Elodie’s expression shifted, just a flicker, but enough for Sylvie to notice.

She glanced at Sylvie in disbelief, but Sylvie merely returned her gaze with a graceful, composed smile-cool, self-assured, and unmistakably proud. There wasn’t a hint of pretense in her manner.

Grady’s brows drew together as he turned to Elodie. “Ms. Thorne, did you check the artist’s signature? Every piece displayed in the Warwick Gallery is a genuine work of art. There’s really no need to force this cultured persona, Ms. Thorne. Better that than making yourself a laughingstock.”

No one could miss the implication in his words.

He was openly accusing Elodie of trying to ride on someone else’s coattails, pretending a connection to Sylvie’s mother and claiming the honor as her own.

Sylvie understood Grady’s meaning too. He was suggesting that Elodie’s vanity had gotten the better of her.

And, truth be told, Sylvie didn’t disagree.

She didn’t call Elodie out directly, though. Instead, she spoke gently, her tone almost soothing. “This was the first painting my mother sold before she moved abroad. I never expected to see it here, but…” She turned to Elodie, her lips curving in a polite, unhurried smile. “I must thank you for your good taste, Ms. Thorne.”

Elodie was at a loss—she simply couldn’t believe it. The odds of such a coincidence were impossible. Her mother’s painting had gone missing years ago, and now, by some miracle, a piece by Selma appeared here, fetching a high price. It just didn’t add up.

If her suspicions were right, Selma’s painting might be linked to the scandal that had marred her mother’s graduation project all those years ago.

But Elodie quickly regained her composure. After all, Selma had only been able to break into elite circles and win the admiration of wealthy patrons-eventually earning her green card-thanks to her mother’s support. Selma had climbed to the top, collecting one honor after another, all by stepping on her mother.

Elodie knew better than to make a scene. There was no point in arguing, especially when the painting so clearly bore Selma’s signature.

She recovered fast, her voice calm and measured. “I truly admire this piece. Would you help me get in touch with Mr. Warwick? I’m willing to pay handsomely for it.”

After all, this painting was evidence-a clue she needed to uncover the truth.

“I’ll be taking this painting,” Sylvie interjected coolly.

Her tone was assertive, completely disregarding Elodie’s earlier request.

Elodie turned to look at her.

Sylvie met her gaze, her words gentle but her eyes dismissive. “I’m sorry, but this painting means a great deal to my mother. I’d like to return it to her.”

As if to say, if Elodie pressed further, she’d be the unreasonable one.

Elodie’s heart gave a jolt, but she could only turn to the gallery manager.

The manager hesitated. The gallery wasn’t actually selling anything tonight, but he also knew that everyone present was far too influential to offend. He glanced helplessly at Naylor.

Naylor arched an eyebrow and, seeing there was no way around it, finally spoke. “I suppose I can make an exception. It’s just a painting, after all. But… who it goes

to, that’s for the two of you to work out.”

“And what if I want it?” Jarrod’s voice cut in, light and unhurried.

Elodie snapped her head toward him.

He said, in his usual cool tone, “Please let Mr. Warwick know-the Silverstein Group is willing to make a concession. If he’s willing to part with the painting, we’ll offer him a favorable term in our partnership. One percent off the deal.”

Elodie stared at him, her gaze turning cold-her heart, too.

He was willing to make such a huge business concession just to please Sylvie.

He knew perfectly well how much Elodie wanted that painting, and yet, without a

second thought, he was ready to dash her hopes for Sylvie’s sake.

“Mr. Silverstein, is this for…?” Naylor was surprised enough to ask.

Jarrod glanced at Sylvie. “See any other paintings you like? I’ll have them all wrapped up for you.”

Sylvie beamed, her smile sweet as honey. “Thank you, Jarrod.”

The affection between the two was unmistakable.

Jarrod’s position was crystal clear: he was doing all of this for Sylvie.

It couldn’t be more obvious-whatever Sylvie wanted, even as his own wife,

Elodie would have to step aside.

Elodie’s expression finally went blank.

She knew all too well-if she went up against Jarrod, she would never win.

All eyes in the room turned to her.