THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 38: Chapter 38
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 38: Chapter 38. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
There’s nothing more dangerous than someone who’s been quiet for too long.
Nicholas stared at the woman in the car as though he were seeing a ghost.
Marin Wolfe leaned slightly forward, her lips curled in that same unreadable smirk she wore the day he exposed her in front of Ava’s retreat group. The last time they met, she fled under the weight of fraud, blackmail, and betrayal.
Yet here she was—still poised, still polished, still calculating.
“How are you not in prison?” Nicholas asked coldly.
Nicholas stared at the familiar silhouette in the black car. Marin Wolfe sat as if she owned the night, legs crossed, gloved hand resting on the rolled-down window. Her voice was just as smooth as ever.
“You look tired,” she said. “Chasing ghosts will do that.”
Nicholas took a cautious step forward, eyeing the two men seated beside her in the shadows. Not bodyguards. Not thugs. Silent observers.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Marin’s smile didn’t waver. “Because I warned you once. You didn’t listen. Now, you’ve retrieved something very dangerous.”
“You mean the painting,” he said flatly.
“I mean the code inside it,” Marin corrected. “There are names encrypted in the underlayers. People who paid a lot to stay buried.”
Nicholas remained still. “Including you?”
“Oh, Nicholas,” she said, her voice laced with mock pity. “I was never the monster. I was the witness. The one who catalogued the sins and sold the silence.”
He scoffed. “You expect me to believe you were just a bystander?”
“No,” she replied. “But I wasn’t the only one who watched. Isabelle—your perfect wife—was more involved than you want to admit. And she made enemies. Powerful ones.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened.
“What do you want, Marin?”
Her gaze hardened. “Destroy the painting. Or your children will pay the price your wife ran away from.”
She dropped a phone into the passenger seat of Nicholas’s car and signaled her driver. The vehicle pulled away, melting into the dark streets of Budapest.
Back in New York, Ava sat across from Elise in the sitting room, the air thick with unspoken accusations.
“I found the emails,” Ava said quietly. “Between you and Jonas Wells.”
Elise didn’t deny it.
Ava stood, eyes sharp. “You played all of us. You were working with someone who wanted to hurt my dad.”
“I was,” Elise admitted, her voice trembling. “But it stopped being a game the moment I walked into this house. I didn’t expect to fall in love with this family.”
“You think that erases it?”
“No. But I stayed because I wanted to protect you.”
Ava’s voice cracked. “From what?”
Elise hesitated. Then, softly:
“Your mother didn’t just run from art fraud. She ran from a contract. She betrayed a man—Jonas Wells. He was part of it all, and he wanted revenge on her children. When I was sent in, I was supposed to keep tabs on your father. But once I saw how broken he was… how strong you were…”
She broke off.
“I tried to cut ties. Jonas wouldn’t let me.”
Ava felt the anger rise, but something inside her shifted. Confusion warred with instinct. Elise could be lying—but there was no venom in her voice. Just regret.
“You should’ve told us,” Ava whispered.
“I was scared. But I’ll help now. If you’ll let me.”
A long silence fell.
Then Ava said, “My dad needs to know. Tonight.”
Nicholas sat alone in the hotel room, staring at the burner phone Marin had left behind. It pinged with one file: a video.
He hit play.
It was security footage. Grainy. But unmistakable.
It showed Isabelle—his wife—passing a sealed folder to a man. Not Jonas. Not Marin. Someone older. Russian, possibly. Known in deep circles as “the Broker.”
Nicholas swallowed hard. His perfect wife had been deep in something ugly.
The video timestamp was dated two weeks before her fatal car crash.
He looked at the painting propped against the wall.
The Crimson Veil.
The longer he stared, the more he realized the woman in the shadows wasn’t just a figure.
It was Isabelle.
She had hidden herself in the painting.
Not to be glorified.
But to confess.
Nicholas stared at the woman in the car as though he were seeing a ghost.
Marin Wolfe leaned slightly forward, her lips curled in that same unreadable smirk she wore the day he exposed her in front of Ava’s retreat group. The last time they met, she fled under the weight of fraud, blackmail, and betrayal.
Yet here she was—still poised, still polished, still calculating.
“How are you not in prison?” Nicholas asked coldly.
Nicholas stared at the familiar silhouette in the black car. Marin Wolfe sat as if she owned the night, legs crossed, gloved hand resting on the rolled-down window. Her voice was just as smooth as ever.
“You look tired,” she said. “Chasing ghosts will do that.”
Nicholas took a cautious step forward, eyeing the two men seated beside her in the shadows. Not bodyguards. Not thugs. Silent observers.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Marin’s smile didn’t waver. “Because I warned you once. You didn’t listen. Now, you’ve retrieved something very dangerous.”
“You mean the painting,” he said flatly.
“I mean the code inside it,” Marin corrected. “There are names encrypted in the underlayers. People who paid a lot to stay buried.”
Nicholas remained still. “Including you?”
“Oh, Nicholas,” she said, her voice laced with mock pity. “I was never the monster. I was the witness. The one who catalogued the sins and sold the silence.”
He scoffed. “You expect me to believe you were just a bystander?”
“No,” she replied. “But I wasn’t the only one who watched. Isabelle—your perfect wife—was more involved than you want to admit. And she made enemies. Powerful ones.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened.
“What do you want, Marin?”
Her gaze hardened. “Destroy the painting. Or your children will pay the price your wife ran away from.”
She dropped a phone into the passenger seat of Nicholas’s car and signaled her driver. The vehicle pulled away, melting into the dark streets of Budapest.
Back in New York, Ava sat across from Elise in the sitting room, the air thick with unspoken accusations.
“I found the emails,” Ava said quietly. “Between you and Jonas Wells.”
Elise didn’t deny it.
Ava stood, eyes sharp. “You played all of us. You were working with someone who wanted to hurt my dad.”
“I was,” Elise admitted, her voice trembling. “But it stopped being a game the moment I walked into this house. I didn’t expect to fall in love with this family.”
“You think that erases it?”
“No. But I stayed because I wanted to protect you.”
Ava’s voice cracked. “From what?”
Elise hesitated. Then, softly:
“Your mother didn’t just run from art fraud. She ran from a contract. She betrayed a man—Jonas Wells. He was part of it all, and he wanted revenge on her children. When I was sent in, I was supposed to keep tabs on your father. But once I saw how broken he was… how strong you were…”
She broke off.
“I tried to cut ties. Jonas wouldn’t let me.”
Ava felt the anger rise, but something inside her shifted. Confusion warred with instinct. Elise could be lying—but there was no venom in her voice. Just regret.
“You should’ve told us,” Ava whispered.
“I was scared. But I’ll help now. If you’ll let me.”
A long silence fell.
Then Ava said, “My dad needs to know. Tonight.”
Nicholas sat alone in the hotel room, staring at the burner phone Marin had left behind. It pinged with one file: a video.
He hit play.
It was security footage. Grainy. But unmistakable.
It showed Isabelle—his wife—passing a sealed folder to a man. Not Jonas. Not Marin. Someone older. Russian, possibly. Known in deep circles as “the Broker.”
Nicholas swallowed hard. His perfect wife had been deep in something ugly.
The video timestamp was dated two weeks before her fatal car crash.
He looked at the painting propped against the wall.
The Crimson Veil.
The longer he stared, the more he realized the woman in the shadows wasn’t just a figure.
It was Isabelle.
She had hidden herself in the painting.
Not to be glorified.
But to confess.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 38. Continue reading Chapter 39 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.