Chapter 37: Painting Of A Woman In A Black Dress

That underground room is not like a typical underground room. The room is designed like a museum, with white-painted walls, numerous paintings displayed on the walls, a sofa, and good, clean air. I'm amazed; I didn't expect Dylan to have a place like this.

I walked around looking at all the paintings that were said to be made directly by Dylan. I had no idea at all that Dylan had a talent for painting, which might be one of the reasons why he also had a painting room in his house.

"Did Dylan really make this?" I asked Anne.

"Yes, that's what he said. Mr. Dylan sometimes paints when he has free time. And all his paintings are kept here," Anne said.

"They're all beautiful. But their meaning is so dark." As if Dylan had been hurt all this time. I got close to a painting and felt a lot of sadness there, even though the painting was very simple, but somehow I could feel it.

I walked deeper to see more paintings. And I saw a large painting covered by a black cloth. I was curious to see it, but just as I was about to open it, Mary suddenly arrived.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Mary asked, her breath irregular; perhaps she had been arguing for quite a while upstairs and had run to get here.

"I'm fine, Mary. How about you? Oh, there's blood on your shoulder." I rushed over to Mary in a panic. Anne followed me too.

"I'm fine, ma'am. This is just a regular shot." Mary tried to calm me down.

"It's okay, how? You're so pale," said Anne. Anne rushed to tear her uniform fabric to stop the bleeding.

"We need to get the bullet out first. Let me help you." I took the clips out of my hair and helped Mary sit on the sofa.

"Hold on for a moment, okay?" I said to Mary. I also helped remove the bullet from Mary's shoulder. Seeing her reaction, which was just a grimace of pain, made me certain Mary was a strong woman.

After the bullet was successfully removed, Anne gave me cloth to bandage Mary's shoulder with. "If the situation outside has improved, please let the medical professionals know so you can get your medication." Mary nodded obediently, and she also thanked me for helping her remove the bullet, even though I'm just an amateur.

"So, what do you think? Is it still very chaotic out there?" Anne asked when Mary was already much better.

"Yes, Mr. Victor is still here. We can only pray. If Mr. Dylan manages to come here safely, it means the situation has improved. If Mr. Dylan doesn't come, it could mean he has lost," said Mary.

"How can you be sure of that?" I asked.

"Because Mr. Dylan asked me to bring you here, and he said he would come here when things got better," Mary revealed.

"Alright, let's just wait." I got up, looking back at all the paintings on display. I'm also still curious about the largest painting covered with black cloth.

"Mary, Anne. Is there a rule against opening this painting's cover?" I asked them both.

"I've never heard of a painting that's forbidden to be seen. It looks like this painting was also recently moved," Anne said.

"If you're curious, just take a look." Mary approached the large painting and opened its black cover.

When the black cloth was opened, we were all surprised at the same time. How could we not be surprised? The painting turned out to be a portrait of myself, wearing the black wedding dress I used. However, what surprised us even more were the bloodstains made in several places, including the exposed areas of our hands and shoulders.

My facial expression was made to look so pitiful, sitting on a chair in a black dress covered in bloodstains. One of my hands was bleeding, and the other was tied to the chair. I couldn't hide my surprise. Why did Dylan make my painting look like this? Why is he making a sad and bloody face, and out of all the dresses he's ever seen, why is this black wedding dress the one being depicted?

"Does he hate me that much?" That was the first sentence I could say.

"I don't understand either. Someone paints another person; if not by request, then certainly because that person is so special. But this bloody painting makes it impossible for me to interpret the meaning behind it," said Mary. Our three pairs of eyes couldn't tear away from the painting of me in that black, blood-soaked dress.

"Is Dylan cursing me through the painting?" I asked them, but they shook their heads, afraid of misunderstanding the meaning behind it all.

"Madam, there's the sound of footsteps. Anne suddenly realized there were footsteps coming this way.

"We have to close the painting again," Mary said hastily. Anne and I rushed to help Mary put her painting back together as it was originally.

We turned back and prepared to greet whoever was coming into this basement. Mary had already positioned herself in front of me because she was afraid that what would appear would be our enemy. However, the person who arrived was Dylan, in a very messy and sad state.

Dylan's body was covered in sweat, and the blood on his shirt indicated that he had just been fighting. There were also some bruises on his face, but no blood was coming from his body itself. This also shows how strong Dylan is.

"Are you okay?" His voice is so weak. Anyone would know that question was directed at me. Mary and Anne immediately stepped back, revealing me behind them so Dylan could see me freely.

"I'm fine." And for some reason, my heart was beating very fast.

"Thank God, take good care of my child." With a weary gait, Dylan turned to leave. We were still tense on the spot; it seemed this tension wouldn't stop until Dylan was truly gone.

"Everything's gotten better; Victor's gone. So Daniella can go back to her room," Dylan said. But before Dylan really left, there was one thing I really wanted to ask.

"What did you mean by that painting?" My question made Dylan stop in his tracks. Mary and Anne also turned toward me, as if they couldn't believe why I had to ask about the painting in a situation like this. But I was quite curious, and I was used to Dylan's sudden rough treatment, so I could ask him whenever I wanted.

"Did you see it?" Dylan asked, raising one eyebrow. I nodded in agreement.

"Damn, I told Luca not to keep it there. But it's okay if you happened to see it. You want to know what it means, don't you?" Dylan smirked; he was back to being the usual jerk, Dylan.

"Yes! Tell me!"

"You are my captive doll. Filling my home, I tied you up so you wouldn't escape me, but I had to and was happy to use and hurt you."