Page 62 of His Dark Desires

Sophia

I stand in front of the final canvas of my commission, my brush poised above the vibrant swirl of colors that represents the complicated dance between love and technology. It's ironic. The subject matter so closely mirrors my own tangled relationship with Adrian. I let out a soft sigh, taking in the nearly finished piece. There's an energy to it, a certain vitality that I've never achieved before.

I have to admit, despite everything, I've never felt so free, so liberated in my creativity. Without the weight of financial stress and housing uncertainty, I've been able to pour all of myself into my art. It's exhilarating... and guilt-inducing.

I owe this freedom to Adrian. He's been nothing but supportive these past days—attentive, patient, even tender. The once-cold billionaire has shown me a side of him I never expected to see. He's listened to me ramble about color theory and composition, his piercing gray-blue eyes reflecting genuine interest. He's offered me comfort when I've doubted myself, his touch firm yet reassuring.

Yet every time we touch or he smiles at one of my sketches, a pang of guilt tightens in my chest. This comfort was bought with Daniel's destruction—his reputation shattered by anonymous tips and whisper campaigns orchestrated by Adrian himself.

I've kept this guilt hidden from Adrian—tucked away beneath warm smiles and light kisses—but it weighs heavily on me. The secret gnaws at me each time I look into his eyes or feel his arms around me.

I lower my brush to the canvas again, the soft swish of bristles against the surface the only sound in the room. My mind spins with thoughts of Adrian—the good and the bad intertwined like the patterns before me.

But no matter how gentle he's been or how much he seems to care for me now, there's one truth I can't escape, one truth that spoils these tender moments and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I can't forgive him.

I can't forgive him for what he's done—to Daniel, to me. I can't forgive him for the way he manipulates people's lives, bending them to his will. I can't forgive him for using his power and influence to control those around him.

And the worst part? The part that scares me the most?

I'm starting to fear that I might not want to.

So where do I go from here? What happens after I finish?

A soft knock on the studio door pulls me from my thoughts. I glance over to see Mara stepping inside, her poise immediately changing the room's atmosphere.

"Mara," I greet softly.

I keep my focus on my work, mixing shades of blue and gray.

"Sophia," she replies, stepping further into the room. "I wanted to see how the final piece is coming along."

"Almost there," I say, gesturing toward the nearly completed piece. Her eyes take it in, a small smile playing on her lips.

"It's stunning," she murmurs, genuine appreciation in her voice.

Our relationship has shifted from wary indifference to something almost friendly. She's become my connection to the world outside this studio, delivering updates about my upcoming exhibition—easily restored, it seems—and news from the art scene.

"Thank you," I reply, forcing a smile onto my face.

"So, have you heard about the new installation at the Modern?" Mara asks, perching herself on a nearby stool. Her usual sharp demeanor softens as she settles in.

"No, I've been..." I wave my hand at the canvas, "preoccupied."

"Oh, you have to hear about this. Remember that sculptor everyone was buzzing about? She's created this incredible piece that responds to people's movements."

I set my brush down, drawn in despite myself. "The one who did the water reflection series?"

"Yes! She's completely outdone herself this time." Mara's eyes light up. "The whole gallery transforms based on the viewers' positions. It's like being inside a living artwork."

"That sounds amazing," I say. "How did she manage the technical aspects?"

"That's the brilliant part. She collaborated with this tech startup..." Mara launches into the details, her hands moving animatedly as she describes the mechanics behind the installation.

"Who's coming to the opening?" I ask, cleaning my brush.

"Everyone who matters in the art scene. Though..." She pauses, a sly smile crossing her face. "There's this new gallery director who's causing quite a stir. Apparently, she's been poaching artists from established galleries."

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