Chapter 4 Ray's Pov

She called me, twice.

I didn't answer....... I couldn't.

Not when my hands were still stained with his blood. Not when the scent of fear still clung to me like a second skin. I had just finished burying the evidence in one of the artist-owned warehouses I kept on the outskirts of the city-places that looked abandoned but were laced with state-of-the-art security and ironclad silence.

The alley hadn't been my original plan. I hadn't expected to act so soon, but the moment I saw that bastard follow her, I couldn't help myself.

He would have touched her. He would have hurt her.

So I carved him open like a canvas-delicate, precise strokes. I had always been good with my hands.

I washed them after, of course, scrubbed them raw. It was not because I felt guilt, but because Lena deserved clean things.........clean hands and clean justice.

I sat now in my penthouse-top floor, full glass windows, paintings on every wall, all mine. To the world, I was Raymond Vale-the eccentric billionaire artist who hosted exhibitions in candlelit rooms and sold paintings for millions but no one knew what the paintings meant. No one saw what was buried beneath the brushstrokes.

They were all her.......Lena.

Even before I met her, I had seen her in dreams and painted her from memory I didn't possess. That mole under her chin, the way her shoulders curved in when she was scared. I had been painting her long before I touched her world but it wasn't until the night of the attempted assault that I knew she was real.

She was in flesh and blood and breakable and I couldn't let anyone break her.

So I broke them instead.

I stood, walked over to the easel in the corner. Her newest portrait stared back at me, unfinished. She was curled up on a couch, knees to chest, eyes half-closed in fitful sleep. I'd taken the photo ten minutes before I knocked on her door. I couldn't help it. I needed to see her again and I needed her to know I was close, watching and protecting but I also needed her to be afraid.

The fear made her alert, it made her cautious. If she was cautious, she'd live longer. If she trusted me too much...

She might start asking questions.

I couldn't let that happen.

I picked up the brush again, dipped it into a stroke of midnight blue. I painted the shadows around her eyes. She cried again. I hated it-but I loved it too, her vulnerability, her softness. It was rare and rare things needed to be guarded.

The knock on my private studio door made me pause.

"Come in," I said, not looking up.

Marcus stepped in. My head of security, he was loyal, trained. He'd followed her today after I left the café and kept eyes on her while I handled the aftermath.

"She went home and locked herself in. She also drew the curtains," he said.

"Do you think she saw you across the street?"

He nodded once. "Yap and she panicked, looking ready to jump out her own skin."

I smiled faintly, the corner of my mouth twitching. "Good."

"I left the box just like you said and she opened it."

"And the message?"

He hesitated. "She was shaking and she nearly dropped the whole thing."

"She needed to know," I murmured, still staring at the painting. "She needed to feel it."

Marcus said nothing. He knew better than to question my methods. He'd seen what I was capable of when crossed. What I did to the man who hurt my sister years ago. What I did to my father.

Sometimes monsters are born. Sometimes they were created.

I was both.

And Lena...She was the only thing left that kept me human or something close to it.

"Continue the shadow surveillance," I said. "Don't get too close but if anyone else approaches her without my permission..."

Marcus nodded. "I'll handle it."

He left without another word.

The studio was quiet again. I stepped away from the painting and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and from here, I could see most of the city and if I used the telescope in the other room, I could just barely see the top of her building.

I didn't turn the telescope tonight. I didn't need to. I could feel her.

She was terrified but she was also starting to understand. She was starting to piece things together.

The black tulip was a risk. A signature I'd used before-but this time it was for her. She needed to know she was connected to all of this. That it wasn't random.

I had chosen her and I never let go of what I chose.

Still, I had to be careful. One wrong move and she'd run. She wasn't ready to know who I truly was. She would see me as a monster and she wouldn't understand.

Not yet but soon.

Soon, she'd see that everything I did was for her.

The kills.......The lies.

It was all just love in its most honest form.

Possession, Obsession, Protection.

My phone buzzed on the table. It was a message from a restricted line. I picked it up.

RESTRICTED: There's a new detective on the case. He's asking questions and real ones.

My jaw tensed.

I typed back.

ME: Handle him. Or I will.

I set the phone down and stared at the blank canvas next to Lena's portrait. I wanted a new painting, something raw, something darker. I already saw the image in my head.

Lena in a pool of light with blood dripping from her fingertips but not hers-someone else's. Her eyes open, wide, staring not in fear... but in understanding. She knew and she accepted me anyway.

That's what I wanted.

That's what I needed.

But for now, I'd keep the mask on. The charming artist and the helpful stranger. The man who just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Soon, though......She'd know.