Painter Of The Night Plot Novels & Stories

Out of the elevator and top the foot of the stairs that led to the basement, he picked her up without warning, causing her to wrap her hands around his neck. "You look tired," he explained when all her face showed was fear. Still, she couldn't relax, not when she was pressed against him, not when she thought he was a murderer. He let her feet touch the floor, standing in front of an easel, and he pulled the white fabric used to cover the art piece. "This is it, where I spent last night." She moved closer to the easel and wished she hadn't asked to see whatever this was. The painting was dark, horrifyingly dark.

Polite applause followed her win, but she only sat back, satisfied, as an assistant placed the velvet box in her hands. Alex leaned closer. “Happy now?” She smirked. “Very.” Then the lights dimmed slightly as the announcer returned. “And now, the final piece of the evening… a highly anticipated work by Nova, one of the rising stars in the art world.” Two men walked forward and carefully removed the covering cloth. A gasp echoed through the room. The painting was vivid and dark at the same time. Swirls of deep blue and crimson collided at the center. At the heart of it, a blurred figure—sad, lonely—stood surrounded by shadows, reaching toward something out of frame. Pain and longing radiated

So I wait patiently for her to finish her piece, a vase of roses from my garden the servants have brought in for her, and I pray that Julia will not let this be the last night, even though the contract the Thompsons have signed with me expires in the morning. Normally, on a night before I must get up early for work, I try to be in bed and asleep by 11:00. Tonight, I don’t think I’ll sleep at all, so if it takes her until early morning to finish her painting, that is all right with me. My thoughts slip to making love to her again. I hope I will get the chance to do so, at least one more time, but if she would rather spend her time here, in the art room, I can respect that. When it is nearly m

Beatrice’s POV The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Giraffe Nr. 13, casting golden streaks across the living room floor where Linda and I knelt beside Die Wölfe der Nacht. The painting’s wolves stared back at us, their eyes glinting with a haunting intensity under the Prussian moonlight Franziska von Lichtenstein had captured centuries ago. My heart thudded with a blend of nerves and excitement as I adjusted the canvas on the beautiful 20-century coffee table Amands bought me that we’d dragged over.

She tilted her head, looking at Liana with a relaxed, casual curiosity in her dark eyes. ​"So..." Nina started, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. " what really happened last night? Who did you spend the night with?" ​Liana was mid-bite, and the question made her choke instantly. She coughed into her napkin, her eyes watering as she scrambled to grab her glass of water and take a quick gulp. ​"omg Nina! Its not what you think!" Liana stammered, setting the glass back down. "Oh yeah?" Nina smirtked smugly "then tell me where you went last night".

Gabe analyzed. "Shut up. I'm not talking again. Because this time.... it's different....I had sleepless nights thinking about her......" He found himself smiling but the smile faded when he saw eyes on him. "Do your work! I'm not talking" He closed his eyes leaning back to his seat to fall asleep. ************** The night had properly came.... another dreadful night. With the full moon and starry sky, no human could predict the woe that approaches tonight.....well only few.

Jacob picked up his call and asked him in a sleepy voice. . . "Come home, tomorrow, and take this canvas to the gallery and hang it on the wall," Edward ordered him glancing at the canvas which he has painted. . . "Were you painting at this time?" Jacob was shocked that he's painting at this time. . . "Mmm... I couldn't sleep so I was painting." . . . "It's another flashback which you painted?" Jacob knew very well that after the accident in Paris whatever he has painted was released with these past memories.

"Sarah!" To his utter surprise, it was her. By now, Richard was running short of bullets and was swiftly reloading. There were only two of the robbers left and they had hidden behind the deflated vehicle. He swiftly changed his position. The DPO caught sight of Richard. He stared at him for a while before muttering to himself, "Richard!" The sketch that Sarah had made earlier of the wanted men had hurriedly come to his mind. "Bastard!" He cursed under his breath.

Her stomach twisted as her eyes landed on a black card and a folded note resting in the middle of the bed. Her pulse quickened. She reached for the note with trembling fingers, unfolding it to reveal a four-digit PIN scrawled at the top, followed by an elegant, almost clinical script: Compensation, as promised. Her breath hitched as her gaze shifted to the number beneath it. 2,500,000. She stared at it for a long moment before a startled squeal escaped her lips. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her heart hammering. She remembered. The man.

With the blinds wide open, someone with a high-end camera might capture Matthew in his natural habitat. He paced the room, obviously lost in his own sea of thoughts. The woman was trying to introduce herself and even begged him to stop-----but he didn’t because he couldn’t. He couldn’t even recall her face, primarily because it was dark. He remembers her perfect silhouette against the soft light of the moon and her scent, lavender and berries. He was in heat and all logic and rationale was nonexistent last night. “Sir, are you alright?” “Silas, can you get me a copy of the CCTV footage from 10 to 5 AM?”