Page 172 of Undisputed Chaos
In the corner, where the afternoon light created the perfect ambiance, sat the custom-built turtle tank that Adrian had surprised me with.
After I mentioned one single time that I wanted a turtle as a child.
The aquarium was a masterpiece of design, sleek glass with naturalistic decor, crystal-clear water moving gently through state-of-the-art filters.
And swimming lazily among the aquatic plants was Neptune, my little red-eared slider who'd quickly become the studio's unofficial mascot.
The tank bubbled softly, and Neptune glided through the water, occasionally surfacing to blink at me with eyes that seemed to hold secrets of the universe.
Adrian had insisted on the best of everything for my "sophisticated aquatic companion"—temperature controls, lights, the best warming perch, a fancy filtration system.
"You spoil him," I'd told Adrian when the installation crew finished setting it up.
"I spoil everything that belongs in your world," he'd replied, pulling me against his chest. "Including you."
Now Neptune had become an integral part of my creative process.
There was something zen about his slow movements, the way he navigated his underwater kingdom with such serene confidence.
When the paintings got too overwhelming, I'd take a break and watch him swim, letting his peaceful energy ground me back to center.
I lost myself in the work again, brush dancing across the canvas as muscle memory took over.
Paint smeared across my forearms, my oversized shirt, the bridge of my nose where I leaned too far forward.
The camera captured the whole messy, beautiful process of creation that my followers had come to crave.
The composition was coming alive, telling our story in ways words never could.
Dark swirls dominated the left side, chaotic and angry, representing everything we'd survived.
But as the painting moved right, those dark colors began to transform, shot through with gold and white and the palest of blue, matching my ribbon.
I was so absorbed in the work that I didn't hear the door.
My body recognized Adrian's presence before my mind did, every nerve ending suddenly alive with anticipation, the way flowers turned toward the sun.
"Don't stop," his voice came from behind me, rough with exertion and something deeper. "Keep painting, angel."
I glanced over my shoulder to find him leaning against the doorframe, still in his workout clothes.
His black crop top clung to his chest, dark with sweat, hair damp and tousled from whatever brutal training session he'd just finished with Connor and Jax.
Those green eyes studied the canvas with the curiosity he always had for anything regarding me.
"Rough session?" I asked, adding another stroke of gold to the composition.
"Connor's convinced Sierra didn’t like his cooking this morning,” he groaned, padding closer on bare feet.
"Spent the entire session taking it out on anything within punching distance."
"Poor heavy bags," I laughed.
"Poor me," Adrian corrected, stopping just behind me. "I was his sparring partner.”
He moved closer, arms sliding around my waist from behind, pulling me back against the solid warmth of his chest.
His lips found my throat, pressing a kiss there that was possessive and tender all at once.
