By the time we landed, London was already deep in night. We drove straight to the hotel. Adam told me he would be gone the entire next day, and that if I needed anything, John would be at my disposal.
I only nodded in reply. Exhaustion pressed down on me like stone; all I wanted was sleep.
I showered, slipped into bed—but sleep did not come.
Instead, I lay awake, restless, oddly satisfied with myself. I had managed to put Adam in his place, to draw the boundaries sharply and immediately. That mattered. This wasn’t just survival—it was work. And I intended to treat it with the professionalism it demanded.
Unbidden, my thoughts drifted to Dorian. He once told me that the world of high art was nothing more than a high-stakes gamble for the ultra-wealthy. The prize wasn’t the canvas itself
