Page 39 of Painter's Obsession

But instead, my thoughts betray me again, conjuring images of Theresita. Her lifeless body sprawled across the ground, her blood seeping into the tile. Years of knowing her—her laugh, her warmth, the way she always tried to make me smile—and now she’s just... gone.

Grief crashes into me, heavy and suffocating, but it doesn’t come alone. Anger follows close behind, the two twisting together until I can’t tell one from the other. My hands clench into fists, the sharp sting of my nails digging into my palms barely registering.

I slam my fists against the ground. Once. Twice. Over and over. The tiles rattle beneath me, the vibrations jolting up my arms, but it’s not enough. It will never be enough. I need to feel something—anything—besides the noose of emotions tightening around my throat.

Chapter Twenty Four

Ren

Gabriela smiles, her hand moving behind her neck to massage the tension—the stress of her brother being MIA. Little does she know that he’s closer than she thinks. I found his truck earlier, tucked away like a secret he thought no one could uncover. He hid it well, but not well enough. I didn’t bother disposing of it. There’s no need. Once I’m done with his training, my pet will be nothing but obedient.

The ultimate living, breathing masterpiece.

Each part of him will belong to me, a perfect blend of submission and control. And Gabriela will ensure that.

I glance at the camera, a smirk curling on my lips as I bite into the steak. He’s probably watching already, connecting the dots, knowing exactly who’s sitting in front of me. I wish I could see his face as he adds it all up. Oh, the beautiful hopelessness. Tasteful despair.

Soon enough, I’ll revel in it, but not yet. First, I must show him what happens when rules are broken. But I like to draw out my games. There’s nothing more exquisite than the suspense.

Under the table, I press a button on the remote, shutting off the camera feed. The screen goes dark. Let him wonder. Let him despair.

Then, I’ll bring him to his knees.

“Anything on Byron?”

She looks at me with those brown eyes, so unlike her brother’s. Hers are filled with light, glistening with unshed tears, genuine worry etched into every line of her face. It must be nice to have someone care that much about you.

“No,” she says, letting out a shaky breath, her hand still massaging the back of her slender neck. Her brown curls fall past her shoulders, resting just above the curve of her round breasts. “But, like you said, he’s been in prison and then working so much. He’s probably drinking it up or with some woman. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Her voice cracks, a small tremble betraying her calm façade. “I just thought... maybe the time in prison changed him, you know.”

The corners of my mouth twitch. It takes every ounce of restraint not to laugh at the sincerity in her tone.

“He’ll show up. Just relax,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Byron’s a grown man with his own life. Cut the cord.”

She blinks, startled by my bluntness, but nods. I reach for the pink Moscato she loves so much—the very same drink that will render her unconscious and helpless at my mercy. The thought sends a thrill coursing through me, a thorn and a rose together, completely mine.

I pour the sweet liquid into her glass as she picks up a bite of purple carrots to pair with the steak.

“How was work?” she asks, her tone lighter now, as if trying to distract herself from her worry.

I shrug. “It wasn’t too bad. A couple of meetings, but mostly dealing with society’s elite—big toddlers in overpriced suits.”

She smiles faintly, a flicker of amusement breaking through her concern.

“Who could have guessed that,” she says.

“You’d be surprised how much a man with everything complains about his own stupid choices,” I reply, taking another bite of steak. “It makes my job harder, but nothing I can’t handle. How about yours?”

She rolls her shoulders, her curls bouncing lightly with the motion. “It was busy. Lots of hair washing and gossiping.”

I smile, a casual, practiced reaction, but inside, I’m counting the minutes until the Moscato takes effect.

Soon, her laughter will fade into silence.

The Thorn and the Rose, together in my hands.

My masterpiece is almost complete.

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