The Billionaire Came for the Famous Curator—But Couldn’t Take His Eyes Off Her Quiet Sister
Chapter 3
The next morning, Adrian returned to the gallery.
He told himself it was because he needed to review the final security plans.
He knew he was lying.
Lena was in the conservation room.
She was wearing the same cream blouse from the night before, though the sleeves were rolled to her elbows. A magnifying lamp illuminated a small nineteenth-century portrait on the table.
She looked up when the door opened.
“You again.”
Adrian leaned against the doorway.
“Disappointed?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“I thought billionaires had better things to do.”
“I do.”
She waited.
He smiled.
“I’m doing them.”
Lena shook her head.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?”
“Because this room is restricted.”
“Then why did you let me in?”
“I didn’t.”
He looked behind him.
The door was open.
“Apparently someone did.”
She sighed.
“What do you want?”
“Coffee.”
“I don’t make coffee.”
“Then conversation.”
“I’m working.”
“I can wait.”
She stared at him.
“You really don’t take hints.”
“No.”
A tiny smile appeared.
Adrian noticed.
He had seen women smile at him thousands of times.
This one felt different.
It wasn’t designed to impress him.
It escaped her.
He pulled up a chair.
“Tell me about the painting.”
Lena glanced at the portrait.
“It’s damaged.”
“I can see that.”
“No. You can see the damage. I can see the history.”
She explained how the original artist had altered the background, how a later owner had painted over a section, how chemical analysis could reveal layers invisible to the naked eye.
Adrian listened.
Not because he understood everything.
Because she became different when she talked about art.
The quietness disappeared.
Her eyes sharpened.
Her hands moved.
Her voice gained confidence.
“You love this,” he said.
She stopped.
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you become a curator?”
She looked away.
“Because I’m not Isabelle.”
“I didn’t ask whether you were Isabelle.”
“It’s what everyone asks.”
“What happened?”
She hesitated.
Then closed the file.
“Nothing.”
Adrian recognized another lie.
Before he could press her, Isabelle entered.
“Adrian.”
He stood.
“Isabelle.”
She smiled, but her eyes went immediately to Lena.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“I’m here.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“Adrian, we need to discuss the foundation’s acquisition list.”
“Of course.”
He followed Isabelle.
At the door, he looked back.
Lena was already examining the portrait again.
That afternoon, Adrian signed the preliminary agreement for the exhibition.
Everyone celebrated.
Isabelle received congratulations.
Adrian received handshakes.
But later, he discovered something unexpected.
He had requested the gallery’s conservation records.
One report was signed repeatedly by Lena Hart.
Not Isabelle.
Lena had identified structural weaknesses in paintings, corrected humidity issues, caught counterfeit provenance documents, and prevented damage during transportation.
In three years, she had quietly saved the gallery from at least four serious mistakes.
Adrian closed the file.
“Everything nobody notices,” he murmured.
His assistant, Marcus, looked at him.
“Sir?”
“Nothing.”
Marcus hesitated.
“Should I have the curator’s office prepare the final documents?”
Adrian looked at the name on the screen.
“Lena Hart.”
Marcus blinked.
“That’s Isabelle’s sister.”
“I know.”
“She’s not part of the acquisition team.”
“She should be.”
Marcus paused.
“Why?”
Adrian closed the laptop.
“Because she is the only person in that building who seems to care whether we get it right.”
That decision would change everything.
But it would also expose a secret the Hart sisters had spent years protecting.
A secret that would soon make Adrian question whether Isabelle had earned the reputation he had come to admire.
