Page 111 of Knot Their Arrangement

The room unfolds before me like a museum dedicated to speed and sound, each wall telling its own story of passion and achievement.

This has to be Rhett's personal space – the decoration style is too distinctive, too artistically chaotic to belong to anyone else.

Neon-colored posters dominate one section of the wall, featuring musical artists spanning genres and decades. The vibrant artwork seems to pulse with captured energy, each image carefully chosen and positioned to create a visual symphony.

Some names I recognize from that week we shared – bands he'd play while we drove through the city at midnight, songs that became the soundtrack to our brief rebellion.

But it's the racing posters that truly capture my attention.

They cover another wall entirely, each one showcasing different vehicles caught in moments of perfect motion. The photography is stunning – cars captured mid-drift, their bodies gleaming under stadium lights, tire smoke creating ethereal halos around their forms.

Some appear to be professional shots from major races, while others have a grittier feel, like they were taken at underground events where speed matters more than safety.

My breath catches as I notice the framed uniforms displayed between the posters. Each one rests behind signed glass, the signatures belonging to legends in the racing world.

These aren't mere replicas or fan merchandise – the wear patterns and subtle details speak of actual use, of bodies pushed to their limits inside these suits while chasing victory.

A collection of Formula 1 memorabilia draws my eye next, but these pieces are different from what you'd find in a typical fan's collection.

Everything appears to be one-of-one items: prototype designs, limited edition releases, pieces that would make collectors weep with envy. Each item is displayed with museum-quality precision, telling the story of someone who lives and breathes racing culture at its highest level.

Then I see the medals.

They cover an entire pinboard first; marathon achievements that span years of dedication. Each medallion represents miles conquered, finish lines crossed, limits pushed and broken. The sheer volume speaks of someone who understands that greatness isn't achieved in single moments but built through countless hours of relentless effort.

But it's the racing medals that truly steal my breath.

They dominate an entire wall, mounted in chronological order that lets me trace his journey from amateur competitions to professional victories. Each frame contains not just the medal, but supporting documentation –race stats, timesheets, and photographs capturing the moment of triumph.

Some include newspaper clippings, headlines announcing new records set or championships claimed.

I lose myself in studying each achievement, pride swelling in my chest until it threatens to overflow.

Despite everything my father's men did to him, despite all the fear and pain they tried to instill, Rhett didn't just survive – he thrived. Every medal, every trophy, every framed moment of victory stands as a testament to his refusal to be broken.

The emotion hits me harder than I expected.

Here, displayed before me, is proof that trauma doesn't have to define you.

That the darkness others try to impose can be transformed into fuel for something greater. Each achievement on these walls represents a step away from that night of violence, a choice to keep pushing forward despite the scars.

I'm so absorbed in taking it all in, in processing the magnitude of what he's accomplished, that I don't immediately notice Rhett's return.

My eyes scan the glass frame of his most recent victory – a championship win that made headlines across multiple racing circuits. It makes me intrigued by how life can be. While I was running from the expectations of my family who seemed to set me up for failure, Rhett was outshining all those obstacles and barriers that wished to slow him down in any way.

While I was running from my cage, he was breaking records and claiming victories. While I hid in the Safe Haven, he was building a legacy that would make any parent proud. The contrast should make me feel smaller and should highlight how little I've achieved in comparison.

But instead, it fills me with hope.

Because if Rhett could overcome what my father did to him, could transform that pain into triumph, maybe I'm not as cursed as I thought. That the darkness that follows me doesn't have to destroy everyone it touches.

My eyes drift over the collection again, seeing not just the achievements but the story they tell. It's a narrative of someone who refused to stay down, who took every obstacle and turned it into a stepping stone. Someone who didn't let other people's cruelty define their path.

These aren't just decorations or markers of success – they're proof that survival can be beautiful. That trauma can be transformed into triumph, fear into fuel, pain into purpose. Every medal, every frame, every carefully preserved moment stands as a testament to the strength I always knew he possessed.

The strength I felt that very first night, when he looked at me like I was worth protecting rather than possessing.

The touch on my chin startles me from my contemplation, firm fingers tilting my face upward.

---