The Heavenly Demon of Terror

(Henry's POV)

The moment I stepped further into the banquet hall, a ripple of recognition spread through the crowd.

Eyes turned.

Voices hushed.

And then—applause.

A group of elite businessmen, collectors, and high-profile socialites surrounded me, their faces filled with admiration.

"Mr. Liberty!" One of them, an older man in an expensive suit, stepped forward with a pleased smile. "It's an honor to finally meet you in person. Your recent exhibition in Oslo was simply breathtaking!"

Another chimed in, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "The way you capture emotion in your art... it's unlike anything we've seen in decades. Truly, a once-in-a-generation talent!"

I smirked, adjusting my cufflinks. "I appreciate the kind words."

A woman, elegantly dressed in a designer gown, stepped closer. "Your work carries so much depth, Mr. Liberty. It's as if each piece tells a story of pain, resilience, and triumph."

I gave a small chuckle. "Maybe because it does."