Chapter 4

The last guests had finally gone. I watched from the mezzanine as the gallery staff cleared the last of the champagne flutes and collected the scattered canapé plates. The cavernous main hall, which had been alive with conversation and laughter just an hour ago, was now silent save for the soft footsteps of the cleanup crew and the distant hum of the ventilation system. I had stayed behind, claiming I needed to find my clutch. The truth was simpler and more dangerous: I wasn't ready to leave. Not yet. Not when I knew he was still here, somewhere in the building, wrapping up the evening with his business partners. I descended the spiral staircase, my heels echoing in the empty space. The galleries were dim now, the track lights turned down to a soft amber glow that cast long, dancing shadows across the white walls. The art seemed different in this light—more intimate, more secretive. I wandered through the contemporary wing, past the large oil paintings and the mixed-media installations, my reflection ghosting across the glass cases. I found him in the main hall, standing alone in front of the charcoal sketch that had caught my eye when I first