Chapter 34: DANTE MIGHT BE AN ISSE

MIA

They sent the modification contract and at this point, I felt like throwing my laptop across the room

“Following discussions with your model, we've agreed to the following restrictions: Limited usage to five (5) images maximum, selected from the attached approved list. All images must avoid direct face visibility or intimate framing. Publication will proceed under these terms or the feature will be withdrawn. Please confirm acceptance within 48 hours.”

Five images. From a series of twelve that I'd carefully curated to tell a story about urban isolation and human connection. Five images chosen not by me or the editor but by Dante based on what made him "uncomfortable" which apparently meant anything that showed he was actually a person with emotions instead of a collection of shadows and angles.

What the actual fuck?

I grabbed my phone and called him and when he answered with his usual calm "Hey" I could barely speak through the rage.

"Five photos. They're only using five fucking photos."

"Mia—"

"Do you understand what you've done?! This was supposed to cover two pages and be my breakthrough but now you have compromised it to half a version of what it was supposed to be."

"I was protecting my privacy—"

"By destroying my work!" I was pacing now because I couldn't stand still. "These were my images, my career and you took it upon yourself to gut it without even asking me."

"I did ask you at dinner and you agreed we needed to find a compromise."

"A compromise would have been us discussing it together and making a decision together. Not you emailing my client directly and imposing restrictions I had no say in."

Silence on the other end and I could hear him breathing hard.

"We'll talk about this when I get home," he said finally. "You're upset and I understand why but we can't have this conversation while you're yelling."

"I'm not yelling—"

"You are and I need you to calm down before we discuss this rationally."

The dismissal in his tone made something snap inside me. "Don't tell me to calm down! Don't talk to me like I'm being hysterical when you're the one who sabotaged my career!”

"I'll be home in an hour." He hung up.

I stood there staring at my phone, shaking with anger that had nowhere to go because he'd just ended the conversation like I was a child throwing a tantrum instead of a professional whose work had been compromised by someone who had no right to interfere.

He came home with takeout like nothing was wrong.

I was sitting on the couch with my laptop open to the restricted image list and when he walked in with bags of food like this was a normal evening I felt my jaw clench so hard it hurt.

"I got Thai. Your favorite." He set the bags on the counter.

"I don't want food. I want to talk about what you did."

"We can talk while we eat." He started unpacking containers. "Have you eaten today?"

"Dante—"

"Have you?" He looked at me. "Because you get irrational when you haven't eaten and I need you to think clearly for this conversation."

The gentle tone made me want to scream but I forced myself to stay calm because he was trying to provoke me by trying to make me seem unreasonable so he could position himself as the rational one.

"I ate." A lie. "Now can we please discuss why you went behind my back?"

He sighed and came to sit across from me. "I didn't go behind your back and you know it. I just used my legal protection for my images."

"Legal protection from what? From your girlfriend's career success?"

"From being exploited." He said it so calmly like he was making sense when in fact he was spewing rubbish. "I only agreed to that shoot for your eye only."

"You signed an agreement—"

"That you gave me to sign without full disclosure about how the images would be used." He leaned forward. "I trusted you and you violated that trust by treating me like a prop in your career advancement instead of a person with reasonable privacy concerns."

"That's not fair," I said quietly.

"Isn't it? Would you want intimate photos of yourself published without having control over which ones and how they're posting?" He reached across and took my hand. "I'm not trying to ruin your career. I'm trying to protect myself while still supporting your work. That's why I agreed to a compromise."

"Five photos isn't a compromise. It's a gutted version of the series."

"Then let's negotiate. Show me the list they sent and we'll choose together."

I pulled up the attachment and turned my laptop toward him.

"We'll pick eight," he said. "That's more than five. I'll email them tonight and agree to eight if we choose them together."

"This isn't how art works—"

"This is how consent works." His voice was still calm but there was an edge underneath. "You don't get to make unilateral decisions about my image any more than I get to make them about yours. Now let's pick eight photos that work for both of us."

I wanted to argue but how could I argue with that without sounding like I was dismissing his autonomy?

So I pulled my laptop back and started scrolling through options while he watched over my shoulder and every image I suggested he had a reason to reject.

"Not this one. My face is too visible."

"Not this one, it's too intimate."

"Not this one. I'm laughing and people don't need to see me like that."

The last one made me stop scrolling. "What's wrong with laughing?"

"It's too personal and unguarded." He pointed to another image where his face was turned away from the camera. "This one works. Use this instead."

"But that one is—" Everything the series wasn't supposed to be. "It doesn't have the same emotional impact."

"It just has a different impact." He was clicking through images now, selecting ones where his face was barely visible. "These eight. This is what I'm comfortable with."

I looked at his selections and felt something break inside me because these were technically good photos but they weren't the story I'd been trying to tell.

"These aren't—" My voice was rising again. "These completely change the narrative. The whole point was showing connection despite isolation and these photos are just isolation with no connection."

"Lower your voice." He snapped. "I'm trying to work with you here but I need you to stop raising your voice at me."

"I'm not—"

"You are and it's disrespectful." He met my eyes and my stomach dropped at the authority in them. "I have been patient with you. I have tried to compromise but you need to understand that you don't get to speak to me like this just because you're unhappy with a situation you created."

The shift in power was so sudden that I actually took a step back even though we were both sitting down.

"A situation I created?"

"You submitted my images without full transparency and now you're experiencing consequences. That's not my fault." He gestured to the laptop. "Now. Do you want to accept these eight or do you want to go back to the publication with five that I choose alone?"

I stared at him and tried to find the man I liked but I couldn't find him anywhere.

"Fine." I felt defeated. "We'll use the eight you have selected."

"Thank you." He pulled my laptop toward him and started composing an email to the publication. "See? We can work together when you're willing to be reasonable."

I watched him type out the message and felt the last piece of my artistic integrity crumble because the version of him I'd captured in those rejected photos was the version I'd fallen in love with.

And he'd just systematically eliminated every trace of that person from the work.

"Done." He hit send and closed the laptop. "See? Problem solved. Your feature is saved and my privacy is protected. Everyone wins."

But I hadn't won anything. I'd lost the most important part of the work and compromised my vision to accommodate someone else and the worst part was I couldn't even fight because I'd lose.

"I need some air," I said.

"It's late—"

"I'll stay in the building. I just need to clear my head."

He studied me for a moment like he was deciding whether to allow it and that alone should have been a red flag the size of Manhattan because I shouldn't need his permission to take a walk in my own building.

"Okay but don't be long."

I grabbed my keys and headed for the door and when I reached the hallway I leaned against the wall, trying to breathe through the pain.

The question wasn't whether he was hiding his true self from the world.

The question was whether he'd ever shown it to me at all.