Chapter 370: The peculiar painter pt 2

"Cyan?"

Matteo’s voice dragged me back. He was looking at me through the bright sunlight, his brows furrowed, his head tilted in slight confusion at how long I had been staring into nothingness.

The perfect, bright smile returned to my face before he could even blink. It was seamless, flawless, a polished mask that snapped into place so quickly you’d think it had never left.

I dropped the brush back into the jar of water and stood up, smoothing down the front of my silk robe.

"Oh, sweetheart," I said, my voice dripping with theatrical brightness as I sashayed across the stone floor toward him. "You have just committed today’s absolute worst social blunder."

Matteo blinked, his hand tightening on the cowboy hat. "What? What did I do?"

I reached out, placing one paint-stained finger under his chin and tilting his face up toward mine. I looked down at him with an expression of immense, mock gravity.

"Rule number seven of the studio, darling," I whispered dramatically. "Never, ever ask a brilliant artist about his family history before noon. It completely ruins the creative aura."

Before he could answer, I leaned in and planted a loud, exaggerated kiss right in the middle of his forehead, leaving a tiny smudge of ochre behind.

It was pure theater, a calculated performance designed to reset the energy in the room and erase the mistake he had just made.

Matteo let out a relieved laugh, the brief tension dissolving instantly.

He didn’t have the slightest clue what he had just touched, or how deep the knife had gone before I buried it back under the dirt.

"Alright, alright. I apologize to the muse."

A sharp knock sounded against the bedroom door, followed by the quiet click of the balcony glass sliding open.

Reginald stepped out onto the marble. His expression remained entirely deadpan, his eyes moving over the sight of a completely naked backpacking architect in cowboy boots without showing a single hint of surprise.

Reggie had worked for me long enough to be entirely bulletproof to my nonsense.

Standing right beside him was a thickset security associate from the front gate, holding a heavy document folder with both hands as if it were made of glass.

"Sir," Reginald said, adjusting his cuffs.

I didn’t turn around fully, just glancing over my shoulder. "Yes, Reggie? Speak to me."

"You have visitors arriving at the main gate."

"How wonderful," I sighed, turning back to Matteo to admire the paint smudge on his forehead. "Are they wearing clothes, Reginald?"

There was a brief, painful pause from the doorway. "...Yes, sir. They are fully clothed."

I let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. "What an absolute tragedy. This country is losing its sense of style."

I recognized the markings on the folder the security guard was holding. It was the specific seal of the private intelligence firm I had hired three days ago. My amusement faded, replaced by a sudden, sharp focus.

"Time’s up, beautiful," I said, clapping my hands together as I turned back to Matteo.

"Class is officially dismissed for the day."

Matteo blinked, looking completely thrown by the sudden shift.

"Wait—what? Right now? I’m still holding the hat." He scrambled backward, looking around frantically for something to cover himself with before settling on a thin, flimsy silk throw that was draped over the nearby lounge chair.

He wrapped it around his waist hastily.

"When am I going to see you again?"

I grabbed him by the elbow, guiding him gently but firmly off the balcony and back into the bedroom. My silk robe fluttered around my ankles as I steered him toward the hallway.

"Soon, I promise. You are incredibly paintable, Matteo, and I am nowhere near finished with those shoulders. I’ll have Reggie send a car to your hotel later this week."

I looked back at Reginald, giving him a quick, meaningful nod. "Look after our cowboy, will you?"

Reginald bowed his head slightly, understanding the underlying command perfectly. "Of course, sir. Right this way, Mr. Matteo."

"Wait, Cyan, when exactly is soon—" Matteo started to ask, looking back over his shoulder, but the heavy oak door closed flat on his question, cutting him off mid-sentence.

I turned back to the balcony, the smile dropping from my face as I stood alone with the security associate. The warmth of the morning suddenly felt a little distant. "Give it here," I commanded, holding out a hand.

The man stepped forward quickly, handing over the thick manila folder before stepping back to give me my space.

I walked over to the lounge chair where Matteo had been sitting just moments before, the cushion still holding the faint warmth of his skin.

