Back at home…
The mansion felt unusually tense tonight, thick with the kind of energy before a storm.
"Display it over there! Don't let it scratch, please," Quincy barked at the workers as they carefully carried a large, covered painting inside.
"Yes, boss!"
"Oh cool! Just over there," Quincy said, smiling slightly, already picturing it in place.
Footsteps stormed in from behind.
"Quincy!" Gianna's voice cracked like a whip through the grand hall.
Quincy didn't even turn. His shoulders were stiff. "I'm busy, please," he said flatly.
The sharp click of Gianna's heels echoed closer, louder, until she stood right behind him. "Hanging a painting? I'm talking to you, Quincy. Look at me!"
He turned around slowly, exhaustion and irritation plain on his face. "Gianna, what do you want?"
Her eyes glinted with fury. "Did you go to the courtesan auction?"
"Sure," he answered, carelessly.
Gianna's jaw tightened, the veins in her neck standing out. "That is where you brought that trash from?"
"Trash?" Quincy repeated, arching a brow. With a slow, mocking gesture, he uncovered the painting, revealing an ethereal masterpiece that seemed to hum with life. A smirk played on his lips. "I spent $3 million on that and you called it trash?"
Gianna's lips curled into a snarl. "That bitch painted it, right?"
Quincy's head turned sharply, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "Who are you calling a bitch?"
"That tiny girl called Blue!"
Quincy's whole body tensed. "Keep her name off your mouth," he said, his voice deadly soft.
Gianna laughed bitterly, tears brimming in her furious eyes. "I should keep her name off my mouth? Are you in love with her or something? I definitely know those courtesans are practicing some kind of witchcraft! You paid for a courtesan for 10 years because you wanna have her to yourself? Isn't that ridiculous?"
"How is that ridiculous?" Quincy asked, stepping closer, towering over her. "When did taking a courtesan become a crime? I'm an elite."
"She disrespected me!" Gianna shouted, her voice trembling with humiliation.
"Maybe you did first," Quincy said coldly.
Gianna's face crumpled in shock. "Don't y'all have an agreement over there? You can't put a courtesan over your wife and the courtesan cannot disrespect your wife."
Quincy smirked cruelly. "Maybe you disrespected her first."
"She called me old!" Gianna yelled, her voice breaking.
Quincy gave a cruel chuckle. "Oh my! You are not old though, but the distance between you and her is almost 10 years. She might consider you old."
"Quincy!!!" she screamed, slamming her fists against his chest.
"What?" he said, brushing her off like an annoying fly.
"Do you intend to marry her?"
Quincy gave her a look so piercing it made her take a step back. "What do you think?"
"I'm your wife, Quincy! And she is just a prostitute!"
"She is not," he said, each word like a bullet. "Gianna, you are forgetting your place. We had an agreement before I married you! We are doing this just not to disappoint the family. And whenever I find anyone I like—or anyone you like—we will go our separate ways."
Gianna stared at him, broken fury flashing across her face. "And who said that I agreed to that nonsense? You think I'm gonna give up on you because you found the love of your life? In your dreams, Quincy!"
Quincy tilted his head, a cruel smile pulling at his lips. "We do not owe each other anything."
"We do!" she cried out desperately, her voice hoarse. "We are legally married, and you slept with me!"
Quincy let out a hollow, humorless laugh. "I did that because that's what you wanted. Do you know how many girls I have outside? Do you think I slept with you because I lack sex?"
Gianna's hand flew out and slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing in the vast hall.
Quincy barely flinched. He wiped his mouth slowly, staring at her with ice-cold disdain.
"Damn you, Quincy!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face. "That girl—I'm gonna deal with her!"
Quincy gave a slow, cruel grin and leaned in close enough that she could feel the chill of his words.
"Good luck with that, dear wifey. Bye-bye."
He turned his back on her without hesitation, walking away without once looking back, while Gianna stood there trembling, her heart shattering behind him.
The painting gleamed under the soft lights—a silent witness to the war that had just begun.
"Have you heard anything from Angel recently?" Harper asked, dabbing lightly at her makeup with a powder puff in front of the mirror.
"No!" came the swift reply from Freya, who was laying out Harper's dress on the bed.
Harper paused, raising a brow. "She's not begging for Celine?"
Freya scoffed. "She is! She's begged Madam Fransisca repeatedly, but Madam is still ignoring her."
Harper smirked and picked up her lipstick. "Good for her. She should deal with that—and what's to come."
Freya gave a tight nod. "Yes."
Harper reached for her earrings. "My dress?"
Freya lifted the shimmering silk gown. "Here. Are we going to the casino?"
Harper shook her head, stepping into the dress as Freya helped zip her up. "No. The lounge. The noble ladies are too secretive and polished—you can't get anything out of them. They're noble ladies for a reason. But the regular courtesans? A little charm and they'll spill everything."
Freya laughed softly. "True."
"Let's go," Harper said, rising confidently. Freya grabbed her clutch, and they exited.