Page 60 of Painter's Obsession

My hand lingers over his chest, right above his heart.

“It’s the masks we wear. Your shadow is a passenger. Mine’s the driver. Yet we both hide what we truly are.”

My gaze sweeps over his face, studying the way his brows relax and his lips part slightly in sleep.

“Aren’t you tired of hiding? Of pretending?” I murmur, my voice barely audible.

The faint warmth of his breath brushes my skin as my lips hover just above his.

I’ve never kissed a man before.

The thought doesn’t bother me. If anything, it intrigues me. Byron isn’t like the flowers I’ve crushed, their beauty and fragility wilting under my hands. He doesn’t remind me of her. He’s something else entirely.

Now that Byron knows who I am, I can have companionship—at most, I can have a pet. Because there’s no way he’s leaving me. Not alive, at least. Even after death he’s mine to keep.

Gabriela’s face flashes in my mind, unbidden. She’s the leash keeping him tethered. I need her back in my grasp, but I can’t hurt her—not yet. Not when she’s my way to control him. Without her, he’d unravel.

Unless I suffocate him with darkness. Corrupt him completely.

A smile curls on my lips as I lean in and press my lips against his, a brief kiss that lingers just long enough to leave a mark. His lips are warm, softer than I expected, and for a moment, I feel something strange, unfamiliar.

“I know exactly how to bring you to the dark,” I whisper against his lips, my voice a soft, venomous promise.

Standing, I move to the dresser where I keep my sleeping clothes. Opening the top drawer, I pull out my favorite pair of black pajama pants with the yellow Batman symbol printed on the leg.

Something about Batman has always appealed to me. The man who has everything and yet nothing at all. The man who resists the pull of darkness even when it calls to him like a siren’s song.

He’d make a better villain.

Slipping into the pants, I clap my hands, and the room plunges into darkness, save for the faint light filtering through the blinds.

I walk back to the bed and glance at Byron one last time. He stirs slightly, his brow furrowing as if caught in the throes of a nightmare.

The shadows on the wall shift unnaturally, curling and writhing like living things. For a moment, they seem to reach toward him, clawing at the edges of his form.

“Goodnight, Batboy,” I murmur, my smirk curling wider as I slip under the thick black comforter.

“GABRIELA!”

Byron’s scream jolts me out of the abyss of sleep, the sound sharp and raw, slicing through the stillness of the room. My eyes snap open, and for a moment, I’m disoriented—too close to him, close enough that this proximity feels suffocating.

I can feel his heat radiating against my skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket we share. It feels… wrong. Like something pressing heavily against my chest, a weight I don’t want to acknowledge.

His wide, glassy eyes find mine despite the darkness in my room. I push myself up on one elbow, running a hand down my face. “You’re finally awake,” I say, my voice low, deliberately casual, as I suppress the irritation clawing at me.

He shifts, his breathing uneven, his body tense. “Where am I?” he demands, his voice hoarse but laced with defiance.

“My room.”

“What am I doing here?”

I let out a slow yawn, dragging the moment out. His panic is almost palpable, and I savor it, even if I won’t admit it to myself.

“You had a bad infection. I saved you. You owe me. End of story,” I drawl, waving a hand lazily toward the IV pole standing beside the bed, its saline bag nearly empty.

Byron doesn’t respond right away. His eyes dart around the room, landing on the cuff binding his right hand to the bed frame.

Smart. Already looking for a way out.

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