Chapter 13. The First Sketch

The studio had always felt off-limits—not because anyone kept the door locked, but because of an unspoken presence that filled the air the moment you crossed its threshold. Max had walked past that heavy oak door a hundred times since Alyssa moved in, each step marked by a tingle at the back of his neck. He’d never needed a sign to tell him he didn’t belong there. It simply wasn’t for him. That understanding had gone unchallenged, until today.

He was in the hallway again, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored slacks, phone tucked under one arm as he replayed details of an impending investor call in his mind. The corridor was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning and his own footsteps on polished concrete.

Normally, the door to Alyssa’s studio lay flush against its frame, a silent, unmoving barrier. But this afternoon, it was cracked open—just enough to let a ribbon of late-day light slip into the dim corridor. A warm glow, honey-gold and pr