Page 3 of Ruthless Desire

And there, spread out on the bed like an offering, is a veritable cornucopia of every vice known to man. Pills and powders, gleaming like jewels in the candlelight. A mirror dusted with lines of white, a rolled-up bill waiting patiently beside it.

My mouth goes dry at the sight, even as my veins thrum with a desperate, clawing hunger. This is what I came for, isn’t it? The sweet oblivion, the blessed numbness that only chemicals can provide.

But as I reach for the promise of escape with shaking fingers, a voice echoes in my head - clear and cutting as glass.

“You’re better than this, pumpkin.” My father’s gruff tone, laced with emotion and unshed tears. “You’re so much better than this.”

I freeze, hand hovering over the glittering array. For a moment, I’m torn - caught between the siren song of self-destruction and the steady, guiding light of my father’s love.

But in the end, there is no choice at all.

With a shuddering breath, I snatch my hand back as if burned, staggering away from the bed on unsteady legs.

“I can’t,” I whisper, the words cracking on my tongue. “I’m sorry, Si, but I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

Sienna’s face twists into a mask of rage and disbelief, her carefully constructed facade crumbling like a house of cards. “Are you serious right now? After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

I shake my head, vision blurring with tears. “I’m grateful for your help, Si. Truly, I am. But this…this isn’t who I am. It’s not who I want to be.”

She scoffs, eyes glittering with malice. “Oh, please. Spare me the tortured artist routine, Natalie. We both know you’re just a junkie with a paintbrush, a washed-up has-been who’ll never amount to anything.”

Her words cut like a thousand knives, each one finding its mark with unerring precision. But for once, I refuse to let them tear me apart. I won’t let them define me.

“You’re wrong,” I say, my voice steady even as my heart races. “I’m more than that. I’m more than this. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

With that, I turn on my heel and walk out, leaving Sienna and her poisonous promises behind. The cool night air hits me like a slap as I stumble out onto the street, my lungs aching with each ragged breath.

I have no idea where I’m going, or what I’ll do next. But for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I can feel something stirring in my chest - something bright and fierce and unbreakable.

Hope.

It’s a fragile thing, a flickering candle in the all-consuming darkness of my life. But it’s mine, and I’ll nurture it with every ounce of strength I have left.

Because my father was right. I am better than this - better than the lies, the self-destruction, the endless cycle of running and numbing and pretending.

I am Natalie fucking Quinn. An artist, a fighter, a survivor.

And no matter how hard the world tries to break me, no matter how many times I stumble and fall, I’ll always find my way back to the light.

Even if I have to claw my way there, tooth, nail and bloody fingertips.

Chapter 2 Dante

The painting stares back at me, all angry slashes of crimson and black. It's like peering into the artist's tortured fucking soul. I can't look away.

I've always had an eye for the finer things - art, wine, women, and wicked whims. The kind of refined tastes that set me apart from the other thugs and brutes in this business. But this... this is something else entirely.

When I first heard the name Natalie Quinn, it was just a whisper in the back rooms of seedy meetings and smoke-filled lounges. A rising star in the art world, they said. A talent like no other, raw and unfiltered and dripping with a darkness that spoke to the most depraved corners of the soul.

I was intrigued. Enchanted, even. I had to see for myself what all the fuss was about. And now, standing here with her work surrounding me, I know I made the right fucking call.

Because this... this is no mere painting. It's a window into a mind as twisted and beautiful as my own. A siren song, luring me deeper into an obsession I already know will consume me.

And I regret nothing. Not the money, not the time, not the lives I'll undoubtedly have to destroy to make her mine. Because Natalie Quinn isn't just another pretty face or a talented hand.

She's my fucking soulmate. The missing piece I never knew I needed. And now that I've seen her, now that I've tasted the forbidden fruit of her genius... there's no going back.

"Exquisite, isn't it?" purrs the smarmy art dealer, Marcello. He's lucky I don't rip his tongue out for daring to ogle what's mine. Because the moment I saw this painting, I knew she belonged to me. Natalie Quinn.

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