Indulgencex-24-08-2022--02915015:53 — Min

Now, two years later, a woman in a sharp silk suit stood beside him, her reflection caught in the gold veins of the piece.

The timestamp on the frame——wasn't just a duration; it was a deadline.

Indulgence wasn't about luxury then. It was about the reckless surrender to the clock. He had grabbed a jar of gold leaf and a bottle of expensive malbec, splashing both across the surface with a frantic, rhythmic desperation. He didn't paint with brushes; he used his palms, his sleeves, and the raw energy of a man who had stopped caring about "correct" and started caring about "now."

He remembered that afternoon in August. The heat in the studio had been stifling, the kind of air that sticks to your lungs. He had exactly fifteen minutes and fifty-three seconds before the collectors arrived, and the canvas was still a sterile, frightening white.