Chapter 4 Those who thought they loved me.

The photographs scattered across her bed like fallen leaves, each one a violation that cut deeper than the last. Heaven's hands shook as she picked up image after image-her face caught in ecstasy, her body arched in surrender, moments that should have been private now exposed with clinical precision.

"Oh God," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

"Heaven, breathe." Adaline's voice was sharp, commanding. "You need to breathe right now."

But Heaven couldn't breathe. The walls of her bedroom were closing in, the photographs multiplying before her eyes like some horrible optical illusion. She could feel it happening-the familiar spiral into panic that had plagued her since she was fifteen years old.

"This is it," she gasped, clutching at her chest. "This is karma. This is punishment. I should never have... I should never have let myself feel good about anything. Bad things always happen when I-"

"Stop." Adaline's voice cut through her mounting hysteria like a blade. "Stop it right now."

Heaven looked up through tears she hadn't realized were falling. Adaline was standing over her, arms crossed, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation.

"You're spiraling," Adaline said firmly. "And spiraling isn't going to help us figure out who did this or why."

"You don't understand." Heaven's voice was raw, desperate. "That night thirteen years ago... it's like a curse. Every time I try to be normal, every time I try to heal, something terrible happens. It's like the universe won't let me forget."

"The universe doesn't give a shit about your trauma, honey. This is some sick fuck with a camera, not cosmic justice." Adaline sat down on the bed, carefully moving the photographs aside. "We need to think this through logically."

"Logically?" Heaven laughed, the sound harsh and broken. "Someone was watching me have sex, Ada. Someone was out there in the dark with professional equipment, photographing the most intimate moment I've had in thirteen years. How is that logical?"

"It's logical because it was planned. This wasn't random." Adaline picked up one of the photographs, studying it with clinical detachment. "Look at the angle, the quality. This person knew where you were going to be and came prepared."

Heaven wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to focus through the panic. "We should call the police."

"And tell them what? That someone took pictures of you having sex in public? You want to hand these over to a bunch of middle-aged cops who'll analyze every detail of your naked body for evidence?" Adaline's voice was brutally practical. "You want these photos sitting in some evidence locker where any officer with access can take a look?"

The thought made Heaven's stomach lurch. The idea of uniformed strangers examining these images, discussing them in break rooms, making jokes about her vulnerability-it was almost worse than the violation itself.

"Then what do we do?"

"We figure out who knew you were going to be at Meridian last night." Adaline began counting on her fingers. "I knew. Mario knew you'd broken up with him, but did he know where you were going?"

"I don't know. I left his apartment and texted you immediately. He could have followed me."

"That pathetic little worm." Adaline's lip curled in disgust. "Eight months of mediocre dick and now he thinks he owns you? I always knew there was something off about him."

Heaven felt a flicker of doubt. "Mario's not... he's boring, but he's not vindictive. Not like this."

"Honey, you don't know what men are capable of when their egos get bruised. Trust me on this one." Adaline stood up, pacing the small bedroom with predatory energy. "Think about it-you dump him, then immediately go out and have the best sex of your life with someone else. His fragile masculine pride can't handle that."

"How would he even know I had sex with someone else?"

"Because he followed you, took pictures, and now he's trying to punish you for moving on." Adaline's voice was getting higher, more agitated. "It's classic stalker behavior. We need to confront this asshole right now."

"Ada, I don't think-"

"No, you don't think. That's the problem. You're too nice, too willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. But I see men for what they really are-selfish, possessive creatures who can't stand being rejected."

Heaven looked at the photographs spread across her bed, trying to imagine Mario crouched in the bushes with a telephoto lens. It seemed so far outside his character, but then again, how well did she really know anyone?

"Okay," she said finally. "Let's go talk to him."

Mario's apartment building was a converted warehouse in the arts district, all exposed brick and industrial fixtures that tried too hard to be hip. They caught him just as he was getting off the elevator on the third floor, juggling multiple bags of groceries.

"Heaven?" His face lit up with genuine surprise and pleasure. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon. Are you-" His expression soured when he noticed Adaline behind her. "Oh. Her."

"Hello, Mario." Adaline's voice dripped with false sweetness. "Fancy meeting you here at your own apartment. Almost like you live here or something."

"Ada, please." Heaven stepped forward, studying Mario's face for signs of guilt or deception. He looked exactly the same as always-slightly rumpled, earnestly hopeful, completely ordinary.

