Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 45: Detective Reynold

Detective Reynold Draven leaned back in his worn leather chair, eyes scanning the board filled with photographs, scattered timelines, and red string connections.

The case had been dragging for weeks—paintings worth millions had gone missing from multiple galleries and private collections across the country.

Each one a national treasure, historical pieces known for their cultural importance. Some dated back centuries, painted by renowned artists whose legacies were carved into the very bones of the nation.

Despite every effort, Reynold had come up empty.

The thefts were clean—no signs of forced entry, no disruptions in surveillance. Security footage showed nothing unusual. The paintings had simply vanished, as if plucked from their walls by ghosts.

He sighed, rubbing his temples, the other hand tapping the edge of a cold coffee mug. Every clue had led to a dead end. At one point, speculation had pointed to a foreign black market ring, but that trail went cold just as quickly as it surfaced.

It was frustrating. The public was furious. Museums were doubling down on security. Private collectors were panicking, some even pulling their pieces from public view.

And Reynold? He was tired. Angry. Haunted by the same question he’d been asking himself for days.

Where the hell are those paintings?

The door to his office suddenly burst open. Detective Jeric Ian, his partner, stepped inside, still catching his breath like he’d run all the way from the lobby.

"Rey. You need to see this," Jeric said, tossing his phone onto the desk.

Reynold raised an eyebrow. "What is it this time? Another theory from some wannabe online detective?"

"No. It’s trending news. Just—look."

With a hint of skepticism, Reynold picked up the phone and squinted at the headline. His heart skipped a beat as he read the bolded title:

"SHOCKING REVELATION AT VAREN ENTERPRISES CHARITY GALA: NATIONAL ART ASSOCIATION PRESIDENT EXPOSED FOR ART THEFT"

The byline struck him like a punch to the gut. ƒreewebɳovel.com

By Zephany Draven

His sister.

He tapped into the article, his eyes narrowing with every word. The charity gala hosted by Varen Enterprises was intended to raise funds for regional museum restorations. A glamorous event, by the looks of it—celebrities, business magnates, art enthusiasts—the place had been packed.

But halfway through the event, an anonymous source had live-streamed footage onto the big screen in the hall. A basement, stacked with canvases.

The camera moved slowly, deliberately. Showing signature after signature. Brushstroke after brushstroke. All authenticated. Many confirmed stolen.

And there—among the pictures included in the article—Reynold saw them. The missing paintings. Every single one. Framed, preserved, and hidden beneath the estate of Mr. Lody.

The President of the National Art Association.

"No wonder we couldn’t find anything," Reynold muttered. "The man who was supposed to help us was the one stealing them."

Jeric exhaled in disbelief. "He had connections everywhere. If he didn’t want us to find something, it disappeared. Just like that."

"And someone exposed him publicly... without us even knowing."

Reynold’s eyes trailed back to the byline.

Zephany.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes distant.

He remembered the conversation they’d had years ago—Zephany, full of fire, saying she wanted to be like their father. An investigative journalist. Someone who chased the truth no matter how dangerous. But he had refused.

He’d seen what that life could do. The danger, the late nights, the fear in their mother’s eyes when their father hadn’t come home on time. He didn’t want that for her. So he insisted she stay on the entertainment side of things. Celebrity coverage. Red carpets. Light-hearted work.

"It’s safer," he had said. "And you’ll still be at Air Media. Dad would be proud either way."

She had agreed. Reluctantly.

But now... she had written the article. The one that blew the case wide open.

Reynold’s grip on the phone tightened.

"Why would she do this without telling me? Does she even know how dangerous this could be?" he muttered.

Jeric nodded slowly. "She probably didn’t want to get you involved. Or maybe she knew you’d try to stop her."

The phone buzzed again.

More updates.

Photos from the gala appeared next. Zephany had attended. She was listed among the guests.

Reynold felt his chest tighten.

And then, more names.

Cassius Varen. Sophia Sparkle.

No pictures of them, but he froze.

"You’re kidding me," he whispered.

Jeric raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"They were there too. Cassius and Sophia."

Jeric’s face paled. "After twelve years?"

Reynold nodded slowly. "I’ve been keeping track of every whisper, every rumor about them. Ever since they vanished without a trace. Nothing. No digital trail. Just gone. But even without them, Varen Enterprises stayed a giant in the business world."

"And now they’re suddenly at an event?"

Cassius Varen had never appeared in public. Everyone only knew him as the elusive owner of Varen Enterprises. It was always his assistant, Sophia Sparkle, who represented him.

But even Sophia had vanished from the public eye twelve years ago.

So why now? Why had they both reappeared?

There was no answer.

But one thing was clear—something bigger was unfolding. Something that went far beyond stolen art.

Reynold badly wanted to talk to his sister about it, to ask her what she knew. But he needed to wrap up the case first. The last thing he wanted was for her to get pulled deeper into the mess.

Still, he called her to check on her and warn her.

After a long day and night, it was already 5 a.m. when he finally had the chance to go home.

Though, to be honest, he was rarely at home. He was always out doing his job as a detective.

But when he stepped inside the house, something felt off. No sign of Zephany.

He knocked gently on her door. No answer.

He hesitated, then pushed it open.

The room was neat. Too neat. He looked around—nothing seemed out of place. Just the usual things: books, chargers, a half-zipped travel bag. He checked the windows, made a mental note to fix the curtain rod that had been loose for weeks. He glanced at the desk—her laptop was gone.

He went over to the drawer. Just making sure everything was where it should be.

Then he saw it.

A crisp envelope. Inside, official papers.

A marriage license. And a contract.

His heart skipped.

What the hell?

His sister... actually signed a marriage contract?