~Lucy~
“Yes, Tiff, yeah! Bounce on it, you hard rider! Don’t you fucking stop…” I jolt awake, gasping for air. That damn dream. Again! The day Jim cheated on me didn’t just break my heart, it burned itself into my brain. His voice and her loud moans. Their bodies tangled on my couch, in my house. I was supposed to be out of town, delivering a painting to a client who had personally requested my presence, but what I didn't know was that Jim had orchestrated the whole thing as a deceitful plan to bring Tiff to my house, and if it weren't for my best friend who had seen him walk into my apartment with that girl, I wouldn't have known; I was supposed to travel fifty miles to deliver that painting. “Fuck it!” Now, almost every night, my mind plays that day on repeat like some twisted porno I never asked to watch. I can’t escape it. * I stare at the half-finished painting in front of me, my mind a complete blank. My gaze drifts between the brush, the paints, and the canvas, where only the faint outline of a man's lip remains. My eyes blink back and forth, but inspiration refuses to strike. Six months have passed, and I'm still stuck. The art gallery is waiting, my clients are waiting, and I'm supposed to deliver a steamy romantic painting; my specialty, my bread and butter. I've been doing this since I was seven, this is what I'm known for. People say I paint lust like it's poetry. I don’t just paint, I provoke. My art doesn’t hang quietly on white gallery walls. It pulses. It breathes. It is tempting. Those who look at my work don’t just see it. They feel it, deep in their bones, in their throats, between their thighs. I paint the kind of pieces that make you ache for a body beside you. But now my paintbrush feels heavy without the spark Jim killed. He took my artistic muse with him. “That fucking piece of shit!” I stab the air with my finger like it's his face. He’s out there living his best life, having hot sex, doing romantic shit. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in my room, stuck in my head. I haven’t so much as felt any erotic desire, let alone be with a man so how can I imagine it and then deliver it to my dry gallery? I sigh. “I'm going to do this! I'm going to paint something today, no matter what!” I try to pick up my brush again but voices outside my room pull me away. I stop and listen. “It's my new neighbor.” I gasp, dashing to the door on tiptoes, my eyes pressed to the peephole. Harry, the luggage porter is standing beside a massively built man, I strain to see what he looks like, he's incredibly tall. The hoodie swallows his face, leaving me with more questions than answers. I wish he isn't turning away from me. I wanna know if he's cute. Handsome. Hot or everything. “You're very welcome to the estate, I hope you enjoy your stay.” Harry says, shaking the man's hand. “If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to reach out to me.” “Thank you, Harry,” the words come in a rich, deep tone. Mr. Next Door digs into his pocket, pulls out some cash and hands it over to Harry. “Oh…” Harry chuckles happily. “Thank you very much sir, you're very generous.” Hmm. Mr. Next Door is a sweet guy. I can't wait to meet him. Well, I hope he isn't a shithead like the other guy who was kicked out of the building. I sigh and return to my mini studio, “Come on Lucy, you have to do something! Why the fuck does your mind keep going completely blank when you're in front of the canvas?” Shit, I guess today is going to be like every other day. I'm doomed, for sure. “I guess I'll just go to my art gallery then. Sit my ass down and do absolutely nothing!” * I'm gazing out the window, daydreaming about inspiration for my half-baked painting when a ruggedly handsome man walks in, his sharp facial features and massive frame is impossible to overlook. I gasp softly. That’s my new neighbor. I recognize him instantly, the same black hoodie he wore earlier, brooding aura and all. “Is anyone going to attend to me?” he growls, his deep voice slicing through the silence. His gaze sweeps the gallery, sharp and impatient, like he's used to people jumping to serve him. Three of my assistants rush toward him, giggling like schoolgirls spotting a top celebrity. Well, to be fair, good-looking men like my neighbor don't usually stroll into the gallery. "I’d like to see the artist," he says curtly, brushing past them like they’re invisible. I step forward quickly. "Hello, I’m Lucy Lane—" "Okay," he cuts in, not even sparing me a glance. He completely ignores my outstretched hand, like shaking it would be beneath him. I suppress a groan. Please don’t be a shithead. Why does the universe keep sending me shitheads as neighbors? I gently withdraw my hand and trail after him as he scans the gallery. His expression says it all, he’s not impressed. Oh, hold on. Is this man seriously trying to say my erotically gorgeous paintings don’t intrigue him? The same ones that get praised left, right, and center? No way. “Where’s your best piece of art?” he asks, still not looking at me. I grit my teeth. So nothing’s good enough for Mr. Broody? “This is all I have,” I say with a tight smile. “What exactly are you looking for?” “I don’t think you have it,” he says, eyes still scanning, like he's searching for meaning in a cereal box. “Well,” I offer, trying to keep it cool, “if you tell me what you’re after, maybe I can make it work, or refer you to some of my friends.” He groans. “No thanks.” And just like that, he starts heading for the exit. “Hey—um, we’re neighbors, I think. I live next door.” “Okay,” he says, not even slowing down. What the actual fuck? Who does this man think he is? Carrying himself like some big guy, he's just a certified shithead and I'll make sure he understands I don't give a shit who he thinks he is.“Rhett,” Khair’s voice jolts me awake. I spring out of bed, worry and relief covering me.