Page 7 of Ruthless Desire

Because in the end, you'll realize... you were meant for me. Fated to be my most cherished possession, the dark jewel in my tarnished crown.

And no force in heaven or hell will keep me from claiming what is mine by blackest right.

So you better run, my Natalie. Flee to the far corners of the world, lose yourself in the winding labyrinth of your own haunted psyche.

I'll find you. I'll have you…no matter how loudly your mind rebels.

Chapter 3 Natalie

Istare at the email, my heart pounding a staccato beat against my ribcage. The words seem to blur and dance before my eyes, a dizzying ballet of disbelief and elation.

"Dear Ms. Quinn,

We are thrilled to inform you that an anonymous buyer has purchased your entire 'Shattered Illusions' collection. The sum of $500,000 has been transferred to your account, effective immediately.

Congratulations on this incredible achievement. We look forward to seeing more of your groundbreaking work in the future.

Best regards, The Crimson Gallery"

Half a million dollars. For my art, my blood, sweat, and tears splashed across the canvas. It doesn't seem real, like at any moment I will wake up from this fever dream and find myself back in my dingy studio, just another starving artist chasing an impossible fantasy.

But the numbers don't lie. I refresh my bank account with trembling fingers, watching in awe as the balance jumps from double digits to more zeroes than I have ever seen in my life.

I let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy, spinning around in circles like a child on Christmas morning. For so long, I have fought and scraped and clawed for every scrap of recognition, every glimmer of validation in a world that seemed determined to chew me up and spit me out.

And now, finally, my moment has arrived. My art, the twisted manifestations of my broken psyche, has found a home, a patron who sees the value in my vision.

I fumble for my phone, my hands shaking with adrenaline and disbelief. There is only one person I want to share this news with, the one person who has always believed in me, even when I couldn't believe in myself.

"Dad," I breathe when he picks up on the first ring. "You're never going to guess what just happened."

"You finally won the lottery and you're going to buy your old man a yacht?" he teases, his voice warm with affection.

"Better," I say, my grin threatening to split my face in two. "I sold my collection, Dad. The whole damn thing, for half a million dollars."

There is a beat of silence, then a whoop of joy that echoes my own. "Hot damn, pumpkin! I knew you had it in you, I always knew you were destined for greatness."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, blurring my vision. "I couldn't have done it without you, Dad. You've always been my biggest fan, my rock. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Well, you'll never have to find out," he says fiercely. "I'm so proud of you, Natalie. So damn proud. You've worked so hard for this, and you deserve every bit of success that comes your way."

I sniffle, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. "Thanks, Dad. That means everything to me."

"Listen, why don't you come over to the house tonight?" he says, a note of excitement creeping into his voice. "We can celebrate properly, crack open a bottle of champagne, and toast to your bright future."

I hesitate, glancing around at the chaos of my studio. I had planned on spending the night in a paint-fueled frenzy, pouring my elation and creative energy into a new series of works.

But the thought of celebrating with my dad, of basking in his pride and love, is too tempting to resist. "Yeah, okay," I say, my heart swelling with anticipation. "I'll be there in an hour."

"Can't wait to see you, pumpkin," he says, the smile evident in his voice. "Drive safe, okay?"

"I will, Dad. Love you."

"Love you mostest."

I hang up, a giddy laugh bubbling up from my chest. For the first time in longer than I can remember, everything seems to be falling into place. My art, my career, my relationship with my father - it all feels like pieces of a puzzle clicking together, forming a picture of a life I have only dared to dream of.

I dash to my closet, rummaging through the hangers until I find the only dress that isn't covered in paint splatters or frayed at the edges. It is a simple black sheath, the fabric clinging to my curves in all the right places.