"Where were you last night?" Adaline demanded, shouldering past Heaven to get closer to Mario. "After Heaven left your apartment, where did you go?"

Mario's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "I... why are you asking me that?"

"Just answer the fucking question."

"I stayed home. Played some games, ordered takeout, went to bed at midnight." He looked between them, clearly bewildered. "What's this about? Heaven, what's going on?"

"Someone was following me last night," Heaven said quietly. "Taking pictures. We're trying to figure out who."

The blood drained from Mario's face. "Pictures? What kind of pictures?"

"The invasive kind," Adaline snapped. "The kind that sick stalkers take when they can't handle being dumped."

"You think I-" Mario's voice cracked. "You actually think I would do something like that?"

Heaven watched his reaction carefully. The shock seemed genuine, the hurt in his eyes too raw to be fabricated. But Adaline was relentless.

"You were alone last night? No alibi? How convenient."

"I wasn't alone." Mario's voice was getting defensive. "Mrs. Damon from next door came over around nine. We played Monopoly until almost midnight."

"Monopoly?" Adaline's laugh was vicious. "Of course you played Monopoly. Because you're exactly that boring."

"Stop it." Heaven put a hand on Adaline's arm, but her friend shrugged it off.

"No, I won't stop it. This pathetic little man has been stalking you, violating your privacy, and now he's standing here lying to our faces."

"I'm not lying!" Mario's voice rose, echoing in the hallway. "I would never do something like that to Heaven. I love her!"

"Love?" Adaline stepped closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You call eight months of boring her to death love? You call making her feel like a corpse in bed love?"

"Ada-" Heaven started, but Mario cut her off.

"At least I actually care about her as a person instead of treating her like an accessory to my party lifestyle." His eyes flashed with unexpected fire. "At least I don't fill her head with poison about how all men are evil."

"Because you're such a prize? A failed artist who works at his daddy's insurance company and still plays board games on Friday nights?"

"Better than being a gold-digging slut who-"

The slap echoed through the hallway like a gunshot. Adaline's hand print was already blooming red across Mario's cheek.

"What the hell is going on out here?" An elderly woman opened her door, peering out with irritated curiosity.

"Nothing, Mrs. Damon ," Mario said quickly, his hand pressed to his stinging cheek. "Just having a conversation."

"Sounds more like World War Three. I'm calling the super if you don't keep it down."

More doors were opening now, curious neighbors drawn by the commotion. Heaven felt panic rising in her chest again-too many eyes, too much attention, too much like the aftermath of her assault when everyone knew and everyone whispered.

"We need to go," she said urgently, grabbing Adaline's arm.

"We're not done here," Adaline snarled at Mario.

"Yes, we are." Heaven was already backing toward the stairwell. "We're done."

As they retreated, Mario called after them, his voice thick with hurt and anger. "Your friend is poison, Heaven. She's been poisoning you against everyone who actually cares about you. I never left my apartment last night, and Mrs. Chen will confirm that if you bother to ask."

They took the stairs two at a time, Heaven's heart hammering against her ribs. Behind them, she could hear doors closing and the elevator dinging as Mario retreated to his apartment.

"Well, that was productive," Heaven said when they reached the street.

"Are you kidding? That was perfect. Did you see how defensive he got? Classic guilty behavior."

"Ada, I don't think it was him."

"Of course it was him. He's exactly the type-boring, possessive, can't handle rejection. Trust me, I've dealt with his kind before."

Heaven's phone buzzed with an incoming call. Jasper's name flashed on the screen.

"Heaven, thank God you answered. Miss Von Domme is here and she is not happy. She says you missed another appointment and she's talking about pulling her commission."

"Shit. I completely forgot. I'll be right there."

The drive to the studio was tense, Adaline muttering about Mario's "obvious guilt" while Heaven tried to prepare herself for another confrontation. Miss Von Domme was City Alto's most influential art collector, a woman whose patronage could make or break careers.

She was waiting in the studio when Heaven arrived, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, her expression thunderous.

"Miss Hallsey. How gracious of you to finally appear."

"Miss Von Domme, I sincerely apologize. I had a family emergency and-"

"I don't care about your personal dramas." The older woman's voice could have cut glass. "What I care about is professionalism, reliability, and respect for commitments. Three qualities you seem to lack entirely."

Heaven felt her carefully constructed composure beginning to crack. After everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, this public dressing-down felt like the final straw.

"I understand your frustration," she managed. "If you'll give me another chance-"

"Another chance? This is your third missed appointment, Miss Hallsey. Three times I've rearranged my schedule to accommodate your supposed talent, and three times you've left me waiting like some common supplicant."

