Lara's hand hit the teacup—now she knew it belonged to her mother—so hard that porcelain shards scattered across the marble floor like stars.
"You're lying." Her voice was colder than she recognized. "My mother died ten years ago. I went to her funeral."
Zeynep Hanım—or whoever she was—stared without blinking. "The funeral you attended had an empty coffin, Lara. The real question is: Why didn't your father tell you the truth?"
Cem stepped between Lara and Zeynep. His protective stance created a strange warmth inside Lara. "Whatever game you're playing, enough. Manipulating a young woman—"
"A young woman?" Zeynep's laugh was sharp enough to shake the crystal chandelier. "Mr. Kara, when you learned who your student really was, did you see her as 'a young woman'? Or did you approach her because she was Kemal Özkan's daughter?"
Lara's breath caught. She turned to Cem, questions dancing in her eyes. "What does she mean?"
Cem's jaw tightened. In that moment, Lara saw real panic on his face for the first time. He was always in control, always calculating two steps ahead. But now...
"Lara, listen—"
"Is she talking about my FATHER?" Lara's voice rose. "You... you knew who I was from the beginning?"
*No no no.* Cem's inner voice screamed. *Not now. It shouldn't happen like this.*
"Answer me!" Lara's hands had become fists. She was trembling—from anger, betrayal, or the collapse of everything, she wasn't even sure herself.
Zeynep poured herself a drink from the corner bar, the sound of glass cutting through the tension. "Should I explain, or will you tell her yourself, Mr. Kara?"
"Shut up!" Cem's voice was harsher than Lara had ever heard. Then he turned to Lara, storms in his eyes. "Yes. I knew."
The words stabbed into Lara's chest like knives.
"Since when?"
"Since the day you applied to the academy."
*So everything was a lie.* Lara staggered back. *The first glances in the studio, the conversations at the museum, the touches... All of it was a game.*
"Why?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
Cem reached out but Lara pulled back. This gesture hurt him more than a slap to the face.
"It's complicated—"
"Complicated?" Lara's bitter laugh. "You're an art history professor. A master of words. Is 'complicated' the best you can do?"
Zeynep interrupted. "Because, my dear, Mr. Kara was after your father's business. And he thought getting close to you was the key to accessing Kemal Özkan's secret collection."
Lara's world spun. She grabbed the wall. "Secret collection?"
"Lara..." Cem's voice was pleading now. "That's how it started. I admit it. But then—"
"Then what? You fell in love?" Lara's eyes filled but she didn't let the tears fall. *Never. I won't give him that satisfaction.* "Everything was a lie. You used me."
"No!" Cem moved closer, this time Lara didn't retreat. Because she had no strength left to move. "Maybe at first, but now... Lara, now everything's different. You're different. We—"
"There is no 'we.'" Lara's voice was ice. "And there never was."
Zeynep sipped her drink. "How emotional. But shall we get to the point? Lara, tomorrow's meeting isn't just a family dinner. M—your father—learned that one of your forgeries has caused problems."
Lara's blood froze. "Which painting?"
"The Caravaggio copy at the Louvre. The museum is suspicious."
*Impossible.* Lara's head was spinning. *That was my best work. Every brushstroke was perfect.*
Cem lunged forward. "The Louvre Caravaggio? M had that painting stolen?" His eyes slid to Lara, the shock of newly understanding something in them. "You... you copied that painting?"
Zeynep grinned. "Now do you understand? Your little student is the ghost you've been chasing for years. The art world's most talented forger. Kemal Özkan's masterpiece."
Lara's legs trembled. She collapsed onto the couch. "Father told me the Louvre had advanced security systems. He was sure no one would notice..."
"But someone did." Zeynep leaned forward. "And guess who? An old acquaintance from Interpol. The same man your father faked his death to escape ten years ago."
"You..." Lara's eyes widened. "If you're really my mother... why appear now?"
"Because, my dear, Interpol isn't just looking for your father anymore." Zeynep's smile vanished. "They're looking for you too. Tomorrow's meeting is a plan to get you out of the country. But first, we have a problem."
Cem interjected. "What problem?"
"The last painting Lara made in her studio at the academy. Dean Selim loved it so much, he decided to display it at the opening." Zeynep's gaze sharpened. "The problem is, that painting is actually a missing Osman Hamdi Bey piece. And among Selim's guests is someone who might recognize it."
Lara's heart stopped. "'Woman from the Bosphorus' in my studio? But that's my original work—"
"No, it's not." Zeynep pulled out her phone, showed a photo. The same painting, but in a black and white photograph from the 1910s. "Your father showed you the original, you copied it without realizing. Muscle memory. You're so talented that you can recreate a piece you saw once, years later, stroke for stroke."
Lara buried her face in her hands. *How could I be so stupid?*
Cem's voice hardened. "The opening is tomorrow night. We need to get the painting."
"'We'?" Lara lifted her head, fire in her eyes. "We're not a team. We never were."
"Lara, please—"
"No!" She jumped to her feet. "You used me. My father used me. You're all liars!" She walked to the door.
Zeynep called out. "If you leave, tomorrow the police will be waiting for you at your studio. And you'll have to expose Mr. Kara's underground dealings. Because the materials he sold you—those special pigments, those rare canvases—they were all extracted from stolen works. You'll be considered an accomplice."
Lara froze at the door handle.
Cem cursed. "Zeynep Hanım, enough!"
"Truth hurts, Mr. Kara." Zeynep finished her drink. "Lara, I have a proposition: Tomorrow night at the opening, while we steal the painting, you create a distraction. Then you meet your mother and father, say goodbye, and you're free. Or go to the police, and we all go down. Your choice."
Lara turned, her eyes sliding from Zeynep to Cem. "And what happens to him?"
"Mr. Kara?" Zeynep smirked. "He goes his own way. Your story together ends here."
*No.* Cem screamed inside. *It can't end like this.*
"Lara," he said, naked honesty in his voice. "I lied to you, I admit it. But tonight... right now... My desire to be with you is real. What I feel for you—"
"What you feel?" Lara's laugh was broken. "You don't even know what you feel. You only know what you want."
She walked to the door. Put her hand on the knob.
"Lara." Cem's voice was a whisper but filled the entire room. "If you leave... are you saying you won't be there tomorrow night?"
Lara didn't turn. "I'll be there tomorrow night. But not for you. For myself." She opened the door. "And from now on, don't touch me again. Don't even say my name."
As she walked out, she heard one last thing—Zeynep saying to Cem in a low voice: "First girl you've let break your heart, Mr. Kara? Unfortunately, she'll also be the first to break it."
As Lara descended the stairs, tears finally flowed.
But the reason for crying wasn't Cem's betrayal.
It was the message on her phone: "Police at the academy. They searched your studio. You have 24 hours. —M"
And below it, a second message from a name she never expected: "Lara, we need to meet. There are things you need to know about Cem. He's not who you think he is. —Elif"