The Tattoo Artist

“I’m leaving now, Henry.”

At the door, I glanced back.

He still stood in the shadows, frozen in that posture, like an abandoned pup.

As I pushed the door open, the last line of comments floated past my eyes:

[Henry almost rushed forward to hug you! He’s holding back! He’s desperately telling himself not to dirty your dress!]

I bit my lip and silently swore to myself.

Once I got the motorcycle tomorrow, I’d tear through this fragile barrier between us.

That was a promise.

…

On the way home, I noticed a black car trailing me.

No doubt, it had to be a spy sent by a rival family.

I snapped a photo of the license plate and sent it to Alfred.

He’d handle it.

But… would they be able to trace Henry?

Once home, I couldn’t wait to message him.

[Are you busy?]

Henry didn’t reply immediately.

Seconds dragged on, and my heart raced with every passing moment.

Finally, after a full ten minutes, my phone vibrated.

Henry: [Just finished.]

Cold. Distant.

I gritted my teeth and typed again: [If anyone comes to the shop asking about me, don’t you dare respond to them.]

Another long pause.

Henry: [Okay.]

I typed rapidly: [Actually, that news about Ethan and me…]

Before I could finish, Henry’s message arrived first.

[Don’t worry. I won’t let your fiancé know you came here.]

The words… somehow sounded like we were having an affair.

And he seemed convinced I was trying to hide something.

I held my phone, frozen, my chest tight with anxiety.

Just then, Mom walked in, carrying a bowl of fruit.

“What have you been acting so secretive about all day?”

I hurriedly locked the screen and, feeling guilty, stuffed my phone under the pillow.

“N‑nothing… nothing at all.”

Mom sat down on the edge of the bed. When she noticed the gauze taped to my lower back, she frowned.

“Why are you messing with that again? Aren’t you afraid it’ll leave scars?”

I felt even guiltier and pulled the blanket over myself.

“Last time. I won’t do it again.”

Mom sighed.

“I don’t interfere with your hobbies, but until the bigger picture is settled, rein it in a little. Once the cooperation with the Grants is done, you can do whatever you want.”

“Got it, Mom.”

This was a critical period for the expansion of the family business. I couldn’t afford to mess things up at a moment like this.

At the same time, at Nightshade Tattoo Studio.

The metal shutter had already been pulled down, and only a single dim yellow light remained inside.

At the workstation, a glass cup had been crushed into fragments, shards piercing through the black glove as blood dripped onto the floor.

Yet, Henry felt none of it.

He sat on the chair I had just occupied, staring at his phone screen like a statue.

Should he not have mentioned that man?

She hadn’t replied. Was she angry?

The more he thought about it, the heavier the violent aura around him grew.

That contradictory urge to destroy everything while forcing himself to restrain it threatened to tear him apart.

He knew she was engaged; he had no right to desire her.

Yet the moment he closed his eyes, all he saw was her lying there, soft and pliant, calling his name in that gentle voice.

God knew how much self-control he had needed just now not to leave a mark on that pale stretch of waist—something that should belong to him alone.

At that moment, the air inside the shop seemed to warp.

A massive black shadow loomed behind him, baring its fangs.

“Claire Rivers…”

Henry rubbed a used tissue between his fingers, stained with a trace of my blood.

His pupils slowly narrowed into the needle-like slits of a beast.

Lowering his head, he pressed a reverent kiss to that dark red stain.

“Please… stop tempting me.

“I can’t hold back much longer.”