The rain had stopped, but the streets of Chicago remained slick and reflective, mirroring the neon lights like spilled ink. Graham had arranged for a private night viewing at an exclusive contemporary art gallery in the River North district. The owner, a man who owed Graham a string of professional favors in New York, had cleared the building entirely.
It was just the two of them, surrounded by towering, abstract marble sculptures and stark white walls.
"Look at this piece, Lee," Graham murmured, his hand resting heavily on the small of her back. The heat of his palm burned through the emerald silk dress. He pointed to a sculpture of a female figure half-entwined in jagged shards of obsidian.
"It represents raw beauty trapped by chaos. It reminds me of us. Of how I found you."
Lee swal
