"Clack Clack Clack"

The marble floors of McQueen Gallery echoed with Victoria's measured footsteps as she made her way through the lobby, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm that matched the pounding in her temples.

Derek Brown's voice still rang in her ears from their phone conversation that morning—polite, apologetic, but ultimately another rejection that sent her carefully orchestrated plans spiraling toward disaster.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Blackwood, but I've already committed ...