Chapter 69: The Social Debut

"Don’t move," Ivan said.

He was standing behind Leo, his fingers working with a precision that felt almost surgical. He was tying a silk necktie around Leo’s throat. It felt a little too tight, like a leash disguised as fashion.

Leo looked at himself in the mirror. He barely recognized the person looking back. The dark circles under his eyes had been hidden with some kind of cream, and his hair was slicked back into a style that made him look older, sharper, and much more like a trophy than a person.

"I don't think I can do this, Ivan," Leo whispered. His hands were tucked into his pockets so the twins wouldn't see them shaking.

Ivan stepped around to face him. He reached up and smoothed the lapel of Leo's dark wool suit. "You have to. It’s a private showing. Just a few collectors and some old friends. They’ve been asking about the 'prodigy' we’ve been keeping hidden."

"I'm not hidden," Leo snapped, his voice cracking. "I'm locked away. There’s a difference."

Ivan didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned in, his face softening just a fraction. "Leo, listen to me. Tonight is about the world seeing you. If you go out there and you look miserable, they’ll ask questions we don't want to answer. But if you smile, if you talk about your work... then you’re just an artist with two very dedicated patrons. Do you understand?"

"You mean I have to lie," Leo said.

"I mean you have to perform," Ivan corrected.

The door opened, and Dmitri walked in. He was wearing a matching suit, looking every bit the composed businessman. He held out a small glass of amber liquid.

"Drink this," Dmitri said. "It’ll settle your nerves."

Leo took the glass. The liquid burned his throat, but it did take the edge off the trembling in his knees. "What if I say something wrong?"

Dmitri smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You won't. Because we’ll be right there. One on each side. We are your shadow tonight, Leo. Just remember: you are the star. We are just the curators."

The gallery was small, located in a building that felt more like a fortress than an art space. The floors were polished white stone, and the walls were covered in deep navy fabric. It was silent except for the low hum of a violin playing in the corner and the clink of expensive glass.

As they walked in, Leo felt the air leave his lungs. There were maybe twenty people there. Men in tailored coats and women dripping in diamonds. They all turned at once, their eyes landing on Leo with a hunger that made him want to bolt for the exit.

"Keep your head up," Dmitri whispered in his ear, his hand firm on the small of Leo’s back.

A woman in a red dress approached them, clutching a flute of champagne. "Dmitri! Ivan! And this must be the famous Leo."

"Elena," Dmitri said, bowing his head slightly. "Yes, this is him."

Elena looked Leo up and down. Her eyes felt like cold water. "He’s much younger than I expected. And much more... delicate. Tell me, Leo, what inspires those dark strokes I saw in the preview? They felt so violent."

Leo opened his mouth, but his tongue felt like a piece of dry wood. He looked at the paintings on the walls—his paintings. They looked like strangers to him now.

"I... I just paint what I see," Leo managed to say. He tried to sound like the person he used to be—the student who loved color and light. "I guess things have just been a bit darker lately."

Elena laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. "How poetic! The suffering of the artist. It adds at least ten percent to the asking price, wouldn't you say, Dmitri?"

Leo felt a surge of heat in his chest. Suffering? she had no idea. He wanted to tell her about the door that didn't have a handle. He wanted to tell her about the nights spent staring at the ceiling of a gilded cage.

"Leo is very modest," Ivan said, stepping in smoothly. "His work is less about suffering and more about the truth of human nature. Isn't that right, Leo?"

"Right," Leo echoed. He felt like a puppet.

As the night went on, the faces blurred together. Every conversation felt like a minefield.

A man with a grey beard cornered him near a piece Leo had finished only three days ago—a study of a hand reaching through bars of light. "The composition here is fascinating. Tell me, what was your headspace when you chose this angle? It feels so desperate."

Leo looked at the man. He looked like a normal person. He probably went home to a family. He probably drove his own car and decided when he wanted to go to sleep.

"I was thinking about how small a room can feel," Leo said. He didn't look at the twins. He just looked at the man. "Even if the room is beautiful. Even if it’s full of everything you ever wanted. If you can't leave, it’s still a cell."

The man blinked, his smile faltering. "Oh. I... well, that’s a very literal interpretation."

"Is it?" Leo asked. His voice was getting louder. "Have you ever been told that your life belongs to someone else because they’re the only ones who appreciate your soul? Because that’s what this painting is. It’s not 'fascinating.' It’s a scream."

The silence that followed was heavy. Leo could feel Ivan’s gaze burning into the side of his head.

"Leo has a very dramatic way of explaining his process," Ivan said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low tone. He gripped Leo’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle. "Why don't we go get some fresh air, Leo? You’ve been working so hard lately, the fumes must be getting to you."

"I'm fine," Leo said, trying to pull away, but Ivan didn't let go.

"You're tired," Dmitri said, appearing on his other side. He looked at the guest with a perfect, fake smile. "Excuse us. Our artist is a bit overwhelmed by his own genius tonight."

They led him away, their movements synchronized. They didn't take him to the balcony for air. They led him into a small, private office at the back of the gallery.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the masks dropped.

"What was 그건 (that)?" Dmitri demanded. He wasn't shouting, but his voice was vibrating with anger. "We told you to be charming. Not to start making the guests uncomfortable with your 'screams'."

"They asked!" Leo yelled back. He was shaking now, the adrenaline finally hitting him. "They asked what it meant! Should I have lied? Should I have told them I’m so happy to be your little pet?"

Ivan stepped closer, his shadow looming over Leo. "You’re not a pet, Leo. You’re an investment. And tonight, you almost ruined that investment. Do you have any idea how much work it took to get those people in that room?"

"I don't care!" Leo sobbed, the weight of the night finally breaking him. "I don't care about the money or the gallery! I just want to talk to someone without you two hovering over me. I wanted to feel like a human being for five minutes!"

Ivan’s expression shifted. For a second, he looked almost pained. He reached out as if to touch Leo’s cheek, but Leo flinched away.

"We are the only ones who see you, Leo," Ivan said softly. "Those people out there? They just want a piece of you to hang on their walls. We want the whole thing. We want the person who makes the art."

"Then let me be a person," Leo pleaded. "Please. Just let me walk home. Just for tonight."

Dmitri walked over to the desk and picked up his phone. "The car is waiting at the back. We’re leaving. Clearly, you aren't ready for the world yet."

"I am ready!" Leo cried. "The world is ready! It's you two who aren't ready to let me go!"

Dmitri didn't answer. He just opened the door and gestured for Leo to move.

As they walked back through the gallery toward the rear exit, Leo looked at the guests one last time. They were laughing and drinking, oblivious to the boy being escorted out like a prisoner. He realized then that he really didn't know how to talk to them anymore. Their world was full of small talk and light.

His world was only shades of blue and the g

rip of two sets of hands that refused to let go.