Page 26 of The Devil's Canvas

"Okay," I say.

"I’ve been talking to Melanie." The words don’t register at first. "Not like that," he adds quickly, shaking his head. "Not at first."

"At first," I echo, my voice sounding far away.

His throat bobs as he swallows. He looks down, twisting the ring on his finger—the one he used to turn absentmindedly when he was nervous.

"I didn’t mean for it to happen."

"For what to happen?"

Dominic exhales, but I already know. I already fucking know. "For me to fall for her," he finally says.

Something inside me splinters. The words don’t just hit me. They tear through me, sharp and deep and horrifyingly real. My stomach twists, my pulse spikes, and pain floods through me like a tidal wave.

And I can’t show a single fucking ounce of it. I’m stuck sitting here, my fingers locked together in my lap. "Oh," I say. That’s it. That’s all that comes out.

Dominic exhales sharply, his chair scraping as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. His hands thread through his hair, his body folding in on itself like he’s bracing for impact.

"I tried, Ophelia," he says, his voice lower now, more wrecked, more desperate. "I really, really fucking tried."

I want to tell him I know. I want to tell him I’m sorry. I want to scream, cry, shake him, beg him to stay. But, I do none of it.

"Say something else," he pleads.

"Like what?"

"Like you care."

I do. God, I do. But my mouth won’t open, my fingers won’t unclench, my body won’t move, won’t shake, won’t react. I feel everything. And he sees nothing.

"I don’t think I do," I say instead.

His eyes snap shut, and when he exhales again, it sounds like something inside him breaks.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. He looks wrecked. Like he wanted me to fight for this. For us. For him.

"I think I’ve known for a while," he says after a long pause, his voice quieter, sadder than I’d ever heard it.

I want to tell him he’s wrong. I want to scream that I still love him, that I never stopped. But I can’t, even if I could it would fall flat. Love means nothing when you can’t express it.

Dominic watches me for a moment longer, like he’s memorizing me, like he’s saying goodbye before he actually says it. "Goodbye, Ophelia."

He doesn’t shout, or slam the door, he doesn’t storm out in a rage like I want to. He just quietly leaves. And I do nothing to stop him.Because even as I shatter, even as I bleed out inside—he will never, ever know.

I can’t help it. The frustration, the grief, the rage—they snap all at once. I throw my paintbrush across the room and scream.Because I lost the ability to express my emotions everywhere.

Except here, where I’m alone. And what the fuck is the use of that?I’m going to be alone forever.

The thought should sit heavy in my chest. It should weigh me down, sink me into the emptiness where I belong.

I think about Julian Duvain, and suddenly, for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel empty at all. He saw me, it was like he could see the emotions trying to burst free.He looked at me and knew—knew everything I was feeling before I could even name it.

And I’m starting to realize that what I thought was forever with Dominic might not have been right. He was too perfect, too clean, too safe.

But Julian? Julian is none of those things. And as I stand there, breathless, paint on my hands, my chest still heaving from the scream, I know one thing.

He’s dangerous. But I’m not afraid of him. I want him.

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