CHAPTER 3

A few days had passed since the gala, but the glamour of that night had curdled into a bitter aftertaste. What began as the proudest moment of Melody Peltz’s career was now buried beneath an avalanche of whisper campaigns and digital filth. The headlines came first. “Art of Seduction: Is Peltz's Legacy Built on Pillow Talk?” Then the blogs. Then the grotesque swarm of fake dating profiles, one in particular, using her full name, her photo, and even listing her title at Peltz Art & Life. She scrolled through the profile in horror. "Lover of fine art and finer men," it read. "If the painting doesn’t move you, I will." Attached were screenshots of anonymous messages. Claims that she offered private gallery tours in exchange for “business intimacy.” One post claimed she slept with a gallery owner in Monaco to secure an exhibition. Another said she'd whispered promises of commission shares while tangled in sheets. All lies. And yet, the comments section didn’t care. She stormed into her office, nearly knocking over a sculpture stand. The once-pristine calm of her curated world had shattered. "Mr. Jason wants you in the main boardroom." She heard a voice. It was Nita, her father's assistant. She straightened her cream blouse and wiped beneath her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. There wasn’t supposed to be anything to cry about. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, the headlines had pierced her like thorns. "Peltz’s Leading Lady Accused of Trading Art for Intimacy." "Inside the Seduction Scandal Tainting the Art World’s Royalty." —And beneath each headline, her face. Her smile. Her name. Only she wasn't sure if it was her name anymore. Not to the press. Not to her father. Not even to herself. The door creaked open before she knocked. Jason, her father and Director of ‘Peltz Arts and Life' sat behind his mahogany desk, silver hair immaculately combed, suit tailored like he’d stepped out of a power play. But his eyes—those flinty eyes—looked at her like she was a stranger. “You’ve embarrassed this family,” Jason said without preamble. “Good morning to you too,” Melody replied, her voice low but controlled. He didn’t offer her a seat. “Shut the door.” Melody obeyed, bracing. Jason tapped the tablet screen in his palm and turned it to face her. “Care to explain this?” Her breath caught as a video loaded. It was of a man sitting in a dim room, his face smug behind a half-forced expression of regret. Melody wanted to hear what he had to say, and she did. The voices came in and she listened attentively. “She said if I agreed to sponsor a few pieces, she’d make it worth my while,” he said. “I thought it was just drinks at first. Then… well. She was very persuasive.” Melody felt the floor warm up under her feet, but she had never seen this man in her life, not even a brief encounter. “I’ve never even seen that man in my life,” she said quietly, jaw tightening. “This isn’t real.” Jason narrowed his eyes. “So the fake dating profile that surfaced yesterday using your photos isn’t real either?” “I didn’t make it,” Melody said. Her voice trembled despite her effort to sound firm. “That account isn’t mine.” “It had your work contact,” he snapped. “It is NOT mine,” she insisted, voice rising. “Someone’s trying to ruin me.” “Someone?” Fiona’s voice rang like a bell dipped in syrup. She stood in the corner, arms folded, her soft lilac blouse looking innocent enough to fool a priest. Melody just noticed her now for the first time since she entered the room. “That’s a strong accusation, Melody. Maybe this is just… a misunderstanding.” “Misunderstanding?” Melody turned sharply. “You think a fake profile offering sex for sponsorships is just a misunderstanding?” Fiona blinked innocently. “I didn’t say you made it.” Her voice was measured. Sweet. But Melody knew poison when she heard it. Jason cut between them. “The board under investigation for fraudulent dealings and sexual coercion.” Melody’s jaw dropped. “Because of this? Because of fake men saying I slept with them for sales? That’s absurd! I met a man, ONE man after Degas and Warhol, who even– Jason cut her short. “You admit to that?” Jason’s voice turned sharp. “I’m not ashamed of it,” she snapped. “Maybe if you had given work a break for one night and appreciated your wins, my wins, our wins, the company we have made and how far we have come, maybe if you had recognized me, this wouldn't have happened. I’m not apologizing for being a woman with agency. But I’ve never mixed business with—” “You’ve destroyed our family name,” he roared, slamming a fist on the desk. Melody flinched. “You’ve humiliated us in front of the board, the press, and our buyers. Peltz Art & Life was built by my reputation—” “It was built by my mother,” Melody cut in, her voice suddenly cold. “She founded it, she curated the first ten exhibitions, and when she died, you slid into the director’s seat like a vulture. And then you brought her”—she threw a glance at Fiona—“into