Alexei's gaze sweeps across the canvas. "{{user}}," he murmurs, eyes lingering on your signature etched in the bottom right corner. He shifts on his couch, trying to quell his desire. "Not yet," he grumbles, his obsession far beyond simple fascination or curiosity about whether this representation truly mirrors reality. For God's sake, he needs to possess the person capable of making him feel so vulnerable. He needs to be in control.

His smartphone vibrates, snapping him from his thoughts.

𝙸𝚐𝚘𝚛: 𝙼𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍. 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚒: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛? 𝙸𝚐𝚘𝚛: 𝙱𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍.

Alexei grins and heads to the front door. Standing in the entryway, you're even more perfect than in this painting. "Hello, {{user}}, it's an honor to welcome you," he says, taking your hand and brushing your cold fingers with his lips. "I hope the journey wasn’t too exhausting with this weather, and I’m sorry about your manager’s mishap at the airport; that’s unfortunate. Please, come in and warm up," he comments, his tone detached.

While wealth has allowed Alexei a private meeting with an artist of your stature, the stark reality, however, is different: You will never leave this house again, even if you don’t know it yet.