"Miss Von Domme," Jasper appeared at Heaven's elbow, his usual nervous energy replaced by surprising authority. "Heaven has been dealing with some serious personal issues. I can assure you that her commitment to her art and her clients remains absolute."

The older woman's gaze shifted to Jasper, taking in his paint-stained clothes and earnest expression. "And you are?"

"Jasper Greene. I curate this space and I've worked with Heaven for two years. Her talent is extraordinary, and her dedication is unwavering when she's not dealing with circumstances beyond her control."

"Circumstances beyond her control." Miss Von Domme's smile was sharp as a blade. "How conveniently vague. Very well, Mr. Greene. One final opportunity. But if Miss Hallsey fails to deliver on schedule, I'll be taking my business-and my recommendations-elsewhere."

She swept out of the studio like a disapproving queen, leaving Heaven and Jasper in her wake.

"Thank you," Heaven said quietly. "I don't know what I would have done if she'd pulled the commission."

"Probably the same thing you always do-find a way to survive and keep creating." Jasper's smile was gentle, understanding. "You don't have to be perfect all the time, you know. Some of us actually like you despite your flaws."

The kindness in his voice almost undid her. Heaven found herself stepping forward, wrapping her arms around Jasper in a hug that was equal parts gratitude and desperation.

"You're too good to me," she whispered against his shoulder.

"Impossible. There's no such thing as being too good to you." His arms tightened around her, solid and warm and safe. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I think so. I'm going to stay here tonight, work on the piece. I need the distraction."

"Are you sure? You've had a rough day. Maybe you should go home, get some rest."

"No." The thought of returning to her apartment, to those photographs scattered across her bed, made her stomach turn. "I need to work. It's the only thing that makes sense right now."

Jasper studied her face, clearly wanting to argue but recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw. "Okay. But promise me you'll eat something. And maybe get some sleep at some point."

"I promise."

He gathered his things and left, pausing at the door to look back at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Heaven? You know you can talk to me about anything, right? Whatever's going on, you don't have to handle it alone."

"I know. Thank you."

After he left, Heaven lost herself in her work with desperate intensity. The painting was part of her "Constraint" series-a figure bound by shadows but reaching toward light, caught in the eternal struggle between surrender and resistance. Tonight, the work felt personal in ways that made her hands shake.

She painted until her vision blurred, until her back ached from hunching over the canvas, until the studio grew dark around her and the only light came from the harsh fluorescents above her easel. The repetitive motion of brush against canvas was meditative, each stroke taking her further away from photographs and confrontations and the terrible vulnerability of being seen.

It was past midnight when she heard the creak of the front door.

Heaven froze, her brush halfway to the canvas. The studio was supposed to be locked. She was supposed to be alone.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing in the cavernous space.

Footsteps on the concrete floor, familiar and unthreatening. A figure emerged from the shadows, and Heaven felt her shoulders relax.

"Jasper? What are you doing here?"

He was carrying a large messenger bag, his curly hair more disheveled than usual. "I couldn't stop thinking about you up here all alone. Figured you might be hungry by now."

"You didn't have to-"

"Of course I didn't have to. I wanted to." He set the bag down on one of the work tables and began unpacking containers that smelled like heaven. "Homemade lasagna, Caesar salad, garlic bread, and chocolate cake for dessert. All prepared by yours truly."

Heaven stared at the spread, genuinely touched. "You cooked all this?"

"Don't sound so surprised. I have hidden depths." His grin was boyishly proud. "I may not be able to paint like you, but I can damn sure cook."

They sat on paint-stained stools, eating off paper plates while surrounded by canvases and the detritus of creative work. The food was actually exceptional, and Heaven realized she was starving.

"This is amazing," she said around a bite of lasagna. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"My mom. She insisted I learn to take care of myself before I left for college." Jasper twirled pasta around his fork with practiced ease. "She said she didn't want me living on ramen and regret."

"Smart woman."

"She was. Is. We don't talk much anymore, though. She wanted me to be a forensic accountant like my dad. When I chose art instead..." He shrugged. "Let's just say she doesn't understand my choices."

Heaven looked at him with new eyes. "I didn't know that about you."

"You've never really asked." The words came out matter-of-fact, without accusation, but they hit Heaven like a physical blow.

"Jasper-"

"It's okay." He reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "You've been dealing with your own stuff. I get that."

