Page 81 of The Devil's Canvas

“Something likewhat?” I ask.

“Your power is getting stronger,” she replies.

“Power?” I frown. “You mean the bond?”

“No,” Evander says, his tone final. “You.”

Julian steps in before I can question further. “That’s enough. Lia, I think it’s time we talk.”

Owen chuckles darkly. “Whole damn tapestry’s shifting—hope she’s ready to stitch it back.”

Before I can say a word, the room disappears.

One blink—and I’m somewhere else.

A living room, but his this time. I can tell.

Dim blue light flickers from torches mounted on sleek, black stone walls. Velvet drapes choke a massive window, and a fireplace burns low with flames that don’t crackle—just glow. Strange, dark, and silent. The seats are deep and cushioned but not exactlywelcoming—more like they’re daring you to sit.

I turn to him slowly. The words come out low, tight with too many things to name. “Tell me everything.”

He doesn’t pretend not to understand.

Julian leans against the bookshelf, arms crossed, gaze steady but distant.

“Your father made a deal. A cruel one. He traded your power—the way you pour emotion and empathy into your paintings—and gave it to Melanie. To fuel her career.”

I blink. “What?”

He keeps going. “Every stroke of your brush, every raw piece of you—he siphoned it. Melanie’s tears on screen? Her ‘gut-wrenching’ performances? That’syou.Stripped and repackaged.”

I stumble back, hands shaking. “How could he—why would he do that? My paintings weremine.”

“For power,” Julian says, voice sharp. “His pride. Her fame. And there’s more. He threw in your soul as the final stake. When Melanie hits her peak—when he’s basking in the glow of her success—your soul becomes mine to take. ‘The most successful,’ he said. That was the trigger.”

“My soul?” I whisper. “No. I don’t believe you. He wouldn’t… Cassius is cold, but this? You’re lying.”

Julian doesn’t flinch. “It’s the truth. Check the mark if you doubt me. It’s pulsing brighter because the contract’s closing in.”

I glance down. The gold glows hot against my skin. My breath catches.

“He ruined my life,” I whisper, tears burning. “He took my art. Myheart.Everything I was. Dominic loved me for that—for my soul. And when it faded, he left. Fell for her. For Melanie. Because of what Cassius stole.”

I spin toward Julian, rage burning through my grief. “And you! You took the deal! You let him rip me apart—my soul, myeverything—for some contract? How could you?”

Julian straightens, his voice cool but not cruel. “It’s what I do, Lia. I collect souls. I make deals. It’s my nature. But I didn’t know you were mine. I didn’t feel the mark burn until it was too late. Cassius played us both.”

I sink into the nearest chair. I don’t even know where to start. He’s telling the truth—I know it. I always knew what he was. But it’s different now. It’s me.

“There’s more,” Julian says quietly.

“More?” I ask. “I don’t know if I can take more.”

He exhales, gaze distant. “Cassius knew you’re the Weaver of the Loom of Fate.”

I blink. “The Greek myth? With the three women spinning destiny?”

“No myth,” he says. “It’s real. And it’s you.”

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