Page 62 of Painter's Obsession

The pressure in my bladder suddenly spikes, sharp and unbearable. The need for relief hits me like a freight train, and the reality of my situation sinks in. I glance around the dark room, scanning for anything I can use. Nothing.

“Hey,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

Ren doesn’t stir. His grip on me remains firm, his breath steady and rhythmic.

“Hey, asshole,” I say louder, my voice cutting through the silence.

He groans, shifting slightly, his arm loosening just enough for me to squirm.

“I need to use the bathroom.”

He rolls onto his back with a grunt, his hand moving lazily to his face. “Then pee,” he says flatly, his voice thick with sleep.

What the fuck does he mean, pee?

Does he seriously expect me to piss myself?

As if reading my thoughts, he adds, his voice low and hoarse, “You can pee, but if you do, I’ll punish you.”

My jaw tightens, heat rising to my face. “Punish me? You fucking—“

His hand clamps over my mouth, silencing me instantly. His body moves over mine, pressing me into the mattress. His hair, damp with sweat, brushes against my forehead, and I feel his breath against my cheek.

“You,” he murmurs, his tone laced with menace, “are more trouble than you’re worth.”

I glare up at him, my chest heaving beneath his weight. His onyx eyes gleam in the faint light, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve had enough of your lack of gratitude,” he continues, his voice soft but venomous. “You’re safe. You’re fed. You’re taken care of. Now shut up and sleep.”

His hand presses harder against my mouth, and for a moment, I consider biting him. But the look in his eyes stops me cold.

“Do you understand?” he asks, his tone low and deliberate.

I nod, my breath coming in sharp bursts through my nose.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, his voice softening just enough to send a chill down my spine. He pulls his hand away, rolling back onto his side.

This time, only his leg drapes over mine, pinning me in place. Within minutes, his snores return, soft and steady, filling the silence.

I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the gnawing pressure in my bladder. The ache sharpens with each passing second, twisting in my gut like a knife.

The darkness feels heavier now, wrapping around me like a second skin. My breaths come shallow, each one a struggle against the weight of my humiliation.

And still, I can’t sleep.

My arms flail in the water—it’s all dark. The burn in my muscles is unbearable as I try to push upward, but when I look down, I see it. The weight chained to my ankle drags me deeperinto the abyss, the faint sunlight drifting farther and farther away. The warmth above taunts me, a life I can no longer reach.

I scream, and the last bit of air rushes from my lungs. My chest burns, excruciating and desperate, as water floods in, filling the space where life used to be. My arms go limp, the fight drained from my body as the darkness consumes me. My eyes remain fixed on the shrinking light above—a cruel reminder of what I’ve lost.

Suddenly, warmth envelops me. It wraps around me like a blanket, soft and unexpected, replacing the icy grip of death.

This… this must be death.

“What—“ Ren’s angry voice tears through the fragile calm, yanking me back into his hell.

“You fucking pissed yourself, Byron,” he growls, spitting my name with venom. His voice is sharp, biting, like a parent scolding a child for an unforgivable mistake.

My eyes snap open, and the warmth turns suffocating as I realize where I am. Ren sits up in bed, his movements fluid and controlled. He stands, slipping off his pajama pants, exposing his firm ass, that damn dragon tattoo snaking across his back. The faint light of the storm-drenched window catches the ink just above his groin.

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