CHAPTER 12

The Painting Incident

Naomi's POV

With the exception of my brush's gentle rasp across the canvas, the studio was silent. Bold and forceful, the colors swirled together in violent, chaotic strokes of black and red. Every movement of my hand served as a release and a conduit for the feelings churning within me.

But the harsh, deliberate tap on the door broke the haven I had found in my work.

"Naomi." My hold on the brush tightened as Roman's rich voice reverberated through the wood.

I hoped he would go, so I didn't respond. Rather, the door creaked open, and he was there, his presence like a storm cloud filling the room.

"I didn't say you could come in,” I said, without looking back.

Roman stepped closer, his footsteps resonating on the hardwood floor, and shut the door behind him. "You haven't been avoiding me."

"Have I?" With a bland voice, I continued without stopping. "I didn't notice that."

"Enough." His voice sliced like a whip through the atmosphere. "Turn and look at me."

My chest heaving with repressed rage, I threw the brush into the jar of murky water and wheeled to face him. "Roman, what do you want? To express my lack of gratitude? To remind me that my only purpose in your perverse game is to act like the ideal little wife?”

His black eyes flashed something menacing, and his jaw tensed. "You're hiding in here and having a tantrum like a child when I told you to get some rest, which is why I'm here."

"A tantrum?" I raised my voice and reverberated.”Is that what you think this is? God forbid I need a moment to breathe after being humiliated by your ex-girlfriend at your dinner table!”

"Camille doesn't matter," Roman stated in a chilly tone.

Is she? Because it appears that she is quite certain that she still has a part of you and your life!”

Roman moved in closer, shadowing me with his massive body. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"No?" I gave a sour laugh. “Then, Roman, tell me. She acts like the queen of this house, and I'm being treated like a prop. Why?”

"I don't owe you an explanation."He yelled.

"Of course You don't," I retorted. "I take it that you owe no one anything? For you are Roman Blackwood, the untouchable, unbeatable man who rules over everyone and everything.”

His expression worsened, and I briefly feared that he could blow up. Rather, he walked deliberately to the direction of the easel while glancing at the painting.

"What is this supposed to be?" he said, pointing to the angry streak of color.

"It's none of your business." I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

Roman's mouth twisted into a derisive grin.“You think this is how you fight back? With paint and brushes?”

"Don't," I cautioned, my voice shaking with fury.

“Don't what?” With a hand extended to touch the canvas's edge, he challenged.

"Don't touch it!" I grabbed his wrist and rushed forward.

His eyes fell to where my hand was on him, and he froze. The tension in the air between us crackled as neither of us moved for a time. Then, with a hardened gaze, he freed his arm.

“Let me make something clear, Naomi,” he said with a low, menacing voice.“You don’t dictate what I can and can’t do. Not here. Not anywhere.”

"And let me make something clear to you," I shot back, moving closer until I was almost chest-to-chest with him. "This is the sole item that belongs to me in the entire house. You can't take it away from me.

Roman's jaw was twitching as his eyes met mine. “You think this is power? A painting?”

"It is not about power ," I responded, my voice cracking. "It's about possessing one thing that is mine, one that you haven't destroyed."

His face wavered, a fleeting glimpse of something nearly human crossing his features. However, it vanished as swiftly as it appeared, to be replaced by the icy, calculating façade I was starting to despise.

"You want something that belongs to you?" His tone was sarcastic as he spoke.“Fine. Take it.”

He grabbed the canvas and tore it from the easel before I could stop him.

"No!" My heart thumping, I yelled as the painting ripped from his hand.

Roman continued. With the sound of the wood frame breaking like a physical blow, he flung the destroyed canvas to the ground.

I gasped in short breaths as I gazed at the carnage. The pain in my chest was intense and all-consuming.

"What have you done?" With a trembling voice, I whispered.

Roman's face was unreadable as he stood over the ruined picture. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

"By ruining the only thing that is important to me?" With tears running down my cheeks, I demanded.

His voice was tense as he continued, "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me!" I yelled. "Because all I see is a man who takes and takes and takes, and leaves nothing but destruction in his wake!”

Roman's jaw tightened as his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is easy for me? You think I enjoy this?”

"You can't act like the victim here." I yelled, "You made this decision. I was pulled into this by you. And now you're tearing me apart one by one.”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