The gallery buzzed before the doors even opened.
Isabelle stood behind the curtain, fingers twitching. The air was thick with nerves, perfume, and wine-soaked anticipation.
Her name was on the invitation.
Her paintings, her story, her skin — all about to be exposed.
Elijah stood beside her, freshly shaven, in all black.
"You can still pull one or two," he said, motioning toward the corner wall. "If you're not ready."
Isabelle exhaled. "I've never been more ready."
And she meant it.
Until she saw it.
---
Room Two. Wall Three.
A canvas she hadn't chosen.
A painting she never titled.
Elijah.
Naked.
Hands bound behind him, neck arched, expression somewhere between surrender and hunger. Her brushwork — so painfully intimate, it hurt just to look at it.
Her heart stopped.
"Elijah—this wasn't— I didn't—"
"I didn't hang it," he said, voice sharp.
They both turned.
Nathan stood by the wine table, watching them.
---
He didn't smirk. Didn't gloat. Just nodded once like a man who had nothing left to lose.
"You painted it. It belonged to me. I returned it — publicly."
Isabelle's mouth went dry.
"You wanted honesty," Nathan said quietly, "and now you have it. For all the world to see."
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she straightened her spine.
"Then let them look."
---
The critics swarmed. Cameras clicked. Guests gasped. Some called it bold, others obscene.
But Isabelle walked room to room with her head high, voice calm, hand gently brushing Elijah's when no one was watching.
She could feel the eyes on her — hungry, judgmental, envious.
Let them watch.
Let them misunderstand.
For once, the story being told was hers.
---
Later that night, after the crowds had thinned and the wine had soured, she and Elijah sat alone on the gallery floor.
He leaned against the wall where his own naked body loomed above them.
"You think they'll come back tomorrow?"
"They always come back," she said.
"And you?"
She looked at him — not the painting, not the man captured on canvas, but him.
"I'll wake up tomorrow and still choose this."
He grinned. "Even the shame?"
"There's no shame in being seen."
---
But as they sat in silence, her phone buzzed.
A single message.
From an unknown number.
> "Your sins are beautiful. But sins they still are. See you soon, seductress."
---
She showed Elijah the screen.
His smile faded.
And for the first time in weeks, Isabelle felt something cold stir in her chest.
Not guilt.
Not regret.
But the taste of a reckoning yet to come.