The Biennale's opening night was held at the Zurich Art Museum.In the middle of the hall, my painting, The Crack at Dawn, had the most prominent spot in the show.Spotlights hit the cool gray canvas and brought out a deep, mysterious glow. Well-known critics and collectors from all over Europe crowded around it."Incredible tension," said an old critic from Paris, pushing up his glasses in genuine admiration. "Not an ounce of affectation. Every stroke feels like the first breath of someone reborn after utter despair. Ms. Linden, you have a brilliant future ahead of you."I wore a simple black knit turtleneck dress, my long hair pulled into a sleek bun. With a glass of champagne in hand, I smiled and greeted the guests.In this world of pure art and reason, no one knew whose stand-in I used to be. No one knew about the three miserable years I'd spent in a dark penthouse.Halfway through the reception, Felix made his way through the crowd and leaned in close to my ear. "There's someone
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