Her Vicious Art, His Dark Obsession

The VIP lounge smelled like fresh paint and fake joy.

The maids shoved Katelyn into the center of the lavishly decorated room.

An easel stood by the window. On it rested a half-finished canvas-a sickeningly sweet landscape of sunlit lawns, blooming roses, and a pristine white dove taking flight.

It was exactly the kind of commercial, soulless garbage Chelsea loved.

"Don't try anything stupid," the older maid sneered. "Finish it."

The maid stepped out into the hallway, leaving the heavy door cracked open just an inch.

Katelyn walked slowly toward the easel.

Her stomach churned violently as she stared at the canvas. The bright yellows and soft pinks made her want to vomit.

She picked up the wooden palette. Her fingers felt stiff, resisting the motion.

She squeezed out a blob of bright yellow paint and picked up a brush.

Out in the hallway, Etienne moved silently.

He had bypassed the security cameras with the ease of a ghost, following the path the girl in the gray dress had taken.

He strolled past the partially open door of the VIP lounge.

He didn't stop. He just leaned his shoulder against the wall, perfectly positioned in the blind spot, watching her reflection in the glass panel of a display cabinet.

Inside the room, Katelyn dragged the brush across the canvas, adding the final rays of sunlight.

She dropped the brush into a jar of murky water.

She stared at the painting. It was a lie. Her entire existence in this house was a lie.

Through the cracked window, a sudden eruption of cheers echoed from the lawn.

"To the bride and groom!" a voice boomed over the microphone.

The sound hit Katelyn like a physical blow.

Her chest tightened. Her breath started coming in short, sharp gasps.

Her fingers began to twitch. The wild, manic energy of her true artistic persona-The Wilds-clawed at her insides, demanding to be let out.

She couldn't breathe. The sweet landscape was suffocating her.

Her eyes darted to the side table.

She grabbed a heavy tube of pure, dark crimson paint. It looked like dried blood.

She didn't reach for a brush.

She squeezed a thick, heavy glob of the crimson paint directly onto her bare index and middle fingers.

Her eyes went completely dark. The terrified orphan vanished.

She slammed her paint-covered fingers directly into the center of the pristine white dove.

Out in the hallway, Etienne's lazy posture vanished.

His spine snapped straight. His eyes locked onto her reflection, his jaw tightening as he watched the sudden, violent explosion of movement.

Katelyn's fingers scraped fiercely across the canvas.

She dug into the wet layers of the underlying paint, using the thick texture to create a destructive, optical illusion.

The blood-red color bled into the sweet landscape.

She moved with terrifying speed, relying on pure muscle memory and an absolute mastery of spatial perspective.

Her breathing was heavy, ragged. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

In less than three minutes, the bright sunlight was swallowed by dark, jagged shadows.

The white dove was gone.

In its place, hidden beneath the sweeping strokes of the landscape, was a grotesque, screaming skull dripping in crimson.

From a distance, it still looked like a messy landscape.

Up close, it was a nightmare.

Katelyn stepped back. Her chest heaved.

A cold, sick smile curled the corners of her lips. A profound sense of physiological relief washed over her, settling the nausea in her stomach.

She grabbed a wet wipe and scrubbed furiously at her fingers.

She rubbed the skin until it was raw and red, erasing the evidence.

The floorboards in the hallway creaked.

The maid pushed the door open, poking her head in. "Are you done yet?"

In a fraction of a second, Katelyn's spine curved. Her shoulders slumped.

She took two quick steps back from the easel, dropping her head.

The maid glanced at the canvas. From the doorway, the optical illusion held. She only saw a chaotic mess of colors. She didn't see the skull.

"If you're finished, cover it up and get back to your room," the maid snapped. "Don't embarrass us."

"Yes," Katelyn whispered.

She picked up a heavy canvas drop cloth and draped it carefully over the easel, burying the skull in darkness.

The maid turned and started walking down the hall.

Katelyn followed, her eyes glued to the floor.

As she stepped out of the VIP lounge, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She felt a heavy, predatory gaze burning into the side of her face.

She snapped her head to the right.

Etienne was leaning against the wall, half-hidden in the shadows.

His dark eyes were locked onto hers, gleaming with a dangerous, mocking amusement.

Slowly, deliberately, Etienne raised his right hand.

He extended his index and middle fingers and made a violent, scraping motion in the air, mimicking exactly what she had just done to the canvas.

One corner of his mouth lifted into a wicked smirk.

Katelyn's heart slammed against her ribs. The air vanished from her lungs.

He saw. He saw everything.