(THIRD PERSON POV)
Alina stood in the marbled reception of Grant Enterprises, palms damp against her dress. Beside her, the frame leaned upright, sealed in brown paper and string. Inside was her boldest work yet — ropes burning red against pale painted skin, a blindfolded woman arched back in surrender, her body alive with hunger and defiance.
She whispered to herself, This is the one, Alina. This is the door.
“Mr. Grant will see you now,” the receptionist said crisply.
Alina smoothed her dress, pressed her lips together, and left the frame by the wall. Her heels clicked down the long corridor, echoing too loudly.
When she entered, Grant’s office swallowed her whole. It was wide, glass walls flooding the room with the city’s skyline. Behind a desk of black steel sat Grant himself, lea
