LOGINAria’s POV A young woman in the third row raised her hand. “Ms Myles, do you believe yesterday’s crisis was someone trying to sabotage you?”I paused. If I were being honest, I felt like that is what happened. Instead, I smiled and faced her.“I believe the art world is competitive. I believe people make strategic decisions. Whether those decisions were coordinated against this gallery specifically…” I shrugged. “That’s above my pay grade. What I know is that we solved every problem. And we’re moving forward.”Kyle’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes looked pleased.After the press had left and Thomas was fielding follow-up calls, Kyle and I stood in the main gallery space.“You did well,” he said.“I survived. All thanks to you Kyle.”“You did more than survive.” He walked to one of the empty pedestals. “You won.”I joined him. Looked at where Marina’s sculpture would eventually sit.“I couldn’t have done this without you.”“Yes, you could have. You just didn’t ha
Aria’s POVI woke up on my bedroom floor with my phone vibrating somewhere near my head.Every muscle ached. My face felt stiff from dried tears. The light coming through the windows was too bright, too harsh.I didn’t want to look at my phone.I didn't want to see more messages. More strangers telling me I was worthless. But it kept buzzing.I reached for it. And squinted at the screen.Kyle: “Turn on the news.”That was all. No explanation or context. I almost ignored it and threw the phone across the room and went back to sleep.But something in those four words made me sit up.I grabbed my laptop from the nightstand and opened it.The New York Times homepage loaded.The headline at the top made me blink.“The Takedown of Aria Myles: When Sexism Masquerades as Art Criticism”I clicked.The article was an op-ed by Sandra Morrison, a cultural critic I’d been reading for years. She was known for not pulling punches, for calling out industry bullshit wherever she found it.She’d writt
Jason’s POVThe cigarette burned between my fingers. I quit smoking five years ago, right after Isabelle died. I started again three days ago when the stress became too much to manage without something to do with my hands.The television flickered in the corner of my study. It seems all I watch these days is the financial news. I wasn’t really watching it..Then the headline scrolled across the bottom of the screen:“Myles Gallery in Crisis - Questions About CEO Aria Myles’s Competence”I sat forward.The anchor was talking about the article. Reading select quotes. Showing that photo of Aria from her board meeting.The irony was almost funny.“Industry insiders suggest the gallery was sustained through quiet financial support from Hartley Industries during Ms Myles’s marriage to CEO Jason Hartley…”I took a drag from the cigarette. That part was true, actually. Sort of.Hartley Industries had invested in several arts organizations over the past three years. Tax write-offs, mostly. Go
Aria’s POVI got home at seven. I was very exhausted, but at least I felt much more relaxed. Kyle was being more useful than I thought.Kyle had fixed everything. The Becker Foundation wants to meet tomorrow. The Berlin artist’s portfolio was incredible…bold, visceral work that would anchor the exhibition perfectly. Even Thomas had called to say he’d found someone to cover Sophie’s role temporarily.One catastrophic morning had turned into manageable problems with actual solutions.I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my heels, and headed straight for the bathroom. A hot shower, then maybe I’d order takeout and review the foundation’s requirements before bed.My phone buzzed while I was undressing. Jessica: “Have you seen ArtForum’s website?”I frowned. Typed back: “No, why?”“Call me.”Something in those two words made my stomach drop.I grabbed my laptop from the bedroom and opened ArtForum’s website.The headline was at the top of the page:“Myles Gallery in Crisis: Question
Kyle’s POVThe call came at 9:47 AM. I was in my office working on something when my phone lit up with her name.Aria.I let it ring twice then three times. I made her wait just long enough to feel desperate.Then I answered.“Hey, you.” I kept my voice warm,and concerned. “Everything okay?”“Kyle, I…” She stopped. Took a breath. “Are you busy? I’m sorry to bother you, I just…”She sounded frantic. Worried. Exactly how I needed her.I smiled at the ceiling.“You’re never a bother. What’s wrong?”“It’s the gallery. Everything’s falling apart.” The words tumbled out. “The Hartwell Foundation pulled its funding this morning. Three million dollars. And Daniel Voss backed out of the exhibition. And my assistant quit. All in one day.”I let the silence stretch, for a while, her anxiety was so delicious it felt like I was going to cum by just listening to her sound so worried.“Kyle? Are you there?”“I’m here.” I stood and walked to the window. “I’m just trying to process. That’s… that’s a
Aria’s POVThe call came at 7 AM on a Tuesday.I was still in bed, halfway through my first cup of coffee, reviewing board reports on my laptop when Margaret’s name flashed on my screen.Margaret never called before nine.“What’s wrong?” I answered without saying hello.“The Hartwell Foundation pulled its funding.” Her voice was tight. “Last night. They sent a letter to the gallery director. With no explanation, just a formal withdrawal.”I sat up straight. “How much?”“Three million. The entire spring exhibition sponsorship.”Three million. The spring exhibition had been eighteen months in the making. Twenty-two emerging artists, a three-month run, and a partnership with three museums. It was the biggest thing the gallery had attempted since my father opened it fifteen years ago.Without the Hartwell funding, it was gone.“Did they give any reason?”“The letter cited ‘strategic reallocation of philanthropic resources.’ Standard boilerplate for we changed our minds.”“Get their dir







