Page 43 of Painter's Obsession: Volume II

“I’m not your mother!” Vivian shrieks, punching my back with all her might.

“Scream all you want.” I smirk. “I welcome it.”

She sobs, her fists falling flat against my back. I pull the key from my pocket and unlock the door with one hand, shoving it open.

“Ren,” Byron breathes.

The room is destroyed. Torn apart. And Byron looks just as pathetic and shredded as this room. He’s on hisknees, his eyes wide and broken. I throw her into the room causing her to hit the floor with a thud.

“Ow,” she yelps, but I ignore her and focus on my bleeding Thorn. “Byron.”

“I’ll do anything...” Byron starts, crawling toward me. “Anything, but let her go.”

For a moment, I think he means Vivian. But no. That’s not an option. Mother has come back from the dead to haunt me but she can’t have me. Not anymore.

And now I see it. I understand it. My heart races. My lips curl into a smile. I feel warm.

He’s waiting for me. On his knees.For me.

But I compose myself.

“Why are you screaming?” I build up the wall, the one that’s kept me sane. Safe. I pull myself back in.

“You ruined something once again,” I snap, slapping him across the face. “You’ll do anything? Then here’s your chance.”

I walk toward Vivian, grabbing her by the hair. “Please.” She claws at my hand,sobbing—

“Let me go... please—“ Still ignoring her pleas, I toss her toward Byron.

One word. One demand.

“Create.”

Byron understands. His eyes shift first to her, then to me. “Gabriela,” he whispers so softly I’m sure Vivian couldn’t even hear her own death sentence.

But it will be beautiful. Because my ghost will become his. My trauma will mirror his own and we will become one. I perfected what my mother failed to do with me. She made me beneath her. But this… this is equal.

We will be on the same footing, my Thorn and I.

Chapter Twenty Three

Byron

Idon’t look at the woman... I don’t even see her... this all for a reason. She’s an anchor. A path to my destruction, but to save the only thing good and full of love left in me. My sister. “Okay.”

Ren pats my head, “Good boy,” he says before he continues on his way out the door and into his studio. “Now Byron, this is Vivan.” with a smile he turns to her. “Vivan, that is Byron.” he introduces as if we are just meeting for coffee but I know it is bigger than that. He’s giving me a name. Something tangible, something that I’ll hold on forever.

I take a deep breath in as I stand. My knuckle hurts, and my ribs burn from the pain. The sting flares every time I breathe too deep, like a warning. The room smells like iron, sweat, and the faint hint of cologne. Memories of my sister crying when she was being bullied and I had protected her the only way I knew how—with violence. I was a piece of shit and I owned it. To protect my sister, I would carry on the darkness.

“Please,” she begs, her face full of tears and snot. “Please.” But then— “Byron...” she says my name trying to reach to my humanity , but that only belongs to my sister.

My stomach knots. For a second, the floor tilts.

My hand curls into her silky hair, and I feel like an executioner ready to deliver punishment. Her nails dig into my forearm, raking down. “Please.” She thrashes as I drag her to the studio. Her breathing is rapid—sharp, uneven—I feel every hitch against my arm.

My minddrifts to a happier time—

“I don’t wanna fall, Byron.” Gabriela pouts as I remove her training wheels. “Then how will you learn to ride? It’s okay if you fall, I’ll be here.”

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