Page 19 of The Bratva's Forbidden Pregnancy

Her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue. Her lips parted slightly, and she seemed to hold her breath as if caught off guard by my presence. Sienna’s gaze faltered, and she immediately looked away, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

I smirked, feeling a wind of passion brush over my face.

She was so beautiful in that red dress, with its hem almost sweeping the fine floor. Her feet were perfectly balanced on a pair of silver heels. Around her neck was a silver jewel that shimmered in the lights, as did the watch on her left wrist, which was the same color.

She was shy and avoided eye contact with me, but the smile on her face remained. Her slender body tensed, yet her sparkling eyes darted back to mine as if drawn by a magnet.

Sienna’s grin revealed her perfect white teeth, even though she seemed troubled about what to do next. She was probably contemplating saying hello or just acting like she didn’t recognize me. But the latter was almost impossible.

Her turmoil must have resulted from what her grandmother or the rest of the family had told her about me.

I flashed her a warm grin, hoping that she’d mirror it, and she did with a shy smile of her own, her eyes dazzling with a hint of mischief.

This was the invitation I needed, so I approached her.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” I asked. “The painting.”

“Of course,” she replied, returning her eyes to it. “It captures a story hidden within the brush strokes.” She stole a glance at me. “This piece reminds me of Degas’ iconic ‘Echoes of the Night.’” She let out a soft sigh. “Nightingale is truly talented.”

I smirked; she was indeed an art enthusiast. “Remarkable,” I said. “I didn’t know you were into art.”

“Well…” she said, blushing, “art is beautiful, and I love beautiful things.”

“That makes the two of us,” I said with a low hum.

For the next two seconds, we locked eyes in silence, her smile unwavering.

“Take this piece, for instance.” Her eyes darted back to it. “It already resonates with me, and I see hope and beauty in it. Like a little light in the dark.”

“How do you see light in that?” My brows instinctively rose. “All I see is darkness, pain, and suffering,” I said, wondering where she saw hope and beauty in the painting.

She glanced at me and flashed that pretty smile of hers. “You see agony and despair, but I see a struggle to find light in a world consumed by darkness. How come you don’t?”

I paused for a moment, shifting my gaze back to the portrait. “I guess that’s because I view the world from a broken lens.” I turned to her. “Where you see good, I see evil.”

“We both have different opinions on this, then.”

“I couldn't agree more. We see what we want to see,” I replied. “I guess that’s the magic of art.”

“Maybe,” she said, looking right at me. “But why would you want to see pain and suffering?”

I paused for a moment. “When you’ve lived so long in darkness, it’s hard to imagine a world without it. You became one with it, with the pain and all the suffering that comes with it. Therefore, when you look at things, that’s all you see.”

“Are you talking about the painting or everything in general?” she asked, unwilling to tear her gaze from me.

I couldn't respond, so she added, “What do you see when you look at me? Do you see pain and suffering?”

She almost threw me off balance with her question; it was a trick, and I had to think before giving her my response.

“You're beautiful,” I said, “No one will see pain and suffering when they look at you.” My eyes bore into hers, and I offered her a faint grin when her cheeks turned red.

“Thank you,” she replied. “If you can see beauty in me, surely you can manage to see the light in this painting.” She returned her eyes to it.

“Unfortunately, I can’t,” came my reply. “The more I try to see anything other than darkness and pain, the more darkness I see.”

She was supposed to have been disturbed by the words that I’d spoken; many would have been. But Sienna looked at me as though I was some lost sheep. She wasn’t scared or anything. No. She simply retained her smile.

“What’s so amusing?” I asked.

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