ETHAN WILDERThe art gallery was suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, aged wine, and the pretentious hum of people who bought art to match their sofas.I stood in the corner, dressed in a suit Lenore had picked out, one that fit well but felt like a cage. My job was simple: stand still, look "mysterious," and let Lenore do the talking. She had introduced me as her "assistant," the man who helped with the "preparation" of her masterpieces."Smile, Ethan," Lenore whispered, her hand gripping my arm with surprising strength as a group of critics walked by. "You look like you’re at a funeral.""I’m just tired, Lenore," I murmured. My stomach was still hollow, despite the trays of hors d'oeuvres circling the room. I wasn't allowed to touch them; it would look "unprofessional.""Adjust the lighting on the centerpiece and then disappear to the back," she ordered, spotting a wealthy donor across the room. She glided away before I could respond.I walked toward t
Last Updated : 2026-02-28
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