Chapter Thirty-Two: What We Make When No One’s Watching
Lena’s POV
The studio behind the north gallery wasn’t romantic.
It was brutal.
Paint-scarred floors, frayed drop cloths, canvases lined against the wall like discarded thoughts. The lighting was poor. The windows were too high. It smelled like linseed oil, old sweat, and the kind of doubt that lingered long after the brush was set down.
It was the only space in Paris that belonged entirely to her.
Not because it was private.
Because it was unapologetically unfinished.
She had never invited anyone in here.
Not friends.
Not patrons.
Not even Luciana.
But tonight, she opened the door for Nikolai.
And for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of what would happen next.
She was only afraid of what it might mean to
