Is 'Rembrandt Is In The Wind' Worth Reading?

René Huang is a French-Chinese Painter who lives in France. He lives alone there when his parents are living in China. He is famous, rich, and handsome. Everything in his life was perfect until finally, unexpected events started happening in his life. He painted some paintings in his sleep, and there was a secret behind them. He wanted to find out the secret, and when he became a guest lecturer in an art university, he met a student who was related to the paintings. Their relationship was not good at first, but when they were investigating the paintings together, the romance started blooming. Note: This novel is inspired by my fanfiction that was posted on another platform. The idea and the story are mines. No plagiarism. Cover by MichelleLeeee

a really good book for you. I hope you like it becuase it tells you a good story. Please read it.

Meet Calliope Montague, a strikingly beautiful bohemian artist with a nasty but well-hidden past. When Calliope's father who has strictly forbidden her from pursuing her passion for art, signs a contract with a long lost friend that binds her in marriage to a mysterious billionaire, Calliope must decide what path to take—surrender or rebellion. As Calliope struggles to find healing from the hurts and bitterness of her past, she realises that she is fast falling in love with a man she is supposed to hate. Will Calliope conquer her fears and embrace love in its sacrificial fullness, or is the price too steep?

“You took a photo of me without my permission.” “Then why do you look like you want to be seen?” Elliot Marlowe is a struggling photographer living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny New York apartment. One accidental photo in Central Park changes everything—a haunting shot of a mysterious, brooding man who turns out to be none other than Damien Whitlock, the untouchable billionaire tech mogul with a reputation as cold as his fortune. Instead of suing, Damien makes Elliot an offer: become his personal photographer. It's the beginning of a dangerous game—one filled with stolen glances, unspoken truths, and a fake relationship meant to protect Damien’s public image. But behind Damien’s icy exterior lies an artist scarred by betrayal, and behind Elliot’s lens is a man desperate to feel seen for the first time. As the line between performance and passion begins to blur, secrets unravel. A fake kiss becomes real. A lie about love becomes a truth too big to silence. And when heartbreak and ambition threaten to tear them apart, both must choose between fear and vulnerability, between survival and surrender. In a world where image is everything, can two men find the courage to be each other’s truth? Or will the picture-perfect illusion destroy them both?

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

At a dinner party, my genius painter of a husband, Henry Shepherd, used his hands, hands insured for millions, to shell crabs for his young assistant, Tamara Lee. This was all to coax her into eating a few bites when she claimed she had no appetite. Meanwhile, I drank myself into a bloody mess, trying to secure investments for him. When I asked him to hand me some antacids, he refused without even looking up. “These hands are for painting. Use your own.” For ten years, he couldn’t even be bothered to change the way he treated me. That night, as I sobered up in the cold wind, I asked my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. "Henry, in this vast, chaotic world, our paths end here," I said inwardly