Page 129 of Stalker's Toy

Charles smiles, a predatory glint in his eye. "Excellent. And there's something else. I'd like to purchase this piece." He gestures to the woman in the flames. "It speaks to me on a deep level. Shall we discuss a price?"

I glance at Henrik, unsure how to proceed. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

"Of course," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "What did you have in mind?"

Charles strokes his chin thoughtfully. "I'm prepared to offer 5,000 GBP."

Before I can respond, Henrik interjects smoothly. "I'm afraid you're not the only one who's expressed interest, old friend. The last offer we received was for 10,000 GBP."

I struggle to keep my expression neutral, even as my mind reels.

10,000 pounds?

For one of my pieces?

It seems almost unreal.

Charles raises an eyebrow, looking between Henrik and me.

I can see the wheels turning in his head, reassessing the value of my work.

Charles laughs, a rich, deep sound that echoes through the gallery.

His eyes gleam with amusement and something else—calculation, perhaps.

"Well, well," he says, straightening his already impeccable suit jacket. "It seems I've underestimated the market for such raw talent."

I stand perfectly still, my heart thundering in my chest.

The scars on my arms seem to tingle beneath my sleeves, a reminder of the pain that birthed this very piece.

I wonder if Charles can see the ghosts that haunt every stroke of charcoal.

"How about we settle it at 17,500 GBP and state it's sold?" Charles proposes, his tone casual as if discussing the weather rather than a sum that could change my life.

My breath catches in my throat.

I glance at Henrik, searching for guidance, but his face is impassive.

This is my decision to make.

"It's sold," I hear myself say, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "Thank you for being my first purchase, Mr. Blackwood."

A smile spreads across Charles' face, satisfaction evident in the set of his shoulders. "Excellent choice, my dear. It will go nicely in my home in Moscow."

As he speaks, I can't help but picture my art hanging in some opulent Russian mansion, surrounded by priceless antiques and gilded frames.

Will it stand out, I wonder, or fade into the background like so many pretty trinkets?

"I hope it brings you as much... inspiration as it has brought me," I say softly, thinking of the nightmares that spawned this particular piece.

Charles reaches into his breast pocket, producing a sleek business card that he hands to me with a flourish.

His fingers brush mine as I take it, and I suppress a shiver at the contact.

"You have quite an eye for talent, Henrik," Charles says, turning to my boyfriend. "Someone will scoop this woman up if you're not careful."

I feel my cheeks flush at the implication, a mix ofembarrassment and a strange pride swirling in my chest.

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