Page 16 of Painter's Obsession

Her cheeks flush as she steps aside, motioning me in. The trailer is a cluttered shrine of sentimentality…. mismatched knickknacks, fading family photos, and the suffocating warmth of a life built on struggle. The air carries a faint smell of mildewand grease, mingling with the distant hum of an overworked fridge. The space feels alien, almost hostile, and my skin prickles with disdain. How do people live like this?

“You okay?” Byron’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. He leans against the doorway, beer in hand, gaze sharp and unyielding.

I force a smile, depositing the tacos onto the garish fruit-printed tablecloth. “Just taking it all in,” I say, masking my contempt behind faux admiration.

His brow lifts, skepticism etched into his features. “Taking it all in?” he echoes, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Too poor for a bougie bitch like you?”

“Byron, what the fuck?” Gabriela snaps, her embarrassment evident as she shoots him a glare.

I raise a hand, defusing the moment. “It’s fine. He’s just looking out for you.” My voice softens, tinged with the kind of vulnerability that disarms. “To be honest, I’m not used to places like this. I grew up in a house full of cold, expensive things—a collection of vintage pieces and harsh rules. Even I was just another accessory.”

The truth spills out unexpectedly, catching both of them off guard. Gabriela’s gaze softens, but Byron doesn’t flinch.

“Must’ve been nice, though, huh? All that money,” he mutters, taking a swig of beer.

“Nice,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. “It wasn’t a home.”

Byron shifts, the hostility in his posture faltering. “My bad,” he mutters before stepping outside, retreating like a wounded animal.

Gabriela fidgets with the hem of her sweater. Her swollen eyes betray her earlier tears, and for a brief moment, she looks utterly breakable. She clutches the roses tightly, her thumb brushing against a thorn as though grounding herself.

“I’m sorry about that,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just...been a long day. We’re grieving. Well, I am, at least.” She sighs, frustrated, before slapping her forehead. “God, let’s just start over. You hungry?”

I smile, following her lead. “Famished.”

As she turns toward the kitchen, I catch the faintest hesitation in her step. Her laughter from earlier rings in my ears, brittle and too high-pitched to be real. And I love it—the grief spills from her, raw and unfiltered, and like a vampire, I drink it in, savoring every drop.

Every wall has a crack, and tonight, I’d seen Byron’s. He was all bark and no bite—a man desperately clinging to the illusion of control over a crumbling world. Gabriela, on the other hand, was already breaking herself, her fragile edges splintering under the weight of her sorrow. All I had to do was gather the fractured pieces.

Chapter Ten

Byron

Blood rushes to my ears, cheeks burning hot, as I finally take a breath while crossing the threshold of my front door. My grip on the trailer’s rusted wooden rails tightens as I lean forward, inhaling the cool night air and trying to scrub the scent of that intoxicating cologne from my lungs. Prince Charming reeks of money, and I hate it. I hate him.

Something about him sets off alarms in my gut. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it, and I sure as hell don’t want him near my sister.

“Pendejo,” I mutter under my breath, my knuckles pale from gripping the rotted wood.

Despite my criminal history, I’m not just some loose cannon that will go off with no notice. I know when something’s wrong, and that asshole’s discomfort with stepping inside our trailer told me everything I needed to know. The way he sized us up, judging, like we weren’t worth the dirt under his shoes—it wasall there, plain as day. His mask slipped, and I saw it. Whatever darkness is in his eyes, I felt it.

But how do I tell Gabby? She’s got stars in her eyes and Prince Charming’s name on her lips. She’s blind to the game he’s playing. I need proof, something solid. No matter how badly I want to drag him outside and beat that perfect smile off his face, I can’t. Not yet.

Leaning back, I pull a cigarette from my pack and light it, watching its smoke curl lazily in the wind. Through the window, Gabby’s all but draped over the table, chin resting on her palm, giving him her full attention. His dimple deepens as he smiles, and it pisses me off even more.

Why the fuck am I noticing that?

Frustration burns hotter than the cigarette between my fingers. I turn away from my thoughts, letting my gaze shift to the cougar next door. Linda’s sprawled out in a lawn chair, her red dress clinging to her thighs like a second skin. A cigarette dangles lazily from her fingers, her demeanor screaming trouble in all the ways that tempt a man to follow.

I descend the trailer steps slowly, each thud of my boots against the wood deliberate, grounding. The gravel crunches underfoot as I cross onto the patch of land separating our yards, smoke curling from my lips. Linda’s head tilts at the sound, a smirk teasing her lips as one perfectly plucked brow arches my way.

“Back so soon? Dinner didn’t go as you had planned?” Her voice is as smooth as the whiskey I should’ve poured instead of pacing.

“Nah,” I mutter, dragging deep on the cigarette and flicking the ashes onto the ground. “I don’t like him.”

Her lips curve higher, the faintest chuckle escaping as she exhales a puff of smoke. “Well, lucky for you, I’m better company.”

The invitation in her tone is unmistakable, but as I step closer, something twists in my gut. I want to drown my frustration, but the more I try, the more I feel like I’m choking on something else entirely.

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