Pick Up Artist Book Novels & Stories

I whispered into the empty room. [Why did the stream cut out just now?] [Alison's dead? How did that happen? And why's her skin missing? That's so scary!] [Out of the original six, only three players are alive… And how is the pick-me girl still here? It makes zero sense. Also, why is Lonnie going to the GM's office? Dude's digging his own grave!] [Wait, why is the pick-me girl following him?] "This is the GM's office?" Lonnie muttered.

I knew I'd seen him before, but I couldn't quite place him. As he reached me, I noticed the way he toward above me, his body exuding power and charm. He extended his hand and introduced himself, his voice deep and alluring. "Hello, my name is Hermes Gustavus," he said with a warm smile. The moment he mentioned his name, I realized who he was. Hermes Gustavus was a renowned art collector, with a vast collection of some of the most stunning works of art in the world. He was known for his impeccable taste, and many artists aspired to have their works showcased in his collection.

The haunted look he'd carried for ninety-nine years was gone, replaced by simple contentment. "Hey," he said, noticing me. "Food's almost ready. Why don't you relax? You've been working too hard on that manuscript." I looked down. There was a laptop on the table in front of me. I open to a document, and saw my book. The one I'd always wanted to write and it was really,really good. *This could be yours,* the city whispered. *Peace, safety and love without the constant threat of death. Isn't this what you've been fighting for?*

But one painting wasn’t hers. At the center of the gallery stood a large, framed canvas, bold and haunting. It drew every eye, commanding attention. Nora froze, her pulse spiking. The brushstrokes were familiar yet foreign, raw yet intimate. The painting depicted her: curled on a bed, head tucked into her knees, hair falling freely, face half-lit with shadows and tears streaking her cheeks. And yet… she looked powerful. Vulnerable, but unbroken. Alive. The title, scrawled across the bottom in confident letters, hit her like a punch: “The Girl I Ruined But Still Love.”

The project wasn't about art. Not really. It was about being seen. About telling stories. About reclaiming something. Camille shifted nervously in her chair. "I know it sounds stupid." "No." The answer came instantly. "It doesn't." The younger woman's shoulders relaxed slightly. Jessica continued turning pages. The ideas became more ambitious. More detailed. More powerful. Then she saw a title written across one page. The Unbroken Collection The words hit her harder than expected. Because they felt true. Painfully true.

LILY'S POV “Hello? Yes, Mrs. Calloway, I’m still here…Sorry, the line cut for a second,” I said, pressing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I rummaged through a drawer for my sketchbook. The wedding planner’s voice crackled through the line, cheerful and rushed. “No problem, dear. I just wanted to confirm your floral arrangement…you mentioned wanting lilies, right?” “Yes….white lilies and maybe a touch of blush roses around the altar…. Liam loves lilies,” I said, smiling unconsciously as I balanced my coffee cup in one hand and a pen in the other.

I lower my head a bit while locking her eyes. "No. Bastian. Forget it. My paintings are mine." "Fine. I'll see them someday." I smirk. "But this..." I hold the pad up and tear off the picture. "Consider this one sold." I pulled out my money clip. "No, Bastian. I can't take your money." She protests. "Nonsense. A good artist should be paid for her art. Is 300 good?" Her eyes went wide. "300? For a sketch?......"

Arturo: I wrapped my arm around my wife as the two of us entered an Italian restaurant that I rented for the two of us for the afternoon. The bookings on the restaurant were initially fully booked, but seeing my name and the money that I put, the manager didn’t think twice before choosing to accept allowing us to book the place for the next five hours. He didn’t even mind refunding his customers double the prices of their initial bookings as compensation. “Where are we going, Arturo?” Sienna asked, and I smiled, taking her hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. “The place is literally empty. We are the only ones here.”

That evening, I took my usual walk along the beach. On my way back, I picked up a bouquet of white roses. When I passed the dessert stand, the vendor smiled and handed me a freshly baked berry tart, saying it was the last one of the day, and she wanted me to try it. I took it and thanked her with a smile. The sunset was slowly spreading across the sky, like the first page of a new life being turned. The wind blew over me, carrying the ocean breeze, and something in my chest loosened.