Chapter 224 Blood-Colored Confession

Chapter 224 Blood-Colored Confession

Zoey tightened her grip, trying to warm Byron's cold body with her embrace.

"He... he knew... he drew those... those people wouldn't let him go..." She sobbed uncontrollably.

"Mr. Lowe... they... they're all in on it... but Byron said... he's different... he just wanted... the truth..."

Zoey's mind was a mess, her words jumbled and incoherent.

"Zoey."

Byron's voice suddenly emerged, faint and fragile, like a candle flickering in the wind.

Zoey and I both jumped in surprise. He wasn't completely gone?

Zoey immediately bent down, tears streaming onto his face.

"I'm here! Byron! I'm here! Hang on! Ms. Johnson's coming! Ms. Johnson will know what to do!" She shouted, her words tumbling out in a frenzy.

Byron's eyelids struggled to open, revealing eyes that were once distant and scrutinizing, now clear and soft. 

His gaze, unfocused, settled on Zoey's face with a near desperate longing.

"Zoey." He called her name again, his voice weak but clearer, carrying a strange tenderness that was so unlike his usual brooding demeanor.

"Don't cry." He tried to lift his hand to wipe away Zoey's tears, but it only rose a few inches before falling back down.

"It's... it's no use..."

Byron gasped for breath, each inhale sounding like a broken bellows, heavy with the scent of blood. 

"I... I should have died long ago... living until now... was just to... wait for this moment... wait... for it to be finished..."

His gaze drifted to the scattered sketches on the floor.

"Stop talking! Please!" Zoey cried, pressing her hand to his chest wound, as if she could stop the life from slipping away. "You'll be okay! Just hold on a little longer!"

Byron slowly shook his head, his eyes stubbornly locked on Zoey's face, filled with a complex mix of relief, regret, and a pure, intense light I had never seen in him before.

"Zoey." He called her name again, this time with a desperate finality. "I... I always... wanted to tell you..."

Zoey stopped crying, her tear-filled eyes fixed on him, holding her breath. 

Time seemed to freeze. The studio was filled only with Byron's labored breathing and our pounding hearts.

"I... like you..." The words slipped from his pale, blood-stained lips, light as a feather but heavy as a thousand pounds, echoing clearly in the silent air.

"From... the first time... I saw you, in just one day, I don't know why, but I liked... liked you... I'm sure of this feeling."

"Your tears, are they for the fear of death... or the sorrow of life, or... do you have a little bit of affection for me too?"

Zoey's eyes widened in shock and confusion.

She seemed completely stunned, forgetting to cry, forgetting to breathe, just staring blankly at Byron.

Byron's weak smile deepened slightly, forming a genuine, infinitely tender smile that dispelled all the gloom and coldness from his face, leaving only a childlike, pure gentleness. 

He looked at her, as if using his last bit of strength to etch her image into his soul.

"You... are the purest... light I've ever seen..." Byron's voice grew fainter, more ethereal. "It's so good... to see... you... at the end..."

"I know... in your eyes, I've always been a shadow, but that's enough."

With his final word, the light in his eyes, that gentle gaze fixed on Zoey, extinguished like a candle blown out by the wind.

His last smile froze on his face, becoming an eternal, blood-stained portrait.

"Byron?" Zoey's voice trembled, filled with fear and uncertainty. She gently shook him.

She broke into uncontrollable sobs, no longer the suppressed whimpers from before, but a complete, desperate, heart-wrenching cry, filled with the pain of loss, belated understanding, and a bewildering, overwhelming emotion.

"No! Don't die! Wake up! Wake up, Byron!"

Zoey clung to Byron's cold body, shaking and crying in the pool of blood and scattered sketches, as if her world had collapsed with the loss of the life in her arms.

I crouched beside her, my hand frozen in mid-air, overwhelmed by the shock and the complex emotions that followed—sorrow for Byron's twisted life, the impact of his pure confession, and the heartache for Zoey's agonizing pain. 

I didn't know how to comfort her, only watching helplessly as Zoey sank into the whirlpool of blood and tears.

At that moment.

The studio door, not particularly sturdy, was kicked open with a tremendous force from outside! 

The door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.

Zoey and I both flinched, her sobs abruptly stopping.

In the doorway, silhouetted against the dim hallway light, stood a tall figure.

He was dressed in casual clothes, his hair slightly disheveled, his chest heaving with breath, clearly having rushed here. 

His face was ashen, his eyes sharp like a hawk's, filled with professional vigilance and a fury ignited by the scene before him.

It was Ruben.

His gaze instantly locked onto Zoey, kneeling on the floor, clutching Byron's body, covered in blood, crying uncontrollably.

Then, his eyes were drawn like a magnet to Byron's pale face, frozen in a strange smile. He seemed to understand something.

Ruben's expression turned extremely grim, shock, anger, disappointment, and a hint of betrayal swirling in his eyes.

His gaze reluctantly moved from Byron's body to Zoey, who was holding the corpse, his eyes cold enough to freeze the air.

Ruben stepped into the room, each step crunching on the scattered sketches, making a sound that tightened my heart. 

His eyes, like icy daggers, pierced Zoey, his voice low and terrifying, carrying a storm of suppressed rage.

"Zoey, you're holding him?"

Ruben paused, as if seeking confirmation or giving Zoey a chance to explain. 

But when he saw Zoey not letting go, instead clutching Byron's body tighter, as if it was her only support, Ruben's last shred of reason seemed to snap.

He raised his voice sharply, the question like a heavy hammer, smashing into the dead air and Zoey's fragile heart.

"Do you care that much about this murderer?"