Page 17 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

Let him believe it.

I’ll keep playing until it’s time to make my final move—the checkmate that will balance the scales.

Chapter Ten

Ren

“Since you ate all your food, I’ll be a good host. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can have some fun.”

I step closer despite the stench of rot and sweat thick in the air. The vulgar smell coats the back of my throat, but I don’t grimace. I don’t react. I remain in control—because between us, this is the only place I still have it.

“Continue to behave and I might let you have some fun.”

I extend my hand, knowing he won’t take it. He never does. Not yet.

Byron shifts, his body slow, sluggish—the kind of exhaustion that sits in the bones. His hands twitch at his sides, fingers flexing like he wants to hit me but knows he doesn’t have the strength. Good. He’s still fighting, but he’s losing.

Then, he moves—brushing past me with a weak but deliberate arm check. A flicker of defiance. A final, fleeting ember refusing to go out.

I smile.

Such a zesty man.

I’ll enjoy breaking him to nothing.

Let’s see if, once I’m done with him, he still has the will to fight— that small, flickering light that refuses to die. Some things aren’t meant to be fixed. Some things are meant to be destroyed. Byron makes it to the bottom of the stairs like a good boy waiting for his master.

“Ladies first.”

I tilt my head toward the stairs. There’s nowhere else to go. The woods around here all circle back to the same place. If he were to run, I’d enjoy the chase—the thrill of the hunt, the satisfactionof dragging him back. But all my comment earns me is a scowl and a grunt. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t resist, but he does move.

Progress.

He’s learning.

For now.

We step into the daylight, and I look at Byron as he uses his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He flinches, blinking rapidly, as if the light itself is foreign to him, like he’s forgotten what it feels like.

“This way,” I say as I begin to walk towards the cabin. We make it inside with no incident... no words... only the weight of something unspoken pressing between us.

“Shower first.”

Grabbing the back of his neck, I guide him towards the bathroom, careful he doesn’t get a glimpse of my… no, our project.

My first lesson.

He hesitates at first, his body locking up, stiff with resistance. But it’s nothing a little pressure on his neck and a low, “Walk,” can’t fix.

Just a gentle push, a reminder of who’s truly in charge here. I only release the back of his neck when we make it to the bathroom, and I close the door behind us. I move towards the shower, but Byron stops in front of the mirror, I watch him curiously as he stares at himself.. His reflection is still. Too still. Like he’s trying to decide if it’s really him staring back or a stranger.

“What you looking at?” he snaps as our eyes lock in the mirror, cupping his dick in his hands, a weak attempt at hiding from me. But there’s no hiding from the void.

“Nothing, wondering what you’re thinking.”

I answer honestly because I can be who I am with him. There’s something between us, camaraderie… maybe. But definitely something deeper, something I don’t even recognize. Something that makes me want to be truthful—to an extent, of course—but for the most part, I don’t mind sharing my thoughts with him.

“Why do you care?”

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