CHAPTER 15: Peaceful Sky

Nirvana's POV

I walked closely beside Leo across the wide campus. The afternoon air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the intense frustration boiling under my skin.

I knew Leo desperately wanted to ask me questions about what had just happened inside that lecture hall. I could see the confusion and the genuine fear pulling his eyebrows together. But he did not speak a single word about it. He respected my space, but his silence was loud.

Seeing him look so incredibly scared of Adrian actually hurt me deeply. Leo was my friend. He was kind to me from the very first day I arrived here at the university, and he absolutely did not deserve to be treated with such harsh hostility.

Adrian’s glare had been pure, territorial hatred. The memory of it made my chest ache with guilt. I desperately wanted to fix the awkwardness settling between us so I asked about our humanitarian course.

"Did Professor Harris say we needed to finish chapter four by tomorrow, or five?" I asked, forcing a casual tone.

Leo kept his eyes glued to the pavement. "Just four," he answered quietly. "Page forty to sixty."

His voice shook slightly on the numbers. The subtle tremble made my stomach drop.

"Right. Thank you. I completely spaced out at the end there."

"It's fine, Nir," Leo murmured. He wrapped his arms around his torso, pulling his jacket tighterl.

There was no point in pretending everything was normal when Adrian's silent threat still hung over us. So we just gave up.

I returned to the manor an hour later. My entire body still hummed with sexual frustration and a lingering anger. Adrian had completely lost his control, pulled me against the desk, and then pushed me away the second we were interrupted by the knock on the door. His sudden withdrawal left me reeling and entirely unsatisfied.

I walked straight up the large wooden stairs, went directly into my bedroom, and locked the heavy door securely behind me. I could still feel my the heaviness of my breasts and the gentle ache in between my legs. I needed a physical release for all the pent-up energy vibrating in my chest. But I did not want to touch myself.

I dragged my largest blank canvas out from the corner of my closet and set it up firmly on my wooden easel. I grabbed my thickest brushes from my supply box and squeezed large amounts of dark navy blue, heavy grey, and stark white acrylic paint onto my palette.

The sharp smell of the paint filled the bedroom, and the familiar scent immediately calmed a small portion of my racing mind.

When I paint, the physical world completely disappears from my thoughts. The heavy weight of my mother’s betrayal back in New Orleans fades away entirely. The stress of Ronan’s lies and his bloody shirts vanishes from my reality. I feel entirely independent in those moments. The sensation brings absolute freedom. It felt like I was flying high up in the open sky without any restrictions holding me down.

I gripped the wooden handle of my brush tightly in my right hand. I applied heavy, forceful strokes across the texture of the canvas. Within some minutes, I have painted a churning body of water across the bottom half of the space. The painted waves were jagged, dark, and incredibly angry.

I made the water crash violently against the invisible boundaries of the frame, using thick layers of navy blue and black to show the depth of the ocean. Above the angry water, I painted a sky filled with thick, fluffy white clouds. I blended the stark white and light grey paint smoothly to give the clouds a soft and voluminous texture.

The stark contrast between the soft, peaceful sky and the violent, angry water matched my exact feelings at that moment. The sky represented the peace I wanted, and the water represented the frustrating reality of my current life.

I spent three uninterrupted hours completely absorbed in the work. My arm physically ached from the continuous movement, but I did not stop until the canvas was entirely covered.

When I finally finished the piece, I set my brush down and took a clear picture of the wet canvas with my phone. I posted the image directly to my "Muse" profile online to share my frustration with the world.

A light knock interrupted my thoughts just before Ronan pushed my bedroom door open. He leaned against the frame, his expression much softer than it had been all week.

"Hey," he said, "Uhmn.. put on something nice. I got us a table at this eatery downtown."

I paused, looking at him skeptically. "Why? What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," he said, offering a warm, easy smile. "I just want to take my sister out. Let me treat you tonight."

I stared at him, seeing right through the sudden charm. Guilt was practically written all over this invitation. I had been asking way too many questions at breakfast about the blood on his shirt last night.

I decided not to push it. I was honestly too tired to fight him again.

"Okay," I said quietly. "Give me twenty minutes."

Ronan drove us in complete silence to thus incredibly rich restaurant. We stepped inside the building, the atmosphere rich with wealth and quiet power.

The interior featured dark wood paneling, low lighting, and plush velvet seating. Men wearing sharp, expensive tailored suits sat at large circular tables, discussing their corporate business in hushed tones.

Wealthy lovers sat in the dimmer corners of the room, sharing intimate conversations over plates of expensive food and tall glasses of wine. Other guests sat in small, well-dressed groups, laughing quietly and enjoying the environment.

The front receptionist stood up immediately when we walked through the glass doors. She smoothed her uniform and greeted Ronan with extreme politeness. It was very obvious that this was not his first time walking into this building.

"We are one of the biggest shareholders," Ronan explained quietly as I gently looked around. "Our company owns a very large part of this establishment. Be free to walk around and explore while I secure our reserved table."

Ronan excused himself and few moments later, he left again to speak with the general manager near the front desk. I took the opportunity to wander away from the busy main dining floor.

I walked down a quiet hallway to escape the low hum of voices. I passed a few closed doors before I stepped right into a private VIP viewing room located in the very back of the building.

The room was completely empty of people. It didn't make me nervous like that large dining room. I admired the rich colors of the walls and the impressive structure of the arched ceiling above me. I turned my head to view the expensive art displayed on the walls for their wealthy guests to admire. My feet stopped moving immediately I saw it.

Hanging perfectly in the exact center of the room was a painting of a woman screaming into nothingness. It was the exact piece my mother had stolen and sold to an underground dealer back in New Orleans.

I walked closer to the canvas. My heart beat incredibly fast inside my chest. I recognized every single brushstroke on the woman's face. I saw the jagged lines of her silent scream and the exact way her head tilted backward in agony.

Right beside the thick wooden frame was a small, polished gold plaque fastened to the wall. I read the engraved owner's name printed in black lettering.

“Acquired by A. Cross.”

I let out a loud gasp in the empty room. A sudden intense anger brewed hot inside my stomach. I can't deny that I was glad to see my painting safe and intact instead of destroyed or lost forever. But my mind raced with furious questions. Why the hell had Adrian kept this a massive secret from me?

He had listened to me cry on the phone over losing my entire portfolio. He knew exactly how much that specific painting meant to my career. Even if he acquired the painting illegally through his connections, he should have told me he had it in his possession.

I tried desperately to calm my racing thoughts. I reasoned with myself to stop the anger from boiling over. I told myself he might not actually know I was the original artist. My actual name was not signed anywhere on the front of the canvas. He might have just bought it from a dealer because he liked the dark aesthetic and the raw emotion of the screaming woman.

I turned around quickly. I needed to leave the VIP room and find my brother. I took one single step forward and collided forcefully into a solid, heavy chest.

Two large, familiar hands gripped my upper arms immediately to steady my balance and keep me from falling backward.

When I looked up, Adrian stood directly in front of me, blocking the exit to the hallway entirely. His jaw was clenched tight, and his dark eyes burned with intense and furious anger.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded in a low, dangerous whisper.