Lauren's heels tapped softly on the polished marble of the gallery, echoing among low conversations and the clink of crystal glasses. She ran her fingers over a glass of red wine, observing the piece in front of her—an explosion of aggressive colors and brushstrokes that seemed to bleed. It unsettled her. Or perhaps it was just the elegant discomfort of being there, among strangers who seemed to fit so perfectly into that universe of social masks and restrained smiles.

She had accepted the ...