Page 30 of Painter's Obsession

Hi, hope you slept well.

Joke’s on me. I didn’t sleep at all.

But at least I’d let out a lot of needed frustration. Then it hits me. I’ve never invited Gabriela over before. That’s it. That’s what will drag him here.His light.

The canvas in the studio was right—he wouldn’t come for her. But for Gabriela? He’d do anything. He’d come willingly.

It’s time to move. I needhim.Not the toy—I’m sure it’s broken.

I stop midway through the woods, the cool air biting at my skin. Naked, I scan the trees surrounding me and take a deep breath in.

“What were you doing with her?” she snapped, slapping me across the face. “What did you do?”

She looked over at the prostitute lying on the ground, naked, my cum sprayed across her face. I didn’t answer. She was furious.

Grabbing the gun from her purse, she turned to the whore on the ground. “Run,” she commanded.

The woman bolted toward the woods, but she didn’t make it past the trees. The gunshot rang out, and she collapsed, struck in the back.

“Bury your whore,” she said coldly, shoving the gun into my hands. “And when you’re done, I’ll tell you the punishment for a bad man.”

Another ping from my phone pulls me back to the present.

Can I see you tonight?

My fingers move on their own.

My house this time. I want some truly alone time.

Her answer comes almost immediately.

Of course!

Perfect. I’ll pick you up around seven. Bring a bag to spend the night. Of course, if that’s okay. Also, good morning. Running late.

The bubbles appear and disappear before her reply pops up.

See you at seven.

Walking into the house, I move with quickness, heading straight to the shower. The water runs hot, washing away the blood and grime clinging to my skin. Once I’m clean, I get dressed—burgundy button-down, black dress pants, and black Dior shoes

Ready, I head outside, slide into the Mercedes, and peel out of the driveway, the engine roaring as I head toward Laguna’s Bay courthouse.

The day was long—too long. I walk down the halls of the courthouse when the commotion in the front catches my attention. My eyes drift to the woman arguing with the town sheriff, Jaramillo.

“Es mi hija. It’s my daughter,” the woman cries. “Por favor.Please.“ She begs, but her desperation meets nothing but silence.

I move closer, offering her a gentle smile. When I speak, my voice is low and calm, the kind that disarms.“¿Cómo la puedo ayudar?How can I help?”

Her teary brown eyes meet mine, the same shade as the ones I extinguished earlier today. Suddenly, my long, aggravating day doesn’t seem so bad. There’s nothing I love more than pain—knowing that I’m here, playing the role of the good Samaritan, while everyone around me remains blissfully oblivious to the big bad wolf in their midst.

I smile wider, leaning in just slightly. “Todo bien?Everything okay?”

But something shifts in her gaze. Her trembling hands wipe at her cheeks as she murmurs, “Todo bien.Everything’s okay.”

Ah, that fire. The same one I extinguished in her daughter not so long ago.

I dip my chin in acknowledgment, offering her a small nod before turning and walking away, my footsteps measured and deliberate.

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