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“Thank you,” Alice says. “I don’t quite know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. Your work already did. It spoke to me, in words beyond comprehension.”

Alice’s face crumples again. “Sorry, I’m just… surprised. Grateful. It’s lovely to know you felt so much.”

Helena smiles.

“No need to be sorry. Artists who are too certain of themselves are rarely interesting. Vulnerability lets the heart soar free. In my experience anyway.”

Alice laughs, with the tears still streaming, letting the success finally sink in.

It’s hers.

Not because she’s Bill daughter. Not because she’s Christopher’s fiancée.

Because she painted a black line and taught it how to bend.

I look towards Jack again.

He’s moved away from the wall. Stepped a bit closer in our direction.

Shit.

I give him a warning look.

Stay there.

But no. He keeps walking.

I make a move to intercept him, reaching him en route to Alice as he stops beside a waiter carrying champagne. He takes two glasses from the tray.

I place myself directly in his path.

“Don’t do this,” I warn him.

Jack offers me one of the glasses.

“Celebratory bubbles? Come on, BT. We deserve a celebration.”

“You need to leave.”

“Leave?” He smirks. “I only just bought a painting.”

“I mean this part of the room. Everyone is heading next door.”

“Oh, Bryce. I’m representing The Gilded Table. I need to be proactive.”

His smile widens. On a gambling high, despite the public loss.

I recognise it now. The brightness in his eyes. The excess energy hiding beneath deliberate ease.

He accepted a risk that would’ve scared most people to death, came out on top, and is now thrumming with the aftermath.

Ordinarily, I’d let him talk and mingle, busying himself chatting with other bidders until it burned away. He deserves it.

Only tonight, William Parker is watching.

“You’ve done enough,” I say.