Page 29 of His Dark Desires

She busies herself with cleaning her brushes, jaw tight. "Yes. It's my personal studio. I make it work."

"I see." I move closer, watching her move. "And financially, are you... comfortable? With supplies, rent?"

Her hands still. She won't meet my eyes, and that tells me everything I need to know. My fingers curl against my palm as satisfaction and concern wash over me. She needs my help, whether she realizes it or not.

"Sophia," I start, but she cuts me off by dunking her brushes in water with more force than necessary.

"I manage," she says curtly, color rising in her cheeks. "I've always managed."

"You should put your energy into creating, not worrying about finances." I pause, calculating my next words carefully. "I've reviewed your situation, Sophia. The student loans, the credit card debt from your previous gallery showing—"

"How did you—"

"I have resources." I wave away her question. "The point is, these burdens are holding you back. Limiting your potential."

Her spine stiffens. "I don't need charity."

"This isn't charity." I rest my hip against her workbench, forcing her to look up at me. "Consider it an investment in your future. Your talent deserves proper nurturing, without the weight of debt crushing your creativity."

"I..." She swallows hard, and I watch the battle play out across her face—pride bumping against practicality.

"Let me handle your debts, Sophia. No strings attached." I soften my voice, letting genuine admiration seep through. "Your work moves me. This is simply my way of ensuring nothing stands between you and your artistic vision."

As she processes my offer, I wait patiently, knowing I've planted the seed. Sometimes the best way to tighten control is to appear to offer freedom.

"I'd need to think about it," she finally says, her voice small but not entirely resistant.

"Of course." I straighten, giving her space. "Take all the time you need. The offer stands."

"Thank you," Sophia says softly, her eyes meeting mine. "For caring. For wanting to help."

My pulse quickens at her vulnerability. I step closer, drawn by the paint streak still marking her cheek.

"Let me," I murmur, reaching up to wipe it away with my thumb. Her skin is warm under my touch.

She doesn't pull away. "You've been... incredibly generous. With everything."

"I see your potential, Sophia." My hand lingers near her face. "You deserve nurturing. Protection."

"Protection?" Her brow furrows slightly, but she leans almost imperceptibly into my touch.

"The art world can be cruel." I trace my fingers down her jaw. "People will try to take advantage, to reshape your vision into something marketable. I won't let that happen to you."

She shivers under my touch. "I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can." I smile, moving closer until we're sharing breath. "But you don't have to. Not anymore."

My other hand finds her waist, steadying her. The studio feels charged, intimate. Private. Just us, surrounded by her art, by the proof of what I saw in her two years ago.

"Adrian..." Her voice wavers. She places a hand on my chest, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer.

"Let me help you, Sophia." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. "Let me take care of everything."

Her lids grow heavy with desire, her breath catching. She's responding exactly as I knew she would, falling perfectly into place.

"I... yes." She swallows hard. "About the debts. And the exhibition. Yes."

Victory surges through me. I lean in, my lips nearly brushing hers. "You won't regret this. I'll make sure everything is perfect."

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