Page 94 of His to Possess
"Tonight," Luka announced, his hand resting on the curtain behind him, "I present to you a piece that embodies this journey. A reimagining of a classic, infused with new life and meaning."
He paused for dramatic effect, and I found myself leaning forward despite my skepticism.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you 'The Unveiled Maiden.'"
The curtain dropped, and my world stopped.
There, larger than life, was Laurel.
The air vanished from my lungs. My vision narrowed, everything else fading away except for that canvas. I knew those curves, that body, as intimately as I knew my own. Even with her face partially obscured, there was no mistaking her.
Laurel's pose echoed the original Volkov, but where the maiden was demure, intriguing, Laurel was… God, she was pure temptation. Her auburn hair cascaded around her, wild and free. And her eyes… those eyes that haunted my dreams were filled with an ecstasy I recognized all too well.
Unbidden, memories flooded my mind. Laurel, writhing beneath me, her face contorted in pleasure. The taste of her skin, the sound of her gasps. I felt myself hardening, my body betraying me in the worst possible moment.
I tore my gaze away, struggling to breathe. This couldn't be happening. Not here, not now. Not after all this time.
"Rex?" Tristan's voice seemed to come from far away. "Are you alright?"
How could I explain that the woman I had spent six months trying to forget was now immortalized on canvas for all to see?
I stood there, paralyzed, as Luka's voice droned on in the background. My heart pounded so furiously I could barely make out his words. The painting of Laurel consumed my vision, my thoughts, my very being. I knew Luka's process all too well—the way he immersed himself in his muses, body and soul. The intimacy required to create such a piece…
My stomach churned. For six months, I tried to purge Laurel from my mind, to bury the memories of her touch, her scent, her fire. And now, here she was, laid bare for all to see. Did she give herself to Luka the way she once gave herself to me? She had to, it was Luka's way. The thought sent a wave of nausea through me.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. Every brush stroke spoke of passion, of hunger, of a connection I thought was mine alone. Luka captured her essence in a way that felt like a betrayal. Or perhaps it was my own delusions being stripped away.
Luka's voice cut through the fog in my brain. "… and for the first time, The Unveiled Maiden, painted by yours truly, has also been sold."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Sold. As if Laurel were nothing more than another commodity to be traded. I felt something inside me shatter, the last remnants of hope I didn't even know I was clinging to.
I was vaguely aware of my friends calling my name, their voices laced with concern. But I couldn't bear to face them, to see the pity in their eyes. Without a word, I turned on my heel and strode away, pushing through the masses with single-minded determination.
I needed to get out of here. Away from the painting, away from Luka's smug face, away from the sympathetic glances. I felt myself shutting down, retreating behind the walls I had spent a lifetime building. It was safer there, in the cold emptiness where no one could touch me.
The venue spun around me, a blur of faces and colors. My vision narrowed, focusing solely on Luka as he descended the grand staircase. That smug smile played on his lips, his eyes locked on mine. He knew exactly what he had done.
My body moved of its own accord, propelled by a rage I could barely contain. The gathering parted before me, sensing thestorm brewing beneath my skin. I heard Tristan call my name, but it was distant, muffled. Nothing existed but Luka and the inferno raging inside me.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, that infuriating grin still plastered on his face. "Rex," he said, "I hope you enjoyed the show."
Something snapped inside me.
My fist connected with his jaw before I even registered the decision to strike. The satisfying crunch of bone against knuckle reverberated through my arm. Luka stumbled backward, shock replacing his smug expression.
For a moment, time stood still. The venue fell silent, the gathered elite too stunned to react. I stood there, chest heaving, my hand throbbing. A small part of me knew I should feel remorse, should be mortified by this public display. But all I felt was a savage satisfaction.
Luka regained his balance, touching his split lip with tentative fingers. He looked at the blood on his hand, then back at me.
His laughter caught me off guard, a deep, booming sound that echoed through the ballroom. It was so unexpected, so at odds with the violence of the moment, that I found myself stunned. The tension in the venue dissipated like smoke, replaced by a confused murmur from the assembly.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Tristan, his expression unreadable. Nolan and Remy flanked me, their presence both comforting and confining. Without a word, they guided me towards a side door, following Luka as he led us away from the prying eyes of the gallery patrons.
We entered an empty lounge, the door closing behind us with a soft click. The sudden quiet was jarring after the chaos of the ballroom. I could still hear the muffled sounds of the party, but it felt distant now, like we had stepped into another world.
Luka leaned against a sleek mahogany bar, still chuckling as he dabbed at his split lip with a handkerchief. I watched him warily, my fist clenched at my side, unsure if I wanted to hit him again or demand answers.
"Well," Luka said, breaking the silence, "that was quite a show, Rex. I must say, your right hook is formidable."
