chapter seven:The photo in the dark

Lana stared at the photograph in her hand as if it were a wormhole into another universe—one where Dante had never kissed her, where every moment of tenderness had been a lie. The image was grainy but unmistakable: Dante and Elena, wrapped in each other's arms, lips joined in a kiss so intimate it burned her retinas.

The envelope had arrived without warning. Tucked under her door at midnight by a silent courier. No note. No signature. Just that single photo.

Her breath caught. Her heart pounded in her ears. Rash anger flared—hot and blinding. Betrayal cut deeper than any blade.

She sank to the edge of the bed, photo clutched tight. All the lies he'd told, all the secret silences, every moment she'd fought for his trust—now felt like poison coursing through her veins.

He's lying to me again.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She fought them back. No. Not here. Not now. She would not give him the satisfaction of her tears.

Her phone buzzed—an unknown number.

"Check the metadata."

Lana felt a flicker of hope. Someone wanted her to see beyond the image. She tapped the message.

"It's a fake."

Her head snapped up. It's a fake. But who? And why send it now?

She shoved the photo into her bag, grabbed her robe, and stormed into the hallway. The house was silent.

She found Dante in the study, hunched over his desk, reviewing security footage on one of his monitors. His back was to her.

She paused, breath catching. He's so vulnerable when he doesn't know you're watching.

She cleared her throat.

He looked up, eyes cool. "You found it."

She slammed the photo on his desk. "Explain this."

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "I was wondering when you'd see it."

"Don't play games."

"I'm not." He gestured to the screen. "Watch."

He tapped a button. The footage played: Dante entering his private suite at Hotel Le Marais in London on the night in question. He checked in alone. No Elena. No second keycard swiped. Just him, then him again leaving at dawn.

Lana's jaw dropped. "Then who—?"

"I asked my people to trace who distributed the photo," Dante said. "It came from a burner phone. The metadata points to a server in Frankfurt. But the hand that sent it belonged to someone here."

Lana's eyes narrowed. "Elena?"

He nodded. "She wanted to break you. Or break me. Whichever came first."

"She almost did," Lana whispered. Realization and relief warred inside her. "Why now?"

"Because she's desperate. Tonight she's hosting a charity auction here. She arranged for you to be excluded. She wants to humiliate you publicly, isolate you, make you powerless."

Lana felt a cold fury ignite. "She won't get away with it."

Dante stood. "Let's make sure of that."

They moved quickly. Lana sent a silent text to Camilla: Elena's auction. I need access.

Within minutes, Camilla appeared in the study doorway, face pale but determined. "I suspected something. There's a private reception on the terrace. They're vetting the guest list now."

"Add me," Lana said. "Priority."

Camilla hesitated, then nodded. "On it."

She disappeared as Dante guided Lana to the nearest security terminal. "I'll clear your entry," he said, fingers flying over the keyboard. "But you must trust me to handle the rest."

Lana met his gaze. "I trust you."

He pressed a final key. "You're in."

An hour later, Lana slipped into a sleek black gown and touched up her makeup. She felt the familiar rush of adrenaline—this would be a battlefield tonight, and she steeled herself for the fight.

Downstairs, the grand ballroom hummed with champagne glasses and polite laughter. Crystal chandeliers dripped light over galleries of silent benefactors. Every table was set with white roses and engraved place cards.

Lana navigated the crowd, scanning faces until she found Elena at the head table, resplendent in a ruby dress that shimmered like blood in candlelight. She sat beside a distinguished-looking woman in her sixties—Madame Rousseau, a major European patron of the arts, who held one of the board votes.

Elena's lips curved into a triumphant smile when she saw Lana. She raised her glass in a mock salute.

Lana approached with measured steps. "Good evening, Mrs. Monroe."

"Mrs. Brooks," Elena corrected, voice silky. "Or should I say, Mrs. Vieri? Does it still suit?"

Lana leveled her gaze. "I believe it suits quite well."

Elena laughed softly. "We'll see about that."