“Khair, what happened? Why did you go silent on me like that?” My voice trembles with worry.“I don’t know, Rhett,” Khair answers, his tone frayed. “It just happened. I didn’t do it this time.”“Tell me how you feel. What’s going on inside you? I don’t understand how but I'm blocked from you.”He exhales, weary. “I feel weak. Weaker than before. Like I’m slipping away.”“No… no, that can’t be.” My hands curl into fists as I pace the room, anger rising in my chest. “This cannot be happening now.”“I can’t shake the feeling that someone is behind this,” Khair snaps. “This isn’t some curse. This is deliberate.”My brows knit. “What do you mean?”“Think, Rhett. That raven—it was a message. Someone sent it. If we can uncover what it means, it might lead us to the enemy.” My eyes widen as realization hit me. “Khair… you’re right. The prophecy… it’s real. It means—”“It means the enemy is near. It mean
~Rhett~The past few days have been rough. Either I’m hit with random sharp pains in my chest that vanish as quickly as they come, or I’m stuck in dreams where a baby cries for me—calling me father. The sound is always so real, so desperate, like the child needs me, like they’re reaching for me.Strange? Yes. Disturbing? Even more so.Maybe it’s because my thoughts keep circling back to Lucy. No day passes without her slipping in, whether I want her there or not. I miss her. God, I miss her. Some days I wish I could fly to that island and see her just once. Other days, I admit to myself that once would never be enough.And when I think of her, it isn’t only the hunger for her scent, her body, her touch. Sometimes I just want her near me. To watch her. To kiss her softly. To lose whole days in her presence.The worst part is I don’t even find this strange anymore.Khair, who shuts me out most of the time and only spares me a few minutes a day, keeps insisting I’m in love with Lucy.But
It has been more than a week since I returned to the States. I haven’t stepped outside once, not even for a doctor’s appointment to check on the baby.I hate this pregnancy. The very thought of it fills me with anger. Yet Freya was right. Ending it would have meant I was too weak to face my problems—that I’d rather run from them than confront them. So I made a decision. I will keep the baby. In a few days, I may even return to Australia.I’m glad I didn’t follow that other voice, the one that told me not to come back here. At the time, the feeling was cold and heavy, almost like a warning. But I ignored it. I needed Freya more than I needed anything else. And I’m grateful I did. She has been nothing but supportive, pouring love and patience over me when I could barely stand. Without her, I’m certain I would have lost myself completely—maybe even ended up in a hospital.She helped me make sense of the chaos in my head, showed me how to hold my feelings instead of letting them drown me.
“Congratulations, Miss Lucy. You’re pregnant.”While others might welcome such news with joy, I broke down in tears right there in the doctor’s office. At first she thought I was overwhelmed with happiness. She kept assuring me everything was fine, that the baby was healthy and I was healthy. But then she looked into my eyes and finally saw the disgust and the hatred. After that, she fell silent.It’s been five hours since I walked out of that hospital, and I still cannot believe it. Four weeks pregnant.This feels like a nightmare, a horror I never saw coming.No. This is not the life I planned for myself. I never imagined carrying a child, not now, not anytime soon. In just two weeks I was supposed to return to the city and enroll in a two–year nursing program, to finally pursue my dream of becoming a nurse. There was a time I said if I wasn’t going to be an artist, then I wanted to wear the white uniform in Australia. Fate pushed me back here, and I chose to walk this path, to begi
~Lucy~The waves roll in and out, soft and steady, kissing the shore before pulling back again. I sit on the warm sand, my toes buried in it, watching the water glisten under the sun. The air smells of salt and freedom, carrying with it the cries of distant gulls. Palm trees sway gently, their shadows stretching long across the beach. For the first time in a long while, everything feels quiet, calm, like the world has paused just for me.And this is all I want, to be far away from everything, from everyone, until I can find my feet in society again. It’s been three weeks since I buried the past, and I hope, more than anything, that nothing drags me back there. I’ve learned something about myself—when I’m in love, I’m weak and desperate. I lose sight of what’s right, and all I want is to give my heart and body what they crave. But now, I’m working on that. I’m going to discipline myself, to make sure I control my emotions and never let my emotions control me. I will never appear weak f
I feel sick with myself. Ashamed. I loathe the way I melted for him, the way my body betrayed every promise I made. I swore I would never let it happen again. I vowed to myself I would stand strong. And I broke it.Now I sit here drowning in regret, suffering for a single mistake, the mistake of falling in love with Rhett Lawson.I’ve denied it over and over, tried to convince myself I could live without him, that I could claw my way free. But my heart refuses. My body refuses. My soul refuses. No matter how much I want to stop loving him, everything inside me clings to him.That is why I have to go.I’m leaving. Going far away, where nothing will remind me of him, where his shadow cannot follow me. I’ve told myself this before, but something always kept me rooted. Not anymore. This time there’s no hesitation.I’ve planned it all. Every step. And once I’m gone, I will never turn back.Rhett Lawson will never see me again.~Rhett~ Am I a terrible person for giving in to my desires?I