Read Deception in love Novel by Tamuz14 PDF Online Step-by-Step

The skylight cast a watery hue over the chrome polished floor of the Loft Blanc Gallery, nestled in the heart of Jersey City’s elite district. The gallery was an architectural marvel, a seamless fusion of industrial grit and avant-garde elegance steel beams curved overhead like ribs of an exposed heart, and sprawling white walls pulsed with the vibrant expressions of tortured genius.
Tonight, the elite brushed shoulders in whispers. Art critics with balding crowns leaned into the curves of women with sharpened smiles. Cameras clicked, champagne flutes clinked, and beneath the polite chaos stood Fred Coleman-tall, perfectly dressed, with that thin-lipped smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Fred wasn’t here for the art.
He never was.
“Racheal Lopez has a new piece in Room C,” whispered one of the curators, a red-haired assistant who tried not to stare too long at Fred’s tailored midnight-blue suit.
His heart pinched at the name.
Racheal Lopez.
She hadn’t been seen in public for five years. Not since she vanished, leaving behind a trail of scandal and a ruined engagement. Fred had spent years burying the memory of her-the burn of her perfume, the tilt of her laughter, the things she knew. Things she wasn’t supposed to know.
He moved towards Room C.
Each step echoed with ghosts. Not of art, but of buried lies.
As he entered, the crowd hushed slightly. A towering oil painting loomed under a golden spotlight. It depicted a faceless man, his suit stained with red paint that ran like blood down the canvas. His eyes were smeared out, but the title screamed clarity.
“The Collector.”
Fred froze.
It was him.
She had painted him. Not as he appeared in the polished world of finance and aesthetics, but as what he truly was-an orchestrator. A man who curated deception with the finesse of an artist.
“She knows,” whispered a voice behind him.
He turned. It was Kelvin, the one-eyed Gulf War veteran turned assistant-his most trusted employee. Or so Fred had once thought.
“She’s back in Jersey,” Kelvin continued, tugging at his collar. “I saw her.”
Fred’s jaw clenched. “Why now?”
Kelvin gave a half shrug. “Maybe she wants to finish what she started.”
Meanwhile, in the gallery’s corner, Sophia Silas-his ever-efficient secretary-tapped away on her phone, pretending to answer emails while secretly recording faces. She wasn’t just an assistant. She was a gatekeeper. And she knew too much.
And then there was Albert Samuel, standing like an iron statue by the gallery’s emergency exit. The kind of policeman who smiled only once at his own retirement party, fifteen years too early. He wasn’t here for the art either. His eyes scanned the crowd for threats, suspects, or sins.
“Fred Coleman,” he said, his deep voice slicing through the velvet chatter as he stepped forward. “We need to talk. Now.”
Fred didn’t flinch. “Can it wait until after the gallery closes?”
That was Albert. A man who wrestled order into chaos with his bare hands.
From a distance, Maria Terino watched. She had always envied Sophia her elegance, her charm, the way men looked at her like she was a Monet. But Maria knew Sophia’s secrets. They shared more than friendship they shared guilt.
And guilt was heavy currency in this city.
At the gallery entrance, Forlan Rice adjusted his badge. He was the only officer on duty tonight who still believed in redemption. He held a soft spot for Fred. Maybe because he’d once seen him donate anonymously to a shelter. Or maybe because he saw a flicker of humanity still buried beneath the mask.
He didn’t know that Fred’s masks had layers.
Fred followed Albert Samuel into a narrow hallway behind the gallery. The silence screamed.
“She’s back,” Albert said. “You know what that means.”
Fred met his eyes. “She’s not a threat anymore.”
Albert laughed dryly. “She was never just a threat, Fred. She was a fuse. And you built your entire gallery on a powder keg.”
“She disappeared.”
Albert stepped closer. “Because you paid her to. But ghosts don’t stay buried. Racheal’s painting is a warning.”
Fred’s jaw clenched. “I’ll handle it.”
“You’d better,” Albert said. “Before someone else does.”
Sophia felt the hairs on her arm rise. Someone was watching her.
She turned.
And there she was.
Racheal Lopez.
In a black dress, lips stained wine-dark, and eyes like silent daggers.
“Long time, Sophia,” Racheal said.
Sophia swallowed hard. “I heard you left the country.”
“I did. But Jersey always pulls me back. Like a bad dream.”
They stood in tense silence.
“I see you still work for him,” Racheal added, glancing at the hallway Fred had vanished into.
Sophia narrowed her eyes. “You don’t get to come back and play ghost.”
Racheal smirked. “I’m not here to haunt. I’m here to remind him of what he tried to forget.”
“What do you want?”
Racheal’s voice turned cold. “The truth.”
In the shadows, Kelvin made a call. His hands shook slightly. He didn’t owe Fred l