Page 24 of Ruthless Royalty

He’s not used to being ignored. “What, no comeback? No snarky remark? You’re making this too easy, Kitten. Where’s the fight in you?”

Oh, am I Kitten now?

Normally I would retaliate, but there’s no spark left in me to fight back, no energy to give him the reaction he’s clearly itching for.

He doesn’t follow me, just watches me go, and I can feel the confusion radiating off him. I don’t care. He’s just another obstacle in a day I’m trying to survive.

By the time the last bell rings, I’m exhausted, not physically, but emotionally drained. I don’t even want to go back to theCrown Suites and risk running into anyone. I need space, somewhere I can just be alone and think.

Without a second thought, I head straight to Studio 3, my sanctuary in this hellhole of a school. As soon as I step inside, I feel a small measure of relief wash over me. The familiar scent of paint and canvas ground me, the quiet space offering a reprieve from the constant noise in my head.

I grab my supplies and set up at my usual spot, not even bothering to change into my painting clothes. I just need to paint, to lose myself in the strokes of the brush and let the colors bleed out all the emotions I can’t put into words.

Hours pass, or maybe it’s only minutes. I don’t know. I’m so focused on the canvas in front of me that everything else fades away. The world narrows down to just me and the image I’m creating, the strokes of paint blending together to form something raw and real.

It isn’t until I finally step back to look at what I’ve created that I realize I’m not alone.

Leo is standing a few feet away, watching me with an intensity that sends a jolt of surprise through me. I hadn’t even noticed him come in, and for a moment, I just stand there, staring at him, trying to process the fact that I’m not alone.

I wipe my hands on my jeans, smearing paint across the fabric as I try to calm the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach.

“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended.

“Long enough,” he replies, his tone gentle, but there’s a concern in his eyes that I can’t ignore. “Are you okay, Chiara?”

I hesitate, the automatic response of“I’m fine”on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it. I’m not fine. I’m far from it. Instead, I shake my head, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me again.

“No,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m just … dealing with something.”

He doesn’t press for details, doesn’t push me to explain. Instead, he just nods, understanding clear in his blue eyes.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you ever do... I’m here.”

I offer him a small, grateful smile, the first one I’ve managed all day. “Thanks, Leo.”

He grins, the expression lighting up his face in a way that makes it impossible not to feel at least a little bit better.

“Hang on, I’ve got something for you.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a sketchbook, flipping through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for.

Curious, I take the sketch from him, and when I look down at it, my breath catches in my throat. It’s me.

He’s drawn me, but not just how I look. Somehow, he’s captured everything I’m feeling in this one image—the weariness in my eyes, the tension in my posture, even the way I’m holding myself together despite everything.

It’s all there, laid bare in the delicate lines and shading.

“Leo…” I trail off, not knowing what to say. I’ve never had someone see me like this, not even when I’ve tried to explain it. “This is … wow.”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I just drew what I saw.”

I look at the sketch again, my fingers tracing the edges of the paper. It’s incredible, and it’s a gift I didn’t know I needed.

“Thank you,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, his smile widening a bit. “I wasn’t sure if I should give it to you, but you seemed like you could use a little pick-me-up.”

I manage a small smile in return, feeling a bit lighter than I have all day. “You have no idea.”

We stand there in comfortable silence for a moment, the tension from earlier easing away as I look at the sketch again. It’s a reminder that maybe not everyone here is out to screw me over, that there are still good people in this twisted world.

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