opening. It had a V-neckline, and the skirt gathered to one side, revealing a slit that showed off my legs and black heels. I’d worn these shoes to Boston earlier in the week. With the deposit money from the First Lady, I bought a new dress for this special day. I had purchased nothing new in a long time, so I deserved it.

My art had graced several galleries across the country, but this gallery was all mine. With the support of my loyal collectors, who consistently purchased everything I painted, I gained the courage to open my art gallery.

You’re forgetting someone important.

I wasn’t. But I didn’t want to think about the magnetic man right now. Every time I thought about Attikus Mount,my body took a detour down an unexpected path. I didn’t need unpredictability. Stability and practicality were all I wanted.

I had to stay focused today. The media would be present, and so would my art collectors and Attikus. He’d invested a lot ofmoney into the retail strip and especially this gallery, which had been renovated after a fire. He allowed me to lease this prime retail spot down the street from his Mount Museum. Not only that, but I also leased the office space next door, which served as a small studio for touch-ups or to add wire to the frame. I already had a large studio on the ground level of my apartment building, so I didn’t want to dirty another place with paint all over the floor.

I was surprised when Attikus offered me free rent for the first three months. He said we could work out the details after the gallery opening as he was busy traveling. What details did he have in mind? What exactly did he want from me?

I had to be cautious with wealthy and powerful men. I had experienced firsthand how they could destroy people’s lives.

If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be here living alone. Because of them, I was Nessa Lambert, an artist known for her floral, landscape, and abstract paintings, instead of the botanist Vanessa Lam, who loved studying plants. My mother had been in prison for the last eleven years for something she didn’t do because of these people who brandished their wealth and power like weapons.

My phone buzzed, reminding me the gallery opening was in an hour. I wanted to get there early to meet my friends and loyal collectors. My assistant, Willow, would already be there.

Out of habit, I glanced at my email inbox. I had been putting off checking it for the past two days, trying to finalize the details for today’s event. My gaze landed on an anonymous email with the subject line:I know who you are.

Fear poked me like an icicle spear. I shivered, knowing it was my ex, Emmanuel Valencia. It had been a year of horrendous blackmail. It got worse until I’d gathered enough money to pay him. I’d worked extremely hard to keep my past hidden. Ididn’t need an ex-boyfriend with ties to major media companies unraveling all my hard work.

Money had paid him off. It had kept him away until two months ago. I’d ignored his demands. What did he want? How had he spent the five hundred thousand dollars so quickly? That money was supposed to go into a fund for my mom and me to start over when the time came. I wanted to buy a house and live comfortably. But this asshole wouldn’t leave me alone. He didn’t act like this when we were dating. I guessed deceptive people were everywhere, and I was unlucky.

Greed destroys all morality.

M?used to tell me this when I was little. I didn’t know the meaning of that statement until I got older.

I didn’t want Emmanuel’s email to ruin my special day. But curiosity was my weakness. It would hang over me like a dark cloud all day if I didn't know what he wanted. That would be worse. I’d learned to face the monster because once I looked at it, the monster changed. Right now, I didn’t want this monster to claw at me on my grand opening day.

I inhaled a breath and opened the email.

Dear Nessa, or should I say,Vanessa?

After careful consideration, I’ve decided that the amount you’ve given me isn’t enough to bury the truth. You see, I could sell your story to DailyThoughts or Real Rumors, and your career would be over. Not only that, but you’d also be arrested for fraud and . . . murder.

I need more money—three hundred thousand dollars. Don’t lie to me. I know you have money. You have a grand opening today. Congratulations, by the way. Your paintings sell for a lot of money.

I have a particular lifestyle that demands expensive things.If you don’t respond, I’ll reach out to my media contacts and give them all the dirt.

Yours truly,

Emmanuel

The muscles in my stomach tightened, and pain sprouted through my chest and legs. How could I make him leave me alone? Why bother emailing from an anonymous source and then signing off as himself?

I dropped onto my couch, and all my excitement for the gallery opening vanished.

“Don’t let him get to you,” I reminded myself. “Be strong.M?needs me. People need to pay for what they took from my mom and me.”

I had a bigger goal. Emmanuel was a distraction—a thorn in my side. I regretted dating him for two months over a year ago. The two months had turned into a year of hell. He was attentive in the beginning, but when his personality changed, I broke it off. He didn’t seem bothered by it.

I didn’t know how he knew my real name from the incident eleven years ago. Had he targeted me from the beginning to blackmail me? Or had he discovered my past after we broke up?

It didn’t matter. The mess was getting messier, and I had to figure out a way to resolve this issue fast. What would people think when they discovered Nessa Lambert wasn’t my real name? It wasn’t unusual for people in the creative industry to have multiple aliases. But most of them were upfront about it. I never mentioned that Nessa was my artist’s name. What about the murder in the alleyway? Would anyone support a murderer like me?