Chapter 2 - Beneath the Glitter

The Edinburgh Art & Antiquities Fair was a dazzling sensory overload. Chandeliers glittered like fallen stars above polished marble floors. The air crackled with a mix of champagne bubbles, nervous excitement, and the unmistakable scent of wealth. For a small-town curator like me, the opulence felt a world away from my usual gallery space.

But I wasn't here to admire the artwork, or to mingle with the creme-de-la-creme of the art world. I was bait. Finn hovered nearby, his presence as unobtrusive as a shadow, yet I sensed his sharp gaze scanning the crowd for any hint of trouble. I clutched my handbag, a secure phone line to Finn tucked inside.

"Relax," Finn had instructed me earlier. "Act natural. You're just a curator enjoying a prestigious event, nothing more."

Easy for him to say. Beneath my carefully curated professional smile, my nerves were a tangled mess. My role in this was deceptively simple: be visible, draw attention, and see who might take notice. Yet, the knowledge that someone in this glittering crowd might be the architect of my downfall sent a shiver down my spine.

I drifted through the displays, forcing myself to engage in small talk. Dealers with practiced smiles, collectors with sharp eyes, and the occasional familiar face from my own smaller world. Time stretched out agonizingly slow. Every rustle of silk, every clink of a champagne flute, made my heart jump.

Suddenly, a flicker of recognition sent a ripple through me. Alexander Grayson. Older than his photographs suggested, hair silvered at the temples, but his eyes held the gleam of a predator. A tight smile spread across his face as he approached.

"Ms. Campbell. What a delightful surprise." His voice was smooth, dripping with false charm.

"Mr. Grayson." I managed a polite nod. "Lovely event."

"And you're a welcome addition." He held my gaze a beat too long, making my skin crawl. "Enjoying yourself?"

Before I could formulate a response, Finn was there, placing himself subtly between us. "Mr. Grayson," he said, his tone cool. "Always a pleasure."

Grayson's smile faltered slightly, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Finn MacGregor. This is unexpected. I wasn't aware you dabbled in the art world these days."

"Just keeping an eye on things." Finn's words were casual, but his posture radiated a simmering tension.

The air crackled between them. I was suddenly aware of the curious glances directed our way. Grayson's smile returned, but the warmth was long gone. "I'm sure your... skills...are in high demand these days, considering Ms. Campbell's recent predicament."

Finn's grip on my elbow tightened fractionally. "My business is my own, Grayson." He turned towards me, a forced smile on his face. "Isla, there's someone I'd like you to meet. If you'll excuse us?"

Before Grayson could protest, Finn was steering me away, his long strides carrying us through the crowd.

We found refuge near a display of antique porcelain, the hum of the crowd fading slightly. I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

"Isla...are you alright?" Finn's voice held genuine concern, cutting through his tough facade.

"I... I think so," I managed, still reeling from the encounter. "There's something about Grayson. He knows."

Finn nodded grimly. "He enjoys playing games, but he was careful. He didn't directly accuse you, but he wanted to rattle you, to see your reaction."

"And…your reaction?" My voice was barely a whisper.

"He won't get another chance." A fierce determination blazed in Finn's eyes. "Now we know he's watching you. We can use that."

My mind raced. Use it how? Become even more of a target? The idea was both terrifying and weirdly thrilling.

"Finn, I don't want to…"

"Look!" He grabbed my hand, his urgency cutting through my protest. I followed his gaze, my breath catching in surprise. Across the room, Grayson was engaged in conversation with a striking woman. Elegantly dressed, her dark hair swept into an elaborate updo, she radiated poise and power. Yet, something about her seemed oddly familiar.

"Who is she?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Finn frowned. "I don't know. But Grayson wouldn't be cozying up to just anyone."

He reached for the phone in his pocket. "Stay put for a minute," he instructed, already moving away, melting into the crowd.

I watched him go, a mix of fear and determination swirling within me. Finn was right. We couldn't be passive players in this game; we had to force our enemy's hand. I glanced back towards Grayson. His attention was now fixed solely on the woman, a hint of deference in his posture. Whoever she was, she held some kind of power over him.

A sliver of a plan began to take shape in my mind. It was risky, reckless even, but staying here waiting to be picked apart felt far worse. Taking a fortifying breath, I straightened my shoulders and crossed the room, heading straight towards the woman who could hold the key to untangling this mess.

As I approached, their conversation ceased abruptly. Grayson eyed me with cold amusement, while the woman turned, her gaze landing on me like a spotlight. And then it hit me—a wave of shock followed by a jolt of recognition.

"Olivia?"

The name slipped out before I could stop it, a ghost from my past suddenly resurrected in this gilded cage of an art fair. Olivia's perfectly arched eyebrows raised in the faintest flicker of surprise.

"Isla Campbell…" Her voice was as smooth as silk, a stark contrast to the bewildered thumping of my heart. "My, haven't you blossomed."

We'd been rivals once – art history majors locked in a battle for top marks and coveted internships. Olivia had always exuded an effortless superiority, her every calculated move designed to impress. It seemed success had further honed that edge.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, the question sounding far more accusatory than intended.

Grayson, sensing a shift, interjected smoothly, "Ms. Campbell and I were just reacquainting ourselves. And you are…?"

Olivia extended a perfectly manicured hand. "Olivia Stirling. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grayson."

She didn't offer any further explanation, but the gleam in her eyes told me she enjoyed the little mystery. A collector? A patron? Or perhaps something more?

