Chapter 95 What is saw
Isabella POV
“You twist my emotions without even realizing it,” I said quietly, my voice softer than I intended and the words felt fragile, like they might shatter if spoken too loudly. “I have seen all your artwork. Every single piece and the only people you ever paint are the ones who belong to you and your family.”
The realization struck the moment I finished speaking, damn. It settled heavily in my chest, cold and undeniable. “But you painted me”
The truth lingered between us, thick and suffocating. No. No. No, panic rose instantly. I turned my face away again, unable to look at him. I could not bear seeing the understanding that might already be forming in his eyes. If he saw too much, if he understood what even I struggled to admit, everything would unravel.
“Baby.”
His voice softened, and that somehow made it worse there was something intimate in the way he said it, something dangerously gentle.
I refused to look back at him. “Do not be afraid of me.”
My fingers tightened slightly at my sides. My throat felt dry, “It is not you that I am afraid of,” I whispered.
A quiet pause followed then he spoke again, his voice deeper now, filled with something heavier, “Then do not be afraid of us.”
The words hit harder than anything else he could have said as I closed my eyes immediately, wishing everything would stop the air felt too thick and the moment too heavy. Guilt flooded through me first, sharp and suffocating, rage followed right behind it, burning hot beneath my skin. The emotions tangled together until I could not tell where one ended and the other began.
I did not want to be there and I did not want to feel any of it, I did not want to exist in that moment where everything felt wrong and yet impossible to escape.
I hated being trapped in something so twisted, something that made no sense yet refused to loosen its hold on me.
If only he would make it easier and If only he would say something cruel. Something unforgivable and sharp enough to sever whatever fragile thread still bound us together.
If he would just give me a reason to hate him fully, walking away would not feel like tearing myself apart then leaving would be simple.
“I asked you to make that painting for me,” he said quietly, pulling me back into the present.
I stayed still, barely breathing, “ Because I wanted something I could keep,” he continued. “Something that would always belong to me, I want a piece of you.”
My chest tightened painfully, but I remained silent, “I am going to put it in my office in the Lake ,” he went on. “Somewhere I can see it every day.”
The image formed in my mind whether I wanted it to or not. A quiet office with soft light spilling across polished surfaces the faint scent of smoke and expensive liquor and my painting hanging there like a memory that refused to fade.
“So I can remember what we had,” he said. “I can sit there with a glass of scotch in my hand, a cigar burning slowly, and I will look at it and remember everything.”
Each word pressed deeper into me, “I want to remember how this felt,” he murmured. “And I never want to forget it.”
My heart began to pound harder, “Because you are not like any other woman I have ever been with, Isabella,” he said, my name falling from his lips with quiet certainty. “And I know I am not like any man you have ever been with.”
The truth of that hurt more than I expected.
“When all of this is over,” he continued softly, “we will both remember what happened between us.”
Slowly, I opened my eyes again and relief flickered through me when I realized he had not seen beyond the surface. He had not looked deeper into the painting and he had not uncovered the truth hidden inside it then I wanted to keep it that way.
I did not want him to believe I wanted forever.
I did not want him to think I wished for this twisted arrangement to last indefinitely because that was not what this was.
We were addicted to each other and that was the only way to explain it.
Addicted to the heat between us, addicted to the pull that never weakened no matter how much we resisted it and addicted to the way everything else disappeared when we were together.
Addictions never lasted forever, they always burned out eventually.
One day, we would walk away from each other.
Dante might remain my enemy until the end I might have to face him one day across a battlefield, standing on opposite sides of something neither of us could escape or maybe he would let the war die. Maybe he would disappear from my life completely, leaving nothing behind but silence and memories that refused to fade.
Either way, the ending would be the same there was no future waiting for us not a real one, he and I understood that.
These paintings were not promises not confessions but fragments in moments frozen in time.
They captured the way we saw each other in fleeting seconds and the way we wanted to remember one another when everything finally fell apart. “You really understand me,” he whispered after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Better than anyone else.”
I swallowed hard, “Do I?” I asked softly.
He nodded without hesitation, “And I think I understand you too,” he said.
I wanted to deny it and I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he would never truly know me. That he could never understand all the parts of me I kept hidden but the words would not come because somewhere deep down, I knew arguing would change nothing.
The truth was painful and unavoidable and my greatest enemy had somehow become the person who knew me best, the man I should have hated above all others had become the one I shared everything with.
My thoughts, my fears, my silence even my body.
Denying it would not undo what we had become and It would not make this easier.
So instead of arguing, instead of pretending, I did the only thing I could, I accepted the truth quietly and forced myself to swallow the pain that came with it.