Lola
Copyright© 2026 by Sandra Alek
Chapter 3
The gallery was filled with a cold blue light. Huge canvases hung everywhere — the very photos Lola had taken in the studio and at the club. But the central wall was covered with a heavy black curtain.
Peter walked through the hall, holding Emma’s arm. He looked elegantly dressed in his tuxedo, nodding condescendingly at acquaintances.
“I must admit, your friend has talent, Em,” he said casually. “Though her attraction to ... marginality can be a bit tiring.”
Emma stayed silent. She wore that same black dress with a slit, but today she had on the diamond necklace. She felt the cold metal pressing against her stomach with every step.
Lola emerged from the shadows, beaming with a predatory smile.
“Peter! I’m glad you came. Tonight is special. I want you to unveil the masterpiece.”
She led them to the curtain. Peter, flattered by the attention, took hold of the cord.
“Well, let’s see what your posing time was worth, Emma.”
He tugged on the cord. The curtain fell.
On the huge canvas was Emma. But not the Emma Peter knew. In the club photo, her face was twisted in ecstasy, her hair messy, and clear fingerprints marked her neck. It was an embodiment of vice. But Lola had expertly layered filters: her face was half in shadow, creating the illusion that it could have been any woman ... or exactly this one.
Peter froze. His fingers turned white on the glass.
“This is ... bold,” he managed to say. “Very much like you, Emma. But, of course, it’s exaggerated.”
“It’s art, Peter,” Lola whispered, stepping closer to him. “It always magnifies what is hidden inside. Come on, I’ll show you a series of sketches in the small room. It’s exclusive for collectors. Emma, dear, stay here and accept your compliments.”
Lola pulled Peter into the next room, putting her hand on his elbow and showering him with complicated terms about the architecture of the frame. She knew how to occupy his mind.
As soon as they disappeared around the corner, Mark stepped out of the shadow at the edge of the painting. He wore black, almost blending into the dimness of the gallery.
“He’s looking at your photo and doesn’t see you,” Mark whispered, moving up behind Emma.
From behind the drywall, Peter’s voice was monotone and confident: “ ... these shadows emphasize the drama, Lola, but in real life, such composition would be excessive.”
At that moment, in the shadow of the huge canvas, Mark pressed Emma’s face against the rough brick wall. He acted silently, with frightening speed. One hand grabbed both her wrists behind her, squeezing until her joints cracked, while the other yanked the hem of the black silk dress up.
Emma felt the cold metal of the necklace tighten against her hips — Mark slipped his fingers under it and yanked it sideways, gaining access to her body.
“Do you hear him?” Mark growled in her ear. “He’s talking about shadows. And I’m about to f*** you against your own portrait.”
He entered her with one sharp, dry thrust, giving no time for preparation. Emma screamed, but the sound drowned in her own palm, which she quickly clasped over her mouth. Her body shuddered from pain and the instant heat that followed. The wall behind her face vibrated slightly — on the other side, Peter gestured and accidentally bumped into her shoulder.
“Emma? Are you there?” her husband’s voice sounded very close, just a meter away.
Mark didn’t stop. Instead, he started moving faster, roughly pushing her against the wall. With each thrust, Emma’s chest hit the cold brick, and the necklace on her stomach made a faint, rhythmic jingle.
“Answer him,” Mark commanded, biting her earlobe hard.
“I ... I’m here, Peter,” Emma gasped. Her voice trembled, breaking into a rasp. She bit down on the back of her hand to stifle a moan as Mark deliberately changed angles, hitting her most sensitive spots. “I’ll ... be right there. Just enjoying the light.”
Lola stood in the doorway separating the two rooms. She saw everything: Peter’s calm back and how Mark roughly lifted Emma’s dress, how his hand tightened around her throat, arching her head back. Lola raised her champagne glass, toasting to Emma, her eyes shining with mad triumph. She slowly pulled out her phone and started filming, capturing this crazy triad.