It begins with a job like any other. A wife in distress rings the door to Lyla Marina's Private Detective Agency and spills her life story. Lyla tracks the wayward husband to a motel in the middle of nowhere, expecting to find the usual suspects. Except she doesn't find anything of the sort.
The husband locks himself in the motel room and does nothing, so she does the logical thing.
She waits until he leaves and breaks in.
There's no woman, no secret fetish or shameful tale for her to uncover.
Instead, she finds a book that is unlike anything she's ever seen before.
The story should end there. It's just a book, after all.
But things are never the easy. A few days after that, she breaks into a home for a job. Theodore is a doctor, a man of considerable prestige and power, a man whom she has never met before. And yet, she finds in his home a room from the ceiling to the floor, drawn and painted in vivid detail with different media, charcoal and pencil sketches, oil and watercolor paintings... of her.