Chapter 7 : Disgusting Erotic Painting

Both of them turned their heads at the same time.

Lucien stood there with his arms crossed over his chest. His formal suit was still perfectly in place, immaculate as ever. His sharp gaze shot directly toward Evander's hand, which was still gripping Isolde's wrist.

The atmosphere on the balcony instantly froze.

Evander released his grip casually.

He turned to face his older brother without the slightest trace of fear and shrugged indifferently.

"Playing the latest game on my phone," Evander replied smoothly, his tone relaxed as though nothing had happened. He glanced briefly at Isolde before looking back at Lucien. "Want to join, Lucien?"

Lucien snorted disdainfully.

"Boring."

Lucien stepped onto the balcony, forcing Evander to move aside.

He looked at Isolde for a moment, making sure she was unharmed, before throwing a threatening glance at his younger brother.

"Go back to your room, Evander. Get ready for campus immediately. Don't make me repeat myself," Lucien ordered firmly.

Evander clicked his tongue.

With one hand tucked into his pocket, he walked past Lucien. Before disappearing through the doorway, however, he winked at Isolde, who was still frozen in place.

As soon as the door closed, leaving her alone with Lucien, Isolde immediately lowered her head.

The silence felt awkward and oppressive.

Lucien did not say a single word.

He simply stood there, staring into the darkness of the backyard before eventually turning around and leaving without any explanation.

Isolde slowly slid down until she was sitting weakly against the cold balcony wall.

Her thoughts were suddenly a complete mess.

On one hand, Evander's provocative and sensual words continued to echo in her mind, stirring an unfamiliar curiosity deep within her heart.

On the other hand, the image of herself in the mirror replayed endlessly inside her head, destroying what little courage she had left.

Isolde hugged her knees tightly and stared blankly at her feet.

But I'm fat. My body looks like an elephant, she thought, overwhelmed by crippling insecurity. Is Evander really not disgusted by my body? Or... is this all just part of his game to toy with me?

***

Early morning.

Hunger, it turned out, could not be negotiated with pride.

After tossing and turning in bed countless times while her stomach growled, Isolde's resistance finally collapsed at exactly three in the morning.

Refusing food would not make her instantly slim; it would only torture her stomach.

Moving as quietly as possible, Isolde made her way through the dim corridor toward the kitchen.

Fortunately, the house was silent, and not a single servant appeared to be awake.

Inside the spotless kitchen, she found a packet of instant noodles tucked away in the corner of an upper cabinet shelf.

Isolde stood on tiptoe and stretched her fingers as far as she could.

However, her average height only allowed her fingertips to brush against the edge of the shelf.

"Just a little more..." she muttered in frustration.

Isolde's body instantly froze.

A pair of muscular arms suddenly slipped around her from behind, wrapping perfectly around her curvy waist.

Her back pressed tightly against a broad, warm, hard chest.

A shiver ran down her spine.

The man's arm easily reached upward and retrieved the packet of instant noodles she had failed to reach.

"Next time, call me if you're having trouble, sweet girl," Evander whispered against the curve of Isolde's neck.

The warmth of his breath made Isolde hold hers.

Her body went rigid, unable to move even when Evander placed the packet of noodles into her trembling hands.

Evander did not release her immediately.

He rested his chin on her shoulder while his fingers slowly moved upward, touching Isolde's slightly parted lower lip.

His thumb stroked it in a slow circular motion.

"My offer on the balcony still stands," Evander whispered again, his voice dropping into a sensual huskiness. "If you want to play an exciting fantasy game... come with me to the top floor. It's the safest place."

Isolde froze.

Her mind screamed at her to resist and slap this man across the face.

Yet that touch triggered a strange sensation that suddenly spread through her stomach.

Her heart pounded wildly.

Why is my body reacting like this? Idiot! Isolde cursed inwardly, hating her own weakness in front of Evander's charm.

Seeing Isolde remain silent with her uneven breathing, Evander chuckled in satisfaction.

He withdrew his hand and slowly released her from his embrace.

"Think about it carefully, Isolde," Evander said with a meaningful crooked smile before walking out of the kitchen.

After making sure Evander was truly gone, Isolde leaned against the kitchen counter and tried to calm the storm raging in her chest.

Letting out a bitter sigh, she turned on the stove.

In a house this grand, at three in the morning, she was still just Isolde—a lonely girl who had to cook her own meal in the kitchen.

Unlike the young ladies she often watched in short dramas.

A few minutes later, Isolde sat on a bar stool with a warm bowl of instant noodles.

Just as she blew on the broth in her first spoonful, the sound of dragging footsteps approached.

Azriel walked in wearing a black T-shirt covered in fresh paint stains.

His hair was as messy as ever, and his right arm was clutching a large sketchbook.

Without asking permission, Azriel sat down beside Isolde.

He placed the sketchbook on the counter and flipped it open, revealing a page covered with thick oil paint strokes.

"What do you think? Is it good?" Azriel asked flatly.

Isolde turned toward the sketchbook while chewing her noodles.

The next second, her eyes widened completely.

Cough! Cough!

Isolde choked violently, her throat burning.

She hurriedly drank an entire glass of water, her face turning bright red from shock.

Displayed on the page was an incredibly bold painting.

Azriel had painted her curvy body in meticulous detail without a single thread of clothing, her form arched submissively across a sofa.

What nearly made Isolde's heart stop was the figure behind her—it was Azriel himself.

The painting depicted the artist claiming her from behind, their bodies joined through the striking contrast of their proportions.

Azriel's manhood was portrayed as overwhelmingly dominant and massive, as though ready to swallow the curvy body of Isolde, who appeared small beneath his possession.

Azriel's brushwork felt so vivid that it brought even Isolde's expression on the canvas to life.

The painted version of herself looked upward, her lips slightly parted, breathing heavily beneath an expression overflowing with overwhelming pleasure.

It was a scene rendered with remarkable intensity, intimacy, and ownership.

"What the hell is this?!" Isolde exclaimed, her voice restrained as her eyes widened in disbelief.

A mixture of horror and humiliation coursed through her as she stared at the insane fantasy.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!"

Azriel remained unfazed.

Resting his chin on his hand, he observed Isolde's panicked expression with a calm and profound gaze.

"I was imagining us in that position while painting you," Azriel replied honestly, speaking as casually as someone discussing the weather. "The curves of your body in that pose would look very artistic."

Isolde gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white.

"Stop your disgusting fantasies, Azriel! I'm not—"

"What position?"

A deep, cold voice suddenly echoed from the doorway, cutting off Isolde's words instantly.

The atmosphere in the kitchen turned icy at once.

Lucien stood at the entrance.

His suit jacket had already been removed, leaving only a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

His gray eyes watched sharply, studying Isolde and his younger brother in turn while a deep frown formed on his forehead.

Isolde froze and glanced anxiously at the painting still lying open.

If Lucien saw that picture, she would die of embarrassment.

However, before Lucien could step closer, Azriel calmly closed the sketchbook with a soft smack.

The youngest Blackthorne turned toward his brother without the slightest hint of panic.

"Ah, that... the position Isolde and I would be in if we were feeding each other while eating across from one another," Azriel explained, lying without even blinking.

Azriel immediately stood up and hugged the large sketchbook tightly against his chest.

He glanced briefly at Isolde before looking back at Lucien, who was still staring at him suspiciously.

"I'm sleepy. I'm heading back to the attic."

Without waiting for a response, Azriel strode past his brother and disappe

ared into the dark corridor.

Now the kitchen contained only Isolde, who was still trying to steady her ragged breathing, and Lucien, who had begun walking closer with an increasingly intimidating gaze.