Page 31 of Painter's Obsession

The town is buzzing as usual, the hum of life continuing around me. As I head toward the parking lot, a familiar sight catches my eye—a beat-up silver Honda Civic hoisted onto the back of a tow truck. They found her car.

My lips twitch into a hum as I make my way through the lot.

I was excited. Excited to see my canvas, to create the final piece. I didn’t need her anymore.

But first, sleep. Yes, sleep sounded nice.

I approach my vehicle, sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine growls to life as I pull out of the parking lot, already imagining the masterpiece waiting for me in the morning.

Chapter Eighteen

Byron

Itook the day off today, and I got lucky—my hunch was right. I found the asshole at the courthouse.

The downside? It meant waiting around for hours until his court hearing ended.

By three o’clock, he stepped out of his office, moving with an upbeat bounce in his step. I followed at a distance, watching his movements, listening to his soft hum. He looked... happy. Excited, even. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about him.

I’ve met plenty of people in my thirty-one years of living, and I know a monster when I see one.

And this one? Prince Charming? He might be the scariest of them all.

I just need to prove it. Something tangible, something Gabriela can’t ignore—though my words should be enough. Unfortunately, they’re not.

I trail loosely behind him, careful to keep my distance. His car snaked out of town, heading toward the outskirts, closer to the forest and the Great Lake. Isolated.

Perfect for a killer.

The thought makes me chuckle—darkly, bitterly. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, too. Ren Sato, the Laguna Bay Painter? It feels like a reach. But he’s hiding something. Maybe he’s got a wife, kids—something he doesn’t want anyone to know about.

When he pulled into his fancy driveway, I drove past the house and parked deeper in the woods.

Hidden. Waiting.

I light up a cigarette, the burn of the nicotine steadying my nerves, before stepping into the crisp afternoon air. The autumn chill bit at my skin, but I move forward anyway, weaving through the trees toward the back of the property.

People always put cameras in the front. The back? That’s usually where they get lazy.

Through the branches, the house came into view—a modern gothic mansion with clean lines and expensive finishes. But it wasn’t the main house that caught my attention.

It was the shed.

Or maybe it was a guest house—whatever it was, it stood out. The windows were high, except for one that sat low to the ground. The door looked heavy, reinforced, like something from an old school building.

I hesitated, doubt creeping in.Not too late to turn back,I whisper to myself.

But I didn’t.

Taking a deep breath, I step closer. My movements slow, deliberate—scanning for any surprise as I approach the smaller house.

I drop to the ground, crawling towards a low window. My heart pounds so loudly, it echoes in my ears. I know—whatever I’m about to see, it’s going to change everything. I can’t explain why, but I feel it.

I open my eyes. The sight before me shakes me to my core. A naked woman, chained to the floor by a collar around her neck. A flower carved into her back, the skin raw and bleeding. She lies unnervingly still.

I knock on the window, cursing under my breath. My hand goes to my pocket—shit. I left my phone in the truck. The irony hits me like a punch in the gut. I knock louder, desperate for her attention.

Her head jerks up. I lock eyes with her, and instantly, I know. Theresita. My dear friend. She sobs when she sees me, her face crumpling with relief. I gesture—imperfectly, trying to sign. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I try to tell her. I’ll find a way in. I’m not leaving her.

---