Page 128 of The Painter and His Poet

Despite my fear, I clench my hands into fists, rage filling me now. "You truly think you can just buy your way out of this? That you won’t get caught? That someone won’t suspect.” My voice trembles, but I fight against the fear gripping my heart.

Robert's smirk falters for a moment, as if he's genuinely considering my words. “You truly have no idea how dark the world is. It’s rather sweet, your innocence. Shame I’m going to have to snuff it out.” He takes another step towards me, and I know I have to act quickly.

With a burst of adrenaline, I launch myself at the table, my fingers wrapping around the palette knife as I snatch it up. Twisting on my feet I lunge at Robert, slicing his cheek with thesharpened edge. He reaches for his face, shock reflected in his eyes before they turn steely.

“You surprise me, Harlow. I’m going to enjoy this,” he says, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam as he lunges at me, but I dodge his grasp and swing the palette knife at his head.

He catches it with his hand, leaving a shallow wound on his palm. I seize the opportunity to kick him in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards, coughing and spluttering. Then I run, focussing only on my escape as I drop the palette knife and reach inside my pocket for the key.

Throwing one last look over my shoulder to make sure Robert is still on the floor, I lift the key to the lock, my hand shaking so much that it takes me three attempts to get it inside. Finally the lock gives way, and right at the same moment, as my hand wraps around the handle, Robert’s arm wraps around my throat.

A blood curdling scream parts my lips as his other arm wraps around my waist and he lifts me off my feet.

“Got you,” he snarls into my ear as he drags me kicking and screaming across the room. With one rough shove, he chucks me to the floor, then clambers over me, straddling my thighs. I buck my hips and claw at his face, fighting with every last ounce of energy I have.

“Keep fighting, sweet songbird,” he goads before lifting his hand and slapping me so hard that my head snaps to the side, black spots blurring my vision.

“This is going to be so much fun–”

“MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!”

One moment I’m struggling to stay awake, and the next Sterling has his arm wrapped around Robert's neck, lifting him off of me and pulling him away.

"I'll kill you!" Sterling yells, squeezing tighter as Robert desperately tries to break free, his face turning a deep shade of purple.

“Sterling!” I whisper, watching in horror as Sterling's eyes fill with unbridled fury and he tightens his grip around Robert's neck.

Then, as though in slow motion, I see Robert let go of Sterling's arm and elbow him forcefully in the stomach, causing Sterling to momentarily loosen his hold. Seizing this opportunity, Robert quickly headbutts Sterling, the back of his head meeting Sterling's nose with a sickening crunch. The sound echoes through the room, and Sterling stumbles back, blood pouring from his broken nose. Robert turns towards him.

"You little piece of shit," he rasps out between gasps for air. “I should’ve had you locked up in an institute when you were a kid.”

“Fuck you,” Sterling snarls, swiping at the blood that’s trickling over his lips and chin. “This ends right now.”

“I was saving this for Harlow, but I guess I’ll use it on you first,” Robert sneers, and from my position on the floor I can see him reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a flip knife that he snaps open with a flick of his wrist.

“Sterling, look out!” I scream, scrambling to my feet as Robert lunges towards Sterling.

I don’t think. I act.

With adrenaline surging through my veins, I rush towards Robert, shoving him as hard as I can, my palms slamming into him with enough force that it sends him sprawling towards the table. I’d only meant to buy Sterling some time, but when I hear the sound of his skull meeting the sharp corner of the table, I know that I’ve done far more than that.

Robert’s body slumps to the floor, his sightless eyes staring up at the ceiling as blood pools around his head, crimson spreading across the floor.

He’s dead.

I'm not even aware of my own screaming until Sterling pulls me into his warm embrace, muffling the sound against his chest.

THIRTY-SIX

STERLING

One month later

“And you’re positive that this is over?” Harlow asks Walter, who’s sitting opposite us both in the office of the law firm he owns. Beside him Ben watches us closely, his jaw gripped tight as his father nods. He has been a good friend this past month, and I’m so fucking grateful to him, to Drix, Lia, Dalton and Daisy too. They’ve rallied around us both, offering their love and support. Pity that the rest of Princetown have only seen fit to twist this horrible experience into a gossip that has had the paparazzi hounding us, so much so we’ve had to seek shelter at Walter’s home until the storm passes.

“It was self-defence, Harlow. What happened wasnotyour fault,” Walter replies firmly, his gaze flicking to our lawyer, Charles, who nods in agreement.

“Absolutely. Robert’s stream of messages, the fact that he attacked you and Harlow so viciously combined with the amount of money he paid to obtain every single one of your paintings have all led to the same conclusion,” Charles explains. “Thejudge has ruled his death as a result of self-defence after months of harassment. This is over.”

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