The room was dimmer than the main studio, lit only by a few soft lamps that stood near the corners. The walls, however, were lined with canvases. Some leaned against the wall, some hung neatly in rows, others stood unfinished on easels. It was like stepping into Damien’s mind, into a place he hadn’t let anyone else see.
Lena froze at the threshold. “This is your…?”
“My private gallery,” Damien finished for her. His voice was quiet, careful. “These are pieces I don’t usually show anyone. Some are finished. Some… are only beginnings.”
Her eyes roamed over the paintings. She saw bodies, nude figures mostly women reclining, standing, twisting, stretched in poses that were at once vulnerable and powerful. The brushstrokes were bold yet precise. Damien’s eye for detail was staggering, his abi
