CHAPTER 2: Straight Into Chaos

My heart wouldn’t stop thumping against my ribs. It was a fast, erratic rhythm that made my chest ache. I stared at the photo on my laptop screen until my eyes burned. It looked like a crime scene.

I looked at the window. It was pitch black outside. It couldn't be real. Adrian was in New York. We had just been talking and he was the only one I spoke to. He was thousands of miles away, sitting in some dark room, not standing on my porch. But I needed to see it for myself.

I moved to my bedroom door and turned the handle as slowly as I could. I slipped into the hallway, my bare feet cold on the floor.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw her. Katerina was sprawled across the sofa in the living room, her arm hanging off the side, snoring in a alcohol-heavy sleep.

I crept past her and reached the front door. My fingers were shaking so hard I had to use both hands to turn the deadbolt. I pulled the door open just a few inches.

The bag was there. It was sitting right in the center of the welcome mat. In the dim glow of the streetlamp, the red paint looked almost black.

Someone had actually been here. Someone had walked onto our property and destroyed it while I was upstairs.

I looked toward the end of the driveway. A shadow was moving. My breath hitched.

A tall, hooded figure was standing by the curb, leaning against a large, dark motorcycle. I couldn't see a face, just the outline of broad shoulders.

I backed away, pulling the door shut and locking it. My mind raced, trying to make sense of it. It wasn't Adrian. He wouldn't act rashly likethat.

Maybe it was one of the people my mother owed money to. They might have followed her home and decided to send a message. She hung out with dangerous people; a ruined bag was probably a mild warning to her.

I went back to my room and crawled under my covers, forcing myself to believe it was just a coincidence. I couldn't find sleep until the sun started to peak through the blinds.

A scream ripped me out of my sleep.

It was shrill raging sound that only my mother could produce. I sat up, my head throbbing. I threw on a robe and ran downstairs.

The front door was wide open, and my mother was standing on the porch, holding the ruined Chanel bag by its strap.

Oh no! Not this early in the morning.

"Look at this!" she shrieked the moment she saw me. Her makeup was smeared, making her look like a ghost. "Look what your little friends did!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, trying to stay calm.

"Don't lie to me! You’re mad I sold those paintings, so you had someone come here and trash my things!" She threw the paint-covered leather into my face.

She should become a novelist. She made up stories effortlessly.

"I was in my room all night, Mom."

"You’re a liar!" she yelled. "You think you’re so much better but you’re just a spoiled brat. You’re going to pay for this. I’ll sell every single brush you own to get a new one. I’ll clear out your studio and rent it out if I have to."

The threat hit me harder than any slap. If she took my brushes, I had nothing left. She had taken it all.

"I'm leaving," I said. The words just came out.

She stared at me for a second and then she laughed. It was a harsh, mocking sound.

"Leaving? With what money? You don't have a cent, Nirvana. Your father’s money goes through me, and your brother is halfway across the country. You’re stuck here. With me", she emphasized, tapping her index finger on her chest.

Then she stormed into the kitchen. I didn't argue. I just went up the stairs and started shoving my things into a duffel bag.

I didn't take much, just a few clothes and my sketchbook. I didn't care about the money or the house anymore. I just needed to get to Ronan.

I grabbed my phone and sent a text to Ronan.

*Nirvana:

“Book me a flight. I'm on my way to New York.”

“And don't ask me questions” I added.

A few minutes later, I looked out the window. A black SUV with tinted windows was idling at the curb. I didn't stop to think about how Ronan did it or how he had arranged it so fast.

I waited until I heard the shower running in my mother’s room. I grabbed my bag and crept down the stairs, slipping out the front door without looking back.

I ran for the car. The back door opened, and I slid inside. The driver didn't say a word; he just pulled away and headed toward the airport.

We drove through a private side gate at the terminal, stopping in front of a sleek jet. A man was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the railing. I did not want to believe what I was seeing.

"Ronan!" I cried out as the driver opened my door.

I practically fell out of the car. My brother caught me, his arms wrapping around me in a crushing hug. He smelled like leather and woodsmoke. I could not believe he has come so quick to pick me.

Even though we had different mothers, Ronan had always felt more like my real family than Katerina ever did. He had the money and the power to get me away, and right now, I didn't care how he did it. He must be handling father's business well.

"I've got you, Nir," he murmured, rubbing my back. "It’s okay. You’re safe."

"She sold them, Ronan. She sold everything," I sobbed into his chest.

"I know. Don't worry about the paintings. I'll get them back, or I'll buy you a thousand canvas. Just get on the plane."

He led me up the stairs and into the cabin. It was beautiful; leather seats, soft lighting, and a table set with food. I sank into one of the seats, finally feeling like I could breathe. Ronan sat across from me, watching me with a soft expression.

"I'm so glad you're here," I said, wiping my eyes. "I thought I was going to be stuck there forever."

"I told you I’d take care of it," he said. He reached over and squeezed my hand. "We’re going to my place in New York. You’ll have your own floor, a new studio, just whatever you need."

"Is Adrian there?" I asked, my voice small.

Ronan’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something I couldn't quite read passing over his face. "He’s around. He’s busy with some work for the firm, but you’ll see him."

I nodded, leaning my head back against the seat. The hum of the jet engines started to soothe me.

"Eat something," Ronan said, gesturing to the fruit and pastries. "It’s a long flight."

I picked up a piece of bread, feeling a sense of peace for the first time in years. We were in the air within minutes, New Orleans disappearing beneath a blanket of clouds.

Hours later, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. "We’ve begun our descent into Teterboro, Mr. Hale."

I looked out the window at the sprawling skyline of New Orleans. Ronan stood up, straightening his jacket. He looked different than he did when we were younger, sharper and more serious.

"The car will take us straight to the penthouse," he said. "Adrian might meet us there for dinner."

My stomach did a little flip at the mention of his name. I couldn't wait to see him in person, to see if he was as commanding as he was on the phone.

I was leaving the drama, the drugs, and the debt behind. I was going to be with my brother and the man I’d been dreaming about for months.