Chapter 1

The chemical smell of mineral spirits and aged varnish always settled in Ian’s throat like a physical weight.

For five years, that scent had meant safety the quiet, predictable sanctuary of the museum’s restoration lab.

Tonight, it smelled like a trap.

Ian kept his hands perfectly still, forcing his breathing into a slow, ragged rhythm.

Beneath his fingers lay a seventeenth-century oil portrait of a minor European nobleman.

The museum believed it was a routine restoration, a simple matter of cleaning away three hundred years of yellowed grime.

But beneath the top layer of paint, Ian’s micro-scalpel had scraped against something entirely wrong.

A second face was hidden beneath the nobleman's heavy robes.

A face painted with modern, synthetic pigments that shouldn't exist in a century-old piece. It wasn't a historical artifact.

It was a masterpiece of a forgery, and hidden within the under painting wans a encrypted ledger of names and offshore account numbers.

A shadow fell over the workbench.

"You should have left the varnish alone, Ian."

The voice was deep, smooth, and entirely devoid of warmth.

Ian didn't need to turn around to know who it belonged to. Kaelen Vance. The museum’s most enigmatic benefactor, the billionaire who had personally funded Ian’s restoration fellowship, and, as Ian now realized, the man who owned the underground market this forgery belonged to.

Ian tried to stand, his chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor, but a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Kaelen didn't push him down with brute force, he simply held him there, an inescapable anchor.

"It’s beautiful, isn't it?" Kaelen murmured, leaning down.

His jacket brushed against Ian’s shoulder, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and rain.

"The things we hide beneath a pretty surface."

"This is a crime," Ian whispered, his voice trembling despite his best efforts. "The museum"

"The museum operates on my money. The board members look at what I tell them to look at." Kaelen’s other hand reached around Ian, his long fingers gently tracing the edge of the canvas, agonizingly close to Ian’s face.

"And you were supposed to just clean the surface, sweetheart. Not dig so deep."

Ian tilted his head back, attempting to pull away from the suffocating proximity, but Kaelen shifted.

In a fluid, terrifyingly calm motion, Kaelen stepped closer, trapping Ian between his own body and the heavy oak workbench.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Ian’s ear, his breath hot against his skin.

"Look at me," Kaelen commanded quietly.

Ian slowly turned his head.

Up close, Kaelen’s eyes were a sharp, freezing gray. There was no anger in them only a dark, consuming fascination.

"I have a dilemma," Kaelen said, his hand moving from the canvas to light touch the side of Ian's neck, his thumb resting directly over Ian's racing pulse.

"A man who knows this much usually doesn't walk out of this room. But it would be such a tragic waste to ruin hands as talented as yours."

"What do you want?" Ian choked out, his heart hammering violently against Kaelen's thumb.

Kaelen smiled, a slow, predatory curving of his lips. He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against Ian’s back, locking him into an embrace that felt less like affection and more like a beautifully gilded cage.

"I have a collection of blank canvases at my estate," Kaelen whispered against his neck.

"And from now on, you're going to paint exactly what I tell you to."

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