Chapter 42. Her Story, Her Terms

“This time, she chose the chair. The lighting. The questions. She didn’t tell the story they wanted. She told the one she lived.”

It all began with an email she almost erased before it even loaded. The evening air in her apartment was still, save for the quiet hum of the city beyond her window. She’d settled into her worn leather armchair after a long day in the studio, brushes and pigments still dusting her palms, when the ping on her laptop drew her back.

From a producer at Viewpoint—that long-format arts and culture series known for its artfully polished interviews and politely invasive questions—came a simple subject line:

Invitation to speak – Alyssa Wolfe.

She opened it out of habit, her finger hovering briefly over the delete key. She hadn’t granted an interview in over a year, not since the world had turned her life into a tabloid spectacle and every headline had gnawed at her until she became an allegory for scandal. But this message felt different.