Page 103 of Martyr

The voices seemed to rise up as spectators became emboldened, but Nix hardly heard them, too busy drowning in a sea of sheer humiliation that had his shoulders shaking and his heart threatening to explode out of his chest.

Even if his face wasn’t depicted, it was so obvious who that painting was of.

And what they’d done just before the moment had been permanently captured with acrylics.

Time seemed to stop and when Nix became aware of his surroundings again, Lake was standing at the front of the room. At some point, he’d torn the painting from the wall and was currently demanding everyone there to delete any photos they’d taken.

West was doing the same, blocking the exit and practically snarling at the trapped crowd.

Nix only had a split second to feel relief that at least they hadn’t been in on it before one of the side doors opened and in strolled Yejun Sang.

Lake reached him first, the crowds shocked exclamations turning to screams when he punched Yejun clean across the face. Blood exploded from his nose, spraying against the closest white wall a second before Yejun stumbled into it.

“What thehell?!” Yejun straightened and went for Lake, but then West was there to stop him. “What’s your problem?!”

“How could you do that?” Lake’s voice was dark, dripping with rage.

The sound had Nix’s spine straightening and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, and he wasn’t alone. It was as though someone hit the mute button, the entire room going so quiet it seemed like people were too afraid to breathe.

His tone even gave Yejun pause, who stopped struggling against West’s hold and frowned. “What? Do what?”

“Your painting was fucked up,” West said. “How could you do that to Nix? I thought you said you were going to try and fix things with him.”

Had the two of them spoken about him? Nix didn’t get to wonder for long.

“My painting?” Yejun glanced over to where Lake had dropped the canvas face side down and then stormed over to it. “What are you talking about? My painting is of—” He lifted it and then froze.

The sudden confusion buzzing between the three was palpable, and somehow Nix finally found strength enough to move. He walked toward them, halting when Yejun’s eyes lifted and landed on him.

“Firebird, I…” Yejun gripped the canvas hard enough they could hear the wood creaking, “I didn’t. I didn’t do this.”

“That’s clearly your work,” Lake stated.

“No, I mean, I drew it. But this was meant to be your birthday present,” he told the Imperial. “The last I saw it, it was locked up in my studio. I don’t know how it got here.”

“You’re claiming you didn’t hang it to embarrass Nix?”

“I’m not claiming anything.” He tossed the canvas to the ground. “I didn’t do it!”

“Who else has access to your studio?” Lake asked, and then movement caught his attention over Nix’s shoulder and he lifted a hand and motioned with two fingers. “Beck, come in. Everyone else, sit down and stay quiet. If I see any of you texting,filming, or taking photos I will charge you for treason and have you and your entire family jailed. Is that understood?”

The entire crowd nodded and one by one, they lowered to the floor.

Beck, who’d just arrived and was in the doorway, came forward. “What’s going on?”

“Someone switched my painting,” Yejun said, hands on his hips as he stalked back and forth.

“Why would they do that?” Beck tried to move closer but Yejun wouldn’t let him touch him.

“Who fucking knows, but I’m being framed.” He paused long enough to stare at Lake. “I am being framed.” Then something seemed to dawn on him and his gaze swept over the crowd. “I should gouge their eyes out. They shouldn’t have been allowed to see that. I—”

“It’s okay,” Nix’s voice was so quiet, if not for the silence otherwise, there’s no way he would have been heard. He wrung his hands and tried to speak with more conviction. “Don’t hurt them because of me.”

“It’s not because of you.” Yejun stepped over and cupped Nix’s cheek, too distracted with his own tumultuous emotions to notice when Nix flinched. “It’s because someone thought they could pull this shitty prank without any consequences.”

“June, think about who could have done this,” West suggested.

Yejun pointed to the professor who was kneeling on the ground less than ten feet away. “You. Who switched my painting? I came here this morning and hung my piece on the wall.”

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