Lana turned and slipped around the table toward the terrace. She spotted Madame Rousseau lingering by the railing, looking at the city lights.

She moved beside her. "Mrs. Rousseau."

The older woman turned, surprise flickering. "Ms. Brooks. You made it."

"I wasn't invited," Lana said, voice low. "But I'm here for art. And justice."

Madame Rousseau studied her. "Art and justice rarely share the same room."

"They both deserve the same respect," Lana replied, gesturing to the silent canvases displayed just inside the door.

Madame Rousseau nodded slowly. "They do. But tonight justice is blind."

Lana offered a gentle smile. "It doesn't have to be."

Inside, the live auction began. Elena took the stage, draping her arm around Madame Rousseau, lauding the Vieri Foundation's contributions to children's education. The audience applauded.

Lana slipped behind the podium guardrails and climbed onto the stage's side platform. She caught Dante's eye in the crowd—he gave a barely perceptible nod.

When the bidding reached its peak, Elena gestured proudly. "And now, for my special item…" She motioned behind a velvet curtain. "A private dinner with yours truly and the CEO of Vieri Global."

The curtain drew back to reveal a single chair and a table for two. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Madame Rousseau raised an eyebrow. "That's… generous."

Elena smirked. "All in the name of charity."

Bids flew. Hands raised. Paddles clicked. It looked like the audience controlled the pace—until Lana pressed a button on a remote she'd slipped into her clutch.

The lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the stage. The auctioneer paused. A hush fell.

Lana stepped forward, voice amplified through the mic: "Ladies and gentlemen, this auction has one amendment."

The room buzzed.

Elena's face flushed.

Lana continued: "Tonight's private dinner isn't with Elena Monroe. It's with me—Mrs. Vieri."

Shock rippled through the room. The auctioneer stammered. Cameras swiveled.

Madame Rousseau's mouth hung open.

Lana held up the burner photo. "This image has circulated, claiming my husband betrayed me. It's a forgery, orchestrated to discredit me, weaken our foundation, and drive a wedge between husband and wife."

She paused. "The person behind it is here tonight." She swept her gaze across the crowd. "Show yourself."

Silence. Tension like a drawn bow.

Finally, Elena rose, lips twitching. "What a stunt."

Lana smiled softly. "A charity stunt. The proceeds from this amended auction will go to even more children's scholarships." She nodded to the auctioneer. "Start the bids. Going once—going twice—sold, to… Mrs. Vieri."

A paddle clicked—surprisingly high. Then another. And another.

Within moments, the highest bid far outstripped Elena's original total.

Applause broke out. Cameras flashed. Elena's triumphant smirk cracked, revealing anger.

As the crowd dispersed to congratulate Lana, Dante stepped onto the stage, took her hand, and kissed it before pressing his lips to her temple.

A show of unity that drove the final nail in Elena's plan.

Later, in the upstairs lounge, Lana and Dante stood alone, champagne flutes in hand.

"She won't be so careless next time," Dante murmured.

"No," Lana agreed. "But she'll think twice about underestimating me."

He watched her, admiration—and something deeper—shining in his eyes. "You saved more than our reputation tonight."

Lana tilted her head. "We did it together."

He traced her collarbone with his fingertip. "I think… I could get used to being your partner."

Her heart fluttered. "I have an idea."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"Let's make this arrangement a real partnership. No more secrets. No more games. Just us—against the world."

He smiled, low and genuine. "I'd like that."

But peace remained fragile.

At midnight, Lana returned to her room to find another envelope—this one stamped with the Vieri family seal.

Inside was a single sheet of paper:

"We have your brother. Pay the ransom or lose him forever.

He disappears in twelve hours."

Her blood ran cold.

Dante answered her frantic call within seconds. His expression went stone.

"Elena has always played for keeps," he whispered. "But this… this is personal."

He cradled her face in his hands. "We'll find him. I promise."

Lana's knees gave way. "Owen."

He pressed her against him. "We'll get him back. Together."

But as the storm raged outside, Lana realized the war had truly begun—and the enemy was closer than they ever imagined.