"Stirling..." Finn's voice cut through the tense silence. He materialized beside me, his gaze locked on Olivia, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Of Stirling Investments?"

Olivia's perfectly composed facade cracked slightly. "I see your reputation precedes you, Mr. MacGregor."

Finn ignored the jab. "What's your interest in antiquities, Ms. Stirling?" His tone was deceptively casual, laced with the subtlest hint of a threat.

The tension between them was palpable. Grayson stood by, seemingly relegated to a mere bystander in this sudden shift of power.

"Purely a hobby," Olivia countered, her smile returning. "One I recently discovered."

A hobby. The word seemed impossibly benign in this swirl of accusations and hidden agendas. Yet, there was a glint in her eyes, a challenge that echoed my own defiant spirit. This was no naive socialite dabbling in art – Olivia Stirling was a player, her true motive tantalizingly concealed.

"Isla," Finn said, his voice low. "Let's go."

I hesitated, torn between a burning desire for answers and the instinct for self-preservation. Yet, something in the way Olivia watched us, a flicker of calculation, spurred me on.

"Actually," I said, lifting my chin, "I think Ms. Stirling and I have a lot to catch up on."

Grayson bristled, but before he could protest, I linked my arm through Olivia's, surprising us both.

I steered her toward a quiet corner, leaving Finn and Grayson behind. The unspoken alliance was exhilarating in its audacity. And as I glanced at the woman beside me, I couldn't shake the feeling that Olivia Stirling, former rival and now my most unexpected wild card, might hold the answers we desperately needed.

We settled into a secluded alcove, the din of the fair fading slightly. A waiter appeared discreetly, placing two flutes of champagne on our table. Olivia swirled hers, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

"This is quite a reunion, Isla," she said, her voice a purr. "Not quite how I imagined it."

"Neither did I," I admitted, forcing a lightness I didn't feel. We'd spent years circling each other warily, our ambition driving us apart. Seeing her here, entangled in my world of stolen art and dangerous accusations, was as surreal as it was unsettling.

"I must say, your predicament is the talk of the fair," Olivia continued, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Quite the scandal."

"Believe me, if I could opt out, I would." My words were laced with a bitterness I couldn't fully conceal.

She regarded me closely. "But the way you confronted Mr. Grayson… I sensed a certain fire in you. Perhaps you're not quite as helpless as the tabloids make you out to be."

I flushed slightly. Despite our history, I felt a grudging respect for her perceptiveness. "I'm not," I said firmly. "I have no intention of being a pawn in someone else's game."

Olivia's smile widened. "That's the spirit. Which begs the question…what are you doing here tonight? And with Finn MacGregor of all people."

I hesitated. How much to reveal, and could I trust her? My instincts said Olivia was no damsel in distress, she was a player, motivated by something.

"Let's just say… Finn and I are looking for answers," I said carefully. "This whole…mess…it has something to do with both our pasts."

Olivia leaned in, her gaze intense. "You haven't mentioned this to him? To Grayson?"

"Not yet. I needed to feel you out first."

"Wise." She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her champagne flute. "Isla, there are powerful forces at play here. Grayson might be involved, but he's likely a small fish in a much larger pond."

My heart thudded. I thought of Finn's father, the debt, the people they'd run from. Was the past catching up to us both?

Before I could formulate a response, a shadow fell over our table. I looked up to find Finn standing over us, his expression unreadable.

"There you are," he said, his voice directed at me, though his eyes remained fixed on Olivia. "We need to leave. Now."

The finality in his tone sent a shiver down my spine. Whatever game they were playing, the stakes had just gone up.

Finn's sudden demand hung in the air like a dark cloud, shattering the tenuous alliance I'd built with Olivia. Yet, his urgency was undeniable. Trouble clung to him like a scent, and I knew better than to ignore that instinct.

"Finn, what's going on?" I asked, rising from my chair.

Before he could answer, Olivia stood as well, her movements as smooth and deliberate as a panther. "Mr. MacGregor," she addressed him, a subtle challenge in her voice, "I trust you'll ensure Isla gets home safely? Our conversation has been…enlightening."

Finn didn't meet her gaze. He simply nodded, his attention already shifting, his eyes scanning the nearby crowd. "Isla, let's go."

Disappointment mixed with unease swirled within me. Just when I finally felt like I was gaining ground, the game was changing once more, and I was back to being in the dark. I glanced at Olivia. Her lips curved in the ghost of a smile, promising intrigues yet to be revealed.

We made our way through the crowd, Finn slightly ahead, his broad shoulders parting the sea of guests. The art fair, once a glittering distraction, was now a maze of potential threats. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the air thick with unseen danger.

As we neared the exit, a commotion erupted near the front doors. Shouts, a scuffle, and a flash of something metallic. My stomach knotted with dread.

Finn reacted in a blur. He grabbed my hand, his grip painfully tight, and propelled me towards a side door marked 'Staff Only'. The urgency in his movement told me this wasn't just precaution, this was imminent danger.

We burst through the door into a dimly lit hallway, the sounds of the fair fading behind us. Finn pressed me against the wall, his body shielding mine.

"Stay here," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. "Don't move, don't make a sound."

Before I could protest, he was gone, disappearing back into the chaos, a shadow swallowed by shadows. I huddled against the cold concrete, my heart thundering in my chest. Fear gnawed at my resolve. It wasn't the stolen Van Gogh or the tabloid scandals that terrified me now – it was the realization that in this murky world of high-stakes crime and hidden agendas, Finn's past, my past, and the lives of those I cared for were on the line.