Page 128 of Stalker's Toy

But Henrik saw something in me, in my art.

He nurtured my talent, pushed me to explore the darkest corners of my psyche and translate that onto paper.

Under his guidance, my work evolved from raw, angry sketches to the polished pieces on display tonight.

I owe him everything.

"Mia, darling," Henrik's voice breaks through my reverie. "Come meet Evelyn. She's a curator at the Tate Modern."

I paste on a smile and turn to greet the newcomer, pushing my conflicted feelings aside.

Tonight isn't about me or my tangled relationship with Henrik.

It's about my art.

As the night wears on, I begin to feel the strain of constant socializing.

My cheeks ache from smiling, my throat raw from talking.

But I push through, knowing how crucial these connections could be for my career.

I'm in the middle of explaining my creative process to a group of art students when I feel Henrik's hand on thesmall of my back.

"Pardon the interruption," he says smoothly. "But I'm afraid I need to borrow Mia for a moment."

He guides me away from the group, his touch both possessive and steadying.

"How are you holding up?" he asks once we're relatively alone.

I exhale slowly. "I'm... managing. It's a lot."

Henrik nods, his expression sympathetic. "You're doing beautifully,Nattblomma. Just a bit longer."

He's right, of course.

Henrik's hand remains on my back as he steers me toward a distinguished-looking gentleman standing near my most provocative piece—the woman screaming in the fire.

A lot of people have been heading over that way tonight.

The man's eyes are fixed on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something darker that I can't quite place.

"Mia," Henrik says, his voice low and smooth, "I'd like you to meet Charles Blackwood. He's an old friend and owns several prestigious galleries here in London."

I extend my hand, trying to ignore the way my heart races. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Blackwood."

Charles takes my hand, his grip firm. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Cohen, your work is... extraordinary."

"Thank you," I say, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "I'm glad you're enjoying the show."

Charles nods, his gaze returning to the painting. "More than enjoying. In fact, I'd like to discuss something with you." He pauses, his eyes meeting mine. "I'm interested in giving you space for a new collection next summer in one of my galleries."

My breath catches in my throat.

This is the kind of opportunity I've dreamed of.

I force myself to remain composed, even as excitement bubbles up inside me.

"That's incredibly generous," I manage to say. "I'd be honored to discuss it further."

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