THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 37: Chapter 37
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 37: Chapter 37. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
Sometimes, the most dangerous art isn’t what’s painted—it’s what’s hidden beneath the canvas.
Nicholas had seen many extravagant pieces in his lifetime, but the one he now sought had never been sold, shown, or catalogued.
It was only ever whispered about in closed circles—a painting known only as “Crimson Veil.”
According to Claire Doyle’s cryptic remarks and Isabelle’s journal entries, it had been the centerpiece of a secret auction ten years ago. No records. No invitations. Only a handpicked few had attended.
And yet… the painting was said to contain more than oil and canvas.
It held codes.
Real names.
Transactions.
Proof.
It was the insurance policy of a global laundering operation. The key to unlocking everything Isabelle had fled from—and everything Alina and Marin tried to finish.
Now, someone wanted that painting found again.
Or destroyed.
Nicholas drove to the private archive vaults at Hollowmere Gallery, one of the last places Isabelle had visited before she disappeared from the art world.
He flashed his credentials, pulled family strings, and was led into a cold, steel room filled with decades of unsorted artwork.
He didn’t expect to find the painting itself. But maybe a lead.
He did better.
He found a catalog log—a handwritten list, likely never digitized, dated eleven years ago. On it was a coded item:
> #CV1179 – Private Commission – “Eyes See Only Shadows” – Delivered to storage: Indigo House.
Nicholas stilled.
Indigo House.
A private estate once owned by a European arms dealer—now abandoned, locked in legal limbo.
A ghost house for ghost art.
He took a photo of the log and left.
But as he stepped into the parking lot, a man in a gray coat approached him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Scar on his temple.
“Nicholas Carter?” the man asked casually.
Nicholas kept his tone firm. “Who’s asking?”
The man smiled faintly.
“You’re not supposed to be this close to the truth.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “And yet, here I am.”
The man dropped a business card at Nicholas’s feet and turned away.
No name.
Only an address.
Budapest.
Back at the Carter mansion, Elise stood frozen in the hallway, her phone clutched in her hand.
She had just received a call from Jonas Wells.
A name she hadn’t heard in years.
A name she thought she’d buried.
He had been her fiancé once. Long before Nicholas. Before her clean, carefully rebuilt life. Jonas had vanished during a corruption scandal at a political firm where they’d both worked. Rumor was, he’d died in a yacht fire off the Croatian coast.
But now…
His voice had been unmistakable.
> “You’re playing house with the Carters, Elise. Does he know about you?”
She had hung up immediately.
But her hands were still trembling.
And her past was now knocking, hard.
That evening, Ava sketched the Crimson Veil based on her mother’s description in the journals. The image that emerged was haunting—shifting reds, hidden symbols in shadow, a figure cloaked and faceless in the corner.
Ethan stared at it over her shoulder.
“What if it’s cursed?” he muttered.
“It’s not,” Ava said. “It’s a confession. And someone’s trying to erase it.”
Nicholas returned home after dark and gathered them in the study.
“I’m leaving for Budapest,” he said. “I think the painting was moved there.”
“You’re going alone?” Ava asked, alarmed.
“I won’t stay long. I just need to follow the thread.”
Elise stepped forward. “You shouldn’t go without backup. I have contacts there. Let me make a call.”
Nicholas looked at her for a long moment.
He trusted her.
He wanted to trust her.
But something in her eyes looked shaken.
“Who called you earlier?” he asked quietly.
Elise blinked.
A pause.
Then, “Someone from my past. Someone I hoped was dead.”
Nicholas didn’t push.
But he would later.
Because when old ghosts rise from fire and ash, no one stays untouched.
Nicholas had seen many extravagant pieces in his lifetime, but the one he now sought had never been sold, shown, or catalogued.
It was only ever whispered about in closed circles—a painting known only as “Crimson Veil.”
According to Claire Doyle’s cryptic remarks and Isabelle’s journal entries, it had been the centerpiece of a secret auction ten years ago. No records. No invitations. Only a handpicked few had attended.
And yet… the painting was said to contain more than oil and canvas.
It held codes.
Real names.
Transactions.
Proof.
It was the insurance policy of a global laundering operation. The key to unlocking everything Isabelle had fled from—and everything Alina and Marin tried to finish.
Now, someone wanted that painting found again.
Or destroyed.
Nicholas drove to the private archive vaults at Hollowmere Gallery, one of the last places Isabelle had visited before she disappeared from the art world.
He flashed his credentials, pulled family strings, and was led into a cold, steel room filled with decades of unsorted artwork.
He didn’t expect to find the painting itself. But maybe a lead.
He did better.
He found a catalog log—a handwritten list, likely never digitized, dated eleven years ago. On it was a coded item:
> #CV1179 – Private Commission – “Eyes See Only Shadows” – Delivered to storage: Indigo House.
Nicholas stilled.
Indigo House.
A private estate once owned by a European arms dealer—now abandoned, locked in legal limbo.
A ghost house for ghost art.
He took a photo of the log and left.
But as he stepped into the parking lot, a man in a gray coat approached him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Scar on his temple.
“Nicholas Carter?” the man asked casually.
Nicholas kept his tone firm. “Who’s asking?”
The man smiled faintly.
“You’re not supposed to be this close to the truth.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “And yet, here I am.”
The man dropped a business card at Nicholas’s feet and turned away.
No name.
Only an address.
Budapest.
Back at the Carter mansion, Elise stood frozen in the hallway, her phone clutched in her hand.
She had just received a call from Jonas Wells.
A name she hadn’t heard in years.
A name she thought she’d buried.
He had been her fiancé once. Long before Nicholas. Before her clean, carefully rebuilt life. Jonas had vanished during a corruption scandal at a political firm where they’d both worked. Rumor was, he’d died in a yacht fire off the Croatian coast.
But now…
His voice had been unmistakable.
> “You’re playing house with the Carters, Elise. Does he know about you?”
She had hung up immediately.
But her hands were still trembling.
And her past was now knocking, hard.
That evening, Ava sketched the Crimson Veil based on her mother’s description in the journals. The image that emerged was haunting—shifting reds, hidden symbols in shadow, a figure cloaked and faceless in the corner.
Ethan stared at it over her shoulder.
“What if it’s cursed?” he muttered.
“It’s not,” Ava said. “It’s a confession. And someone’s trying to erase it.”
Nicholas returned home after dark and gathered them in the study.
“I’m leaving for Budapest,” he said. “I think the painting was moved there.”
“You’re going alone?” Ava asked, alarmed.
“I won’t stay long. I just need to follow the thread.”
Elise stepped forward. “You shouldn’t go without backup. I have contacts there. Let me make a call.”
Nicholas looked at her for a long moment.
He trusted her.
He wanted to trust her.
But something in her eyes looked shaken.
“Who called you earlier?” he asked quietly.
Elise blinked.
A pause.
Then, “Someone from my past. Someone I hoped was dead.”
Nicholas didn’t push.
But he would later.
Because when old ghosts rise from fire and ash, no one stays untouched.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 37. Continue reading Chapter 38 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.