Page 76 of Painter's Obsession

“I have no shame in my past,” he continues, his thumb lingering against my lips before pulling away. He brushes back the strands of hair that fall into his face, those dark pools of hiseyes still fixed on me. “She taught me to be who I am today. Ren fucking Sato.”

He says his name with venom, as if it’s both a declaration and a curse. Then he steps back, turning his attention to the toolbox by the wall.

I watch, frozen, as he pulls out a knife. No, not just a knife—a carving knife.

A knot tightens in my stomach as he plugs it into the outlet. The hum of the motor fills the room, a sinister sound that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.

“Hey,” I call out, trying to catch his attention, but he doesn’t respond. His back is to me, the dragon tattoo on his shoulder flexing with his muscles as he moves toward the woman on the table. The red ink seems alive, fiery, as if the creature itself is breathing.

“Byron,” Ren says finally, his voice calm yet devoid of anything resembling humanity. “I might be fascinated by you. I might even feel some form of camaraderie. But I. Do. Not. Feel.”

Each word drops like a stone at the end, the finality of it striking me harder than I expect.

“I am a void,” he continues, the knife buzzing in his hand. “A monster created from the sins of my mother.”

His words hang in the air like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

“Talk to me!” I yell, panic rising as I take a step forward. But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even flinch.

Then he turns to the woman. Without hesitation, he sinks the blade into her thigh.

The sound is wet, sickening.

“FUCK, STOP!” I scream, but it’s too late.

Her flesh begins to peel away, slowly, grotesquely, as Ren guides the blade with precision. Her mouth gapes open, her eyes glazed and streaming with silent tears. Her body remainsparalyzed, helpless, as the piece of flesh separates, finally dropping to the floor with a soft, nauseating plop.

I feel like I’m going to be sick, but I can’t look away.

The carved-out flesh reveals an image tattooed on her thigh… a sun and moon locked in an eternal kiss.

“You can’t have it all, Byron,” Ren says, his voice eerily calm as he admires his work. “You can’t enjoy the light when you’ve lived in the dark for so long.”

He taps his chest violently, his fingers slick with blood.

“Being with me means that. Only darkness. That’s all I can give.”

His laugh is sharp, cold, hollow. “That’s all I am. Nothing more. There’s no redemption.”

He turns to me then, his bloody hand brushing back the hair from his face, smearing red streaks across his pale skin. His eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see it—the absolute void within him.

“You can’t save me,” he whispers, the corners of his mouth twitching into a cruel smile.

I don’t move. I can’t.

Ren turns back to the woman, the carving knife buzzing once more as he digs into her flesh, the sound of her skin tearing mingling with the hum of the blade.

I stand there, helpless, horrified and watching something so heinous yet so beautiful unfold before my eyes.

Chapter Forty

Ren

Ifinished carving her up, her body now a grotesque masterpiece. Her flesh lies in perfect ribbons on the floor, the blood pooling beneath her like a dark halo. Her frozen expression—a mix of silent agony and terror—makes her seem almost alive. A statue immortalized in pain.

I step back, my chest heaving, and glance over my shoulder. Byron stands rooted in place, his face pale, his jaw clenched tight. Disgust flickers across his features, but it’s the fear I savor most.

He thinks he understands me. The kiss, the fleeting connection, might have fooled him for a moment. But he’ll learn. I am not looking for a partner. I am not capable of love.

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