Resistance

Sienna

I sat cross-legged on the floor, spreading the black paint across the woman's face with my hand. Then, with careful precision, I added flower patterns in shades of gray and white. The contrast brought her face to life, the flowers giving it an ethereal quality. I layered the petals, smoothing them, adding depth—one layer, then another, and another.

Ruined Daisy.

The name for the piece struck me like lightning, clear and undeniable. I whispered it aloud, testing the sound of it. Yes, Ruined Daisy.

I'd been struggling to name this portrait for weeks. I'd even talked to Ryatt about it, though that conversation had gone nowhere. To be fair, Ryatt never showed much interest in my work anymore. He'd stopped coming to exhibitions entirely, though he used to attend when we first got together. Maybe he found art boring—some people did. And I couldn't really blame him for that.

As I worked, the buzz of an incoming video call pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced at the screen. Kelly's name flashed across it. A small smile tugged at my lips, and I swiped to answer with my clean hand.

"Hello, Kelly," I greeted, waving awkwardly with my left hand.

"Hi, Sisi-Bee!" Kelly chirped, her voice bubbling with energy. That was Kelly—always lively, always full of excitement. "Guess what?"

"What happened now?"

"You have to guess."

"Kelly, I'm sitting on the floor, covered in paint, with an unfinished portrait staring back at me. Trust me, I'm in the mood for anything but guessing."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine, you bore," she teased, before pulling something into view. Her grin widened. "I have something to show you."

"Show me, then."

She held up a sleek black cocktail dress, twirling it for the camera. It looked oddly familiar.

"I bought this to wear at your birthday party!" Kelly announced, her excitement practically glowing through the screen.

"Oh... wow," I said, though my smile faltered. I wasn't sure why, but it did. "That's great, Kelly."

"Isn't it gorgeous? It's from a designer collection!"

"Hold it up again," I said, squinting at the screen.

She obliged, bringing the dress closer. Something clicked in my memory. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I'd seen a similar dress earlier today—at Maison Moderne. Still, I could have been mistaken.

"It's beautiful," I said finally. "You'll look great."

"I know," Kelly laughed, flipping her hair. "I could wear a feather and still look absolutely fucking divine."

"Yeah, right."

As she laughed, I noticed a notification flash across her glasses—something on her phone. Kelly's expression shifted briefly before she spoke. "Okay, Sia. I'll talk to you later. Bye!"

Before I could say anything, the call ended.

I sat there for a moment, staring at my phone. Something felt... off. With a sigh, I opened Ryatt's chat and sent him a quick text:

"Are you free?"

Minutes passed before his reply came.

"A bit busy, Sia. Will call you in about an hour."

I sighed again, heavier this time. The two closest people in my life—Kelly and Ryatt—always seemed so far away. But then again, I wasn't a saint either. I buried myself in my work more often than not, perhaps as a way to escape.

Shaking off the thought, I refocused on the portrait. I worked meticulously, painting delicate wisps to make the flowers appear as though they were being blown away. The woman's hair flowed with an invisible wind, her pale skin serving as the perfect canvas for the contrast of black and white.

A satisfied smile spread across my face as the piece began to come alive. Then my phone rang. My heart leapt, expecting it to be Ryatt. But when I picked it up, my smile faded.

The caller was unknown—again.

I hesitated, then answered. "Hello? Who is this?"

The voice on the other end sent a chill racing down my spine.

"That's a beautiful painting you've got there," the low and smooth voice sent a shiver down my spine.

Alexander.

I knew that voice anywhere.

My gaze darted to the glass wall of my apartment, the one facing the city skyline. The windows of countless apartments stared back at me, some dim, some lit, others completely dark. My heart raced. I couldn't tell where he was, but the idea that he was watching me sent a wave of unease crashing over me.

"Are you fucking stalking me right now?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I expected, though fear twisted deep in my gut. Alexander was surely nothing but trouble. One that I didn't want to deal with.

"White dress in the morning," he continued, ignoring my question, "and black shorts with a white crop top at night. Your paintings always have a touch of black or white. It's clear your favorite colors are black and white, though you lean toward white more."

The breath caught in my throat.

So it was him this morning.

My blood turned cold at his observation. He knew more about me than I was comfortable admitting.

"You're a sick asshole, you know that?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, a strange contradiction to the menace he carried in reality. "But do you know something, Flower? You look like a fucking goddess when you're painting. Those beautiful locks of hair... those soft, delicate hands... and those thighs." His voice dipped lower. "And those lips you bite so often. I just don't get what a woman like you sees in Ryatt."

"It's none of your fucking business, Grayson," I snapped, my patience unraveling. "Stay the hell away from me and my life. I'm warning you."

He ignored my threat, his tone growing darker. "I'd like to touch those lips," he murmured.

His gravelly voice sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. It shouldn't have felt so intoxicating, but it did. I hated him for that.

At that moment, I could feel his gaze burning into me, even from a distance. My skin prickled, hyperaware of his scrutiny. The sensation was equal parts terrifying and maddeningly thrilling.

God, I hate this man.

"You'll never get to touch me. Stop living in your daydreams," I snapped. "And don't you dare follow me again, or I'll report you to the police."

"You think I'm scared of the police?" he laughed, the sound mocking. "I've been in jail before, Flower. I can go back and come out just as easily. Don't try to scare me."

"You're fucking insane! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You look even better when you're angry, Flower," he drawled, his tone laced with amusement. "Say 'fuck' again. It's adorable."

What the hell is wrong with him?

"I'm not a fucking child, you creep! Shut up, hang up, and stop fucking staring at me!" My fists clenched at my sides, my frustration boiling over.

He laughed, clearly reveling in my anger. "Alas, I can't. You look too good," he whispered, his voice dipping into something almost intimate. "I want to ruin you just like that portrait. Smear you with black. God..." His tone dropped even lower, and I felt the heat of it crawl up my neck. "I can't wait to fucking ruin you."

Something warm and unwelcome flooded my veins, pooling at the back of my neck. My breath hitched, my heart pounding erratically. The weight of his words clung to me, suffocating. But I forced myself to focus, to push through the fear.

"Listen to me, you piece of shit," I hissed, my voice sharp. "I'm cutting this call, blocking your number, and if you so much as think about calling me again or following me, I'll report you. And this time, I'll make sure you rot in jail. So unless you're really itching for a jail cell, back the hell off."

Without waiting for a reply, I ended the call and dropped my phone onto the floor. My chest heaved as I walked toward the glass wall.

My hands shook as I gripped the curtain, hesitating for just a moment. Then I yanked it closed, shutting out the endless sea of windows and the darkness beyond.

I hate Alexander.

I hate him with everything I have.