AllFreeNovel
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He’s been so secretive about what he’s working on and told me to be patient, but we both know I don’t have that.
I snatch his sketchpad and my lips part as I flip through dozens of sketches of me. Not my tattoos as I thought, but my actual face.
There are pages upon pages of my face from different angles with my hair mostly loose, but there are some where my hair is tied into a ponytail or a bun.
And he put so many details in my eyes. Some are glaring, others are when I stare at him while smiling, but my favorites are of the intense look in my eyes during sex.
Fuck me. He drew eyes for the first time in years and they’remine.
The following pages are full-body sketches, and fuck me. He’s so thorough about details, from the way I arch my eyebrow to the tiny dimple at the corner of my mouth when I smile. It’s like I’m staring at a mirror.
I spend what seems like half an hour going through the sketches. When I’m done, I find two more notepads stacked full of me—mostly in the nude.
My lotus flower might pretend to be a prude, but I knew he loved seeing me naked.
Note to self: From now on, walk around the penthouse in no clothes.
My grin is permanent as I flip through them, greedily storing every detail in my memory.
But then it changes.
My smile falls when I see something different.
He sketched me half naked and there’s what I assume is his silhouette beside me, but he’s faceless. On the next page, there’s a contour of his face, but chaotic black lines fill his features. On the following page, he drew black lines so deep, they punctured the paper.
Fuck.
Please don’t tell me this is how he sees himself.
My phone vibrates and I think it’s him, so I put the sketchpads exactly where I found them.
After I pull out my phone, I suddenly feel parched, so I pour a glass of water from the jug he keeps on the table.
The glass remains suspended in midair as I open the text I got from a number I don’t recognize.
Your goodbye gift.
I click on the video attached, and my entire body tenses.
The surveillance footage shows an extravagant living room with a plush carpet and a white sofa. A younger version of Bran, no older than fifteen or sixteen, sits in the corner, doodling in a notebook. My fingers clench the glass when I make out Grace sitting close beside him with a slim arm thrown over his shoulder. She’s wearing a red satin camisole and shorts that are definitely not appropriate.
“I just don’t get it.” He sighs. “What does Lan have that I don’t?”
“Nothing, hon,” she coos and strokes his hair.
“But he gets all the girls.”
“They don’t matter. You’re the one who’s meant for greatness.”
“Really?” He peeks at her, sheepish and hopeful, and my heart starts fucking racing beneath my rib cage.
“Really.” Her grating fake soft voice echoes in the air. “As for the girls, they’re nothing. I’m more mature and beautiful. And guess what? I find you much more charismatic than him.”
“You…do?”
She kisses him and he wraps a hand around her neck to kiss her back, but it’s awkward and unsure at best.
The piece of fucking shit doesn’t seem to notice that as she unbuttons his shirt. “I’ll make you feel like you’re better than him, and one day, I’ll make you his god.”
