Page 18 of The Devil's Canvas

Seeing him hurts.

The tenderness beneath my ribs lingers from whatever happened before, a reminder I don’t want but can’t shake. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll figure it out later.

Melanie and Dom are dancing. She moves like she’s floating, graceful, effortless, every step rehearsed to perfection. He holds her close, his hand at her waist, guiding her like she’s the only person in the room.

He’s looking at her like he used to look at me.

And honestly, it’s heartbreaking. Not that I can show it.

The music swells, their movements slow, intimate—something that should feel private, but isn’t. The cameras flash, the guests watch in admiration, and Melanie smiles like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

They finish their dance and break apart.

"The dance floor is now open for couples," the announcer booms through the microphone.

"Great. Now we have to dance," Bella says.

"Speak for yourself. No one is going to ask me," I say.

The music shifts, a slower beat threading through the air. I barely register it before a guy steps up beside Bella, confidence rolling off him like it’s second nature.

"Can I have this dance?" Bella blinks, caught off guard.

He tilts his head, a smirk playing at his lips. "Or are you going to leave me standing here looking ridiculous?"

"See, I told you," I tell her. I can tell she’s about to say no. "Go," I say.

Bella hesitates, glancing at me like she’s waiting for an excuse to decline the offer. I meet her gaze and nod—a silent go ahead.

Her shoulders relax slightly, and after a beat, she takes the guy’s outstretched hand, letting him lead her onto the dance floor, disappearing into the crowd.

I rub my chest again, fingers brushing against the mark. The tingling doesn’t stop.

There’s a presence next to me that sends a shiver rocking through me. Not from the chill in the air, but from something else. I look to my right and see him. The guy from earlier. What is he doing here?

He shifts beside me, gaze flicking toward the dance floor. "The couples are heading out for a dance," he says.

I follow his line of sight. "I guess so," I reply.

"And you're not," he adds.

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

I glance at him, but he’s already looking at me. Steady. Knowing. Like he sees something I don’t want him to. It feels like he knows me.

"Dance with me," he says. It’s more demand than request.

I look at him, stunned. "Okay," is all I can muster.

We walk out with all the other couples. The moment his hands find my waist, something shifts. He pulls me into his arms like I was always meant to be there.

All of a sudden, something clicks.

We fit. Perfectly.

Like his body already knows mine, like I was molded to fit against him, like this was always supposed to happen.

His hand presses firm against the small of my back, keeping me steady. He’s warm, solid, I’m not sure how I know it, but I know for a fact that he’s unshakable. My fingers curl against his shoulder, my body reacting before my mind catches up.

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