THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 45: Chapter 45
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 45: Chapter 45. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
Ava stood in the middle of the Carter Foundation’s private gallery, staring at the two paintings her mother left behind. It had been nearly a year since the Crimson Veil was first unveiled to the public, and although the world had started healing from the aftershocks of Craven Hall's collapse, the tremors inside her hadn’t quieted.
She felt her father watching her from the far end of the room. Nicholas rarely attended the exhibits now. He preferred his solitude in the old studio, where he worked on rebuilding the art therapy wing. But tonight, something had changed. There was tension in his eyes—not fear, but something close. A worry he hadn’t spoken aloud.
“Everything okay?” she asked without turning.
“No,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t want to tell you here.”
She turned slowly. “Then tell me where.”
Nicholas gestured to the elevator. They walked in silence down to the Foundation’s lower level. A secure archive storage unit had recently been completed. He keyed in a code, and the heavy door clicked open.
Inside, several crates had been delivered from overseas—artifacts, sculptures, photographs from museums that had collapsed under the weight of the Craven exposure. Most had been scheduled for research or return to their original countries. But one crate stood apart.
“This wasn’t on the manifest,” Nicholas said. “No sender. No courier service. But it had our internal tag—one only someone inside would know.”
Ava stepped closer. The crate had already been opened, its lid resting beside it. Inside lay a single painting, wrapped in thick cloth. Nicholas pulled it free and unrolled it carefully onto a table.
It was unmistakably Isabelle’s work—her brushstroke, her texture, her emotion.
But she had never painted this.
Ava gasped.
The image was a distorted blend of two faces—hers and Ethan’s—bound by red strings, floating above a cracked cityscape. In the far background, a silhouette resembling Vincent Hale stood with his back turned, half of his body erased by smoke. It wasn’t dated. There was no signature.
But scrawled at the bottom in smudged ink was a single word.
“REVERSAL.”
Ava’s blood ran cold. “This isn’t art. This is a message.”
Nicholas nodded. “It’s a warning. Someone wants us to know the fire isn’t out.”
Back upstairs, Elise stood in the main hallway, speaking in hushed tones on the phone. She looked up the moment she saw them. Her eyes locked on Ava’s face, and immediately, she hung up.
“What happened?”
Ava held up the word scrawled across the bottom of the painting. Elise stared for a long moment, then exhaled.
“There’s been talk,” she finally admitted. “Rumors in certain channels. I thought they were just desperate power plays—old Craven supporters trying to regain footing. But this... this changes things.”
“You knew and didn’t tell us?” Nicholas asked, his voice barely restrained.
“I didn’t want to set off panic until I was sure,” Elise replied, her tone steady. “I’ve been monitoring the chatter. Most of it was background noise. But now—”
“Now it’s deliberate,” Ava finished for her. “Someone wants to undo everything we exposed.”
Elise didn’t argue. She nodded. “Yes. Someone wants to reverse the fall of Craven Hall.”
That night, Ava couldn’t sleep. She lay on her bed, scrolling through encrypted forums, tracing any mention of “Reversal.” Most were vague, broken discussions from obscure threads. But one post stopped her breath.
It was a photo.
Of her, again.
This time in her university library. Taken from behind, hours earlier.
No caption.
Just an icon—a paintbrush dripping with black ink.
She bolted upright and sent the photo to her father and Elise. Nicholas called immediately.
“Stay inside. I’m calling security. Don’t move.”
But Ava was already moving.
She wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She was angry.
She pulled on a coat, tucked a USB key into her pocket, and left through the back staircase, determined to follow a tip she had ignored until now—an anonymous email that had said: “The ghosts never left the gallery.”
By the time Nicholas and Elise reached her room, she was gone.
Ava had returned to the Foundation, alone, under the cover of darkness.
And someone was waiting for her.
She felt her father watching her from the far end of the room. Nicholas rarely attended the exhibits now. He preferred his solitude in the old studio, where he worked on rebuilding the art therapy wing. But tonight, something had changed. There was tension in his eyes—not fear, but something close. A worry he hadn’t spoken aloud.
“Everything okay?” she asked without turning.
“No,” he said quietly. “But I didn’t want to tell you here.”
She turned slowly. “Then tell me where.”
Nicholas gestured to the elevator. They walked in silence down to the Foundation’s lower level. A secure archive storage unit had recently been completed. He keyed in a code, and the heavy door clicked open.
Inside, several crates had been delivered from overseas—artifacts, sculptures, photographs from museums that had collapsed under the weight of the Craven exposure. Most had been scheduled for research or return to their original countries. But one crate stood apart.
“This wasn’t on the manifest,” Nicholas said. “No sender. No courier service. But it had our internal tag—one only someone inside would know.”
Ava stepped closer. The crate had already been opened, its lid resting beside it. Inside lay a single painting, wrapped in thick cloth. Nicholas pulled it free and unrolled it carefully onto a table.
It was unmistakably Isabelle’s work—her brushstroke, her texture, her emotion.
But she had never painted this.
Ava gasped.
The image was a distorted blend of two faces—hers and Ethan’s—bound by red strings, floating above a cracked cityscape. In the far background, a silhouette resembling Vincent Hale stood with his back turned, half of his body erased by smoke. It wasn’t dated. There was no signature.
But scrawled at the bottom in smudged ink was a single word.
“REVERSAL.”
Ava’s blood ran cold. “This isn’t art. This is a message.”
Nicholas nodded. “It’s a warning. Someone wants us to know the fire isn’t out.”
Back upstairs, Elise stood in the main hallway, speaking in hushed tones on the phone. She looked up the moment she saw them. Her eyes locked on Ava’s face, and immediately, she hung up.
“What happened?”
Ava held up the word scrawled across the bottom of the painting. Elise stared for a long moment, then exhaled.
“There’s been talk,” she finally admitted. “Rumors in certain channels. I thought they were just desperate power plays—old Craven supporters trying to regain footing. But this... this changes things.”
“You knew and didn’t tell us?” Nicholas asked, his voice barely restrained.
“I didn’t want to set off panic until I was sure,” Elise replied, her tone steady. “I’ve been monitoring the chatter. Most of it was background noise. But now—”
“Now it’s deliberate,” Ava finished for her. “Someone wants to undo everything we exposed.”
Elise didn’t argue. She nodded. “Yes. Someone wants to reverse the fall of Craven Hall.”
That night, Ava couldn’t sleep. She lay on her bed, scrolling through encrypted forums, tracing any mention of “Reversal.” Most were vague, broken discussions from obscure threads. But one post stopped her breath.
It was a photo.
Of her, again.
This time in her university library. Taken from behind, hours earlier.
No caption.
Just an icon—a paintbrush dripping with black ink.
She bolted upright and sent the photo to her father and Elise. Nicholas called immediately.
“Stay inside. I’m calling security. Don’t move.”
But Ava was already moving.
She wasn’t afraid. Not anymore. She was angry.
She pulled on a coat, tucked a USB key into her pocket, and left through the back staircase, determined to follow a tip she had ignored until now—an anonymous email that had said: “The ghosts never left the gallery.”
By the time Nicholas and Elise reached her room, she was gone.
Ava had returned to the Foundation, alone, under the cover of darkness.
And someone was waiting for her.
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 45. Continue reading Chapter 46 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.