I sat down, untying the silk belt of my robe as I flipped the metal clasps on the folder open. Inside was a complete, exhaustive background investigation on Nicholas Bennett.

I turned the pages slowly. There was a large, high-resolution photograph of him attached to the first page, followed by pages of dense text detailing his education, his medical certifications, his residency records, and a list of his professional achievements.

There were copies of his awards, a clean disciplinary record from the hospital boards, and a highly detailed psychological profile compiled by an investigator who clearly knew how to do their job.

I skimmed through the text, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of my lips. I hadn’t actually expected to find anything alarming or dangerous in his past; Nick didn’t have the markings of a hidden monster.

This was just the basic due diligence of a man who had learned the hard way that walking into any situation blind was a quick way to end up with a knife in your back.

The security guard stood by the stone pillar, his hands clasped behind his back. "Is there anything else you require from the firm, sir?"

I stood up slowly, the file held loosely in my right hand as I walked back over to my canvas.

I tossed the folder onto the small wooden side table next to my paint jars, picking up a fine-tipped brush to add the final, delicate highlights to the painted version of Matteo’s hazel eyes.

"Yes," I said smoothly, my hand remaining perfectly steady as I touched the canvas.

"Send a direct message to my father’s office."

The guard pulled a small, leather-bound notebook from his jacket pocket, a pen poised over the page. "I’m ready, sir."

"Tell the Prime Minister that his money is beginning to lose its edge," I murmured, my voice light, entirely conversational.

I paused, letting the brush stroke follow the curve of the painted iris. "If private investigators can still find traces of my mother’s name hidden in the old medical registries after he spent millions trying to scrub her from the records, then someone wasn’t being nearly thorough enough with their work."

I reached down with my free hand, snapping the folder shut with a sharp, decisive click.

"Tell him I highly dislike unfinished work. He needs to clean up his mess before I decide to do it for him."

The complete, icy calm in my delivery was the entire threat. I didn’t raise my voice, and I didn’t use an aggressive tone, but the security guard’s face went entirely pale.

He swallowed hard, nodding awkwardly as he backed away toward the bedroom doors.

"I... I will relay the message exactly as you said, sir," he stammered, practically tripping over his own feet as he hurried out of the room, leaving me completely alone on the balcony.

I went back to the painting for a few minutes, adding a few more strokes of white to the canvas, but the mood was gone.

The colors looked dull under my hands. With a sigh, I dropped the brush into the water jar and picked the folder back up, settling into the lounge chair once more.

I opened it to the first page, staring down at Nick’s photograph.

He looked incredibly professional in the picture... composed, serious, and completely in control of himself.

It was the exact kind of rigid composure that I had personally watched crack into a million beautiful pieces on that hospital rooftop while the rain poured down around us.

I extended my index finger, tapping the smooth surface of the photograph once, right over his jawline.

The memory came back easily this time, completely devoid of the horror that had triggered me earlier.

I remembered the heavy scent of the rain, the sudden, fierce heat of the kiss we had shared, and the stubborn, infuriating confidence he carried even when he was shivering, soaked to the bone, and minutes away from passing out entirely.

A strange thought drifted into my mind, arriving sideways from a direction I hadn’t expected.

He reminds me of Cassian.

It wasn’t their faces... they didn’t look a single thing alike. It was the way they carried themselves through a room.

They both had that unyielding certainty, that total refusal to bend to anyone else’s rules, and a heavy brand of confidence that bordered on absolute arrogance but somehow earned it anyway.

I smiled, a genuine, amused laugh escaping my lips as I tapped the photo one more time.

"I suppose," I whispered to the empty balcony, looking down at his serious eyes, "a background check can only tell me who you used to be on paper."

I closed the file, the heavy cardboard cover snapping shut as I looked out over the sprawling estate, the lavender beds, and the quiet koi pond.

The morning was continuing around me, completely indifferent to the choices I had just made.

The smile stayed on my face... the wide, bright kind of smile that always meant an immense amount of trouble for someone else.

"Looks like I’ll just have to investigate you personally, Dr. Bennett."