Henry Stein Fanart Novels & Stories

"What do you mean?" "I just mean, you're a formidable businesswoman. I imagine there's quite a lot occupying your mind," he replied. A soft chuckle escaped me. His sense of humor, both humble and perceptive, intrigued me. "So, you're a lover of art?" I asked, turning back to the mesmerizing painting before us. "I'm obsessed," he stated simply. A faint, knowing smile played on my lips. "What's your favorite artwork?." "Devil in a Silhouette by Stéi Fontaine," he said without hesitation.

As if struck by a thought, he suddenly fell silent. Just as Khloe was reminded of Niel, seeing her also made him think of Niel. Niel had been his favorite son. Not because he was exceptionally outstanding, but because compared to Oscar, Niel had once been the most considerate and filial, the child who had moved him the most. "Come, look at these paintings." Henry gestured toward the wall filled with artwork. These had been taken out in advance after he learned Khloe was coming. Nearly all of them were family paintings. They depicted a little boy in childhood, adolescence, and middle age… As well as scenes of the boy traveling, dining, and playing with his parents as a family of three.

That could be the catalyst to take an artist to superstardom. Henry was short and bald, and he spoke very little as he perused the students’ art. Thea had no idea why he’d deign to come to some student art show. Maybe someone had asked him and he’d done it as a favor? He stopped at Anna’s oil paintings, saying nothing for a long moment. Anna shot Thea a nervous glance. Finally, Henry pronounced, “Good,” and nothing else. Anna inhaled sharply, and when Henry turned to continue on, she did a little happy dance right then and there.

“We are in mummy's parents house to visit them.” “But you telled me they are in heaven,” Olivia frowned. “You will see, baby.” Jocelyn replied, to which our daughter pouted but didn't ask another question. Henry on the other hand, was busy drawing in his sketchbook, which I gifted him on his birthday, after realizing the immense potential he had to be a renowned artist. My children were truly little genuises. Take for example, Olivia always got the best math scores in their class while Henry's art was always the most perfect one.

“You just have to look closer!” Henry was sitting somewhat awkwardly on the grass, which only made his commanding presence even more striking. Even out of his usual environment, he radiated undeniable charisma. The sunlight caught his golden hair, highlighting every well-defined feature of his face, but his piercing blue eyes looked completely lost as he stared at the drawing on the canvas. “A... um... umbrella?” he guessed, frowning and tilting his head, clearly struggling to understand Theo’s drawing. “No!” Theo huffed, crossing his arms dramatically.

Henry sighs again and rubs his eyes. “You hang around artists a lot?” He asks. “No, but I am one…” “You write?” “No, I draw,” “Can I see some of your works?” “They’re in our room. The portraits that I painted when I was up at the Ritz Carlton,” “You painted them? I didn’t know. They’re great,” Henry says. He perks up. “That means that tomorrow you will be able to discuss art and artists with the other ladies. They’re such snobs about things like that,” Henry tells her. Anna laughs.

My arms were too full to steady myself. “Whoa, careful there.” Strong hands gripped my bare shoulders to steady me. I looked up and froze. Henry stood there, shirtless, his sculpted chest just inches away. A gothic-style angel tattoo marked his right shoulder, the kind you’d see in an old cemetery. It caught me off guard; he didn’t seem like the type to have ink. He always came across as too serious for that. A faint trail of light-colored hair ran across his chest and down toward his stomach. Well, damn. So that’s what he’d been hiding under those tailored blazers. My eyes traveled up to meet his, and I saw amusement flickering there. He’d noticed me checking him out.

Let Dylan rest, then he opened the box, inside there were ten large jars of jam, instructions, and letters from Eric. Henry unfolded a large sheet of paper, which turned out to be a painting that Eric had drawn himself. The scenery of the entire garden is displayed in front of your eyes, very vivid. Henry carefully hung it on the left tent canvas for easy viewing. Then he took out Eric's letter and read it slowly. His smile was happy, but also a little sad. The long stay at the barracks made Henry's skin darken a bit, but Eric said he liked it so Eric tried not to darken himself anymore.

Damon’s eyes, those cold, unforgiving steel-grey eyes, are watching me like he’s tryna look straight through me. “Breathe, princess.” His voice is low, rough at the edges. The words alone make my lungs relax, like I’ve been under water and he’s just pulled me to the surface. It’s weird, almost unnatural, how much power his voice has over me. He turns to Henry then, voice hardening in an instant. “Oi, where’d you keep her paintings?” Henry stiffens, guilt all over his face. “I-I swear, I wasn’t bein’ dodgy. I just cleaned up the back storage and placed ‘em safe there. There’s too much light in ‘ere, and I didn’t want ‘em ruined while she was away—honest!”

At the sound, he did not even look up; only the pencil in his hand paused for a brief moment. A black T-shirt stretched across his broad back, and with each breath, his shoulder blades lifted the fabric, outlining muscle lines taut with restrained power. In that instant, excited comments filled my vision: “Ahhh! Those shoulders! That waistline! I could just embrace him from behind…” “Hey, stop daydreaming! Henry is desperately suppressing the restlessness inside him. His woman is here, and he can barely hide his tail!” “So this is the legendary beast in human form? He’s just drawing… But why does it feel like he’s hunting instead?”