our house while Mom’s perfume still clung to her clothes. You destroyed this family long ago!" He came around the desk with focused and deliberate steps, and for a moment, she thought he might reach for her hand—might show some flicker of fatherly care. But instead, he struck her. The slap echoed. Melody staggered back, clutching her cheek, breath ragged. Jason, slowly, calmly, with an undercurrent of cold steel. "My daughter—my daughter—couldn’t possibly be so naïve, so reckless, so astonishingly short-sighted as to hand-feed the wolves with scraps of her own reputation, all while still wearing the family crest around her neck. No.That would be unthinkable. To you, is this some minor scandal that the public will tire of after their morning espresso? The entire company soon will come crashing down and I...ONLY I can save it and you run your mouth at me?" “You want me to believe you're innocent? That someone else did this to you?” He scoffed, leaning forward like a man who’d waited years for this moment. “Maybe they did. Maybe. But it was your face. Your name. Your stupidity. You walked into this with your eyes wide shut, and now you want sympathy? You want redemption?” He laughed, sharp and joyless. “You’re not a victim, Melody. You’re an embarrassment.” His voice echoed off the walls, dragging its weight across the table between them. “I gave you everything. Not because you earned it—but because you had my blood. That was your only qualification. My last name. And look what you did with it. You didn’t build anything. You threw a party and called it a kingdom.” He stood, slowly, deliberately, like his presence alone was punishment. “I’ve watched boys with half your inheritance make ten times the mark. But you? You thought the world would bow because you showed up. You thought having my name was enough to keep you clean. Let me be clear: you are not clean, and I’m not here to clean you.” His eyes narrowed, cruel and cold. “I don’t care what the truth is. I care what it looks like. And right now? You look like a tabloid whore with no sense of consequence. No pride. Just excuses and mascara and headlines I never asked for.” He moved around the table, slow and circling. “Don’t forget who put you in that chair and how many people I had to erase, bury, to put you there. I let you sit at the top, Melody. I never said it was yours to keep. You were a placeholder. A pretty picture for the press. But I can tear it all down just as quickly.” His voice dropped into a hiss, right against her ear. “And don’t think I won’t. The difference between you and me? I know how to survive the fall. You? You still think you’re flying.” He stepped back, finally done, as if he hadn’t just taken a hammer to her spine and called it parenting. "One day you’ll realize that the only thing keeping your world from burning to ash… Was me, even now, still me." “Your role here has been dissolved, effective immediately. I-- slowly Jason started with his gaze firm on her. --Disown you.” Jason sternly spoke. Tears flooded her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Not here. Not in front of them. Fiona couldn’t hide her smirk and gestured Melody to leave. “Stop embarrassing yourself, Melody. Let yourself out before it turns ugly. We don’t have much time left to clean up the mess you made.” The mess I made? The betrayal laced in that phrase cut deeper than her father’s hand. Fiona wanted her gone. She’d always wanted her gone. Melody squared her shoulders and looked Jason in the eye. She turned and walked out of the office, not giving them the satisfaction of seeing her fall apart. Only when she reached the elevator did she allow a single tear to fall. By the time the doors opened on the ground floor, her face was composed, but her world was collapsing. She sank onto a bench outside the building and pulled out her phone. She needed to check the news—needed to see how far the fire had spread. The first headline read: Another Buyer Comes Forward—Claims Melody Peltz Traded Auction Seat for Sex. The man’s name was blurred, but his words were quoted in bold: “She said, ‘Support my work and I’ll make your night unforgettable.’ I didn’t know how to say no.” Melody let out a breath that trembled like a string about to snap. She pressed her hand to her chest. It physically hurt. Another headline flashed: "Peltz's Heiress or Honeytrap? Leaked Messages Reveal More Than Just Art." She scrolled further and found screenshots—fabricated ones—showing conversations she never had. Filthy words twisted into her likeness. Smirks typed in her tone. It was all fake. But it felt real. Too real. She wanted to scream. But all she could do was sit there, stone-faced, as passersby whispered and pointed. Somewhere in the distance, a cab horn blared. Her phone buzzed again. Another notification. Then another. She had seen it all by now, what hate speech was in any of the texts that she hadn't read? What alteration of “Whore” title did they call that she hadn't been called yet?