His touch was warm, gentle, completely different from the calculated precision of the mystery man's hands. Heaven found herself studying Jasper's face-really looking at him for perhaps the first time. He was handsome in an unconventional way, all sharp angles and expressive eyes, the kind of face that grew more attractive the longer you looked at it.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I've been selfish. A terrible friend."

"You're not terrible. You're just... careful. Guarded. I understand why."

Something in his tone made her look up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I know you've been hurt. I can see it in your work, in the way you hold yourself, in the way you never quite trust anyone to get too close." He squeezed her hand gently. "Whatever happened to you, it changed you. Made you afraid to let people in."

Heaven felt exposed, seen in a way that was both comforting and terrifying. "I don't like talking about it."

"You don't have to. I just want you to know that not everyone wants to hurt you. Some of us..." He paused, seeming to struggle with something. "Some of us have been waiting a long time for you to notice we're here."

The weight of his words settled between them like a stone dropped in still water. Heaven became acutely aware of his hand covering hers, of the way he was looking at her with an intensity she'd never noticed before.

"Jasper..."

He leaned forward, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. "I've been waiting two years for you to really see me, Heaven. Two years of being your friend, your supporter, your champion, hoping that someday you'd realize..."

His lips were inches from hers now, his eyes dark with want and hope and something deeper that made her chest tight with panic.

"No." She pulled back, breaking the contact between them. "I can't. I don't... I'm sorry, but I don't think of you that way."

The change in his expression was immediate and devastating. The gentle hope drained out of his eyes, replaced by something harder, angrier.

"Of course you don't." His voice was bitter, all warmth suddenly absent. "Of course you fucking don't."

"Jasper, please don't be upset. You're important to me, just not-"

"Not what? Not romantically? Not sexually?" He stood up abruptly, knocking over his stool. "Just good old reliable Jasper, always there when you need him, never asking for anything in return."

Heaven stood too, alarmed by the transformation in his demeanor. "You're my friend. That matters. That's valuable."

"Friendship." He laughed, the sound harsh and ugly. "Do you have any idea what I've done for you? What I've sacrificed? Two years of my life dedicated to your career, your wellbeing, your precious fucking feelings."

"I never asked you to-"

"You didn't have to ask! I gave freely because I thought... because I believed that eventually you'd see how much I care about you. How much I love you."

The word hung between them like a weapon. Heaven felt her heart racing, flight instincts screaming at her to run.

"I thought you were different," Jasper continued, his voice rising. "I thought you were special, pure, not like the other sluts who throw themselves at anyone with a pulse."

"Don't call me that." Heaven's voice was low, dangerous. "Don't you dare call me that."

"Why not? It's what you are, isn't it?" He stepped closer, invading her space in a way that made her skin crawl. "You won't even look at me twice, but you'll spread your legs for some stranger you just met at a bar."

The words hit her like physical blows. "How do you-" The realization crashed over her like ice water. "It was you."

Jasper went very still.

"The photographs. You took them." Heaven's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of absolute certainty. "You followed me last night. You watched us. You took pictures."

He didn't deny it. Didn't even try to lie. He just stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"You sick fuck." Heaven backed away from him, bumping into her easel. "You violated me. You watched me have sex and photographed it like some kind of pervert."

"I had to see for myself." His voice was cold now, controlled. "I had to see what kind of person you really were. And now I know."

"Get out." Heaven's voice was shaking with rage and betrayal. "Get out of my studio right now."

"It's not just your studio, Heaven. I work here too. I've been taking care of this place, taking care of you, for two years."

"GET OUT!"

Jasper grabbed his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder with jerky, aggressive movements. At the door, he turned back to look at her one last time.

"You'll regret this," he said quietly. "You'll realize what you lost, and you'll regret it."

The door slammed behind him, leaving Heaven alone in the fluorescent-lit space with her half-finished painting and the terrible knowledge that someone she'd trusted had been watching her, stalking her, documenting her most private moments.

She sank onto her stool, her whole body shaking with the aftermath of adrenaline and betrayal. Everyone she'd thought she could trust had revealed themselves to be something else entirely. Mario with his desperate possessiveness, Jasper with his entitled obsession.

If she couldn't trust the people closest to her, who could she trust? And somewhere out there, a mystery man with surgeon's hands and analytical eyes remained completely unknown to her, the only person who'd touched her soul in years reduced to scattered photographs and fading memories.

Heaven looked at her painting-the figure caught between constraint and freedom-and realized she'd never felt more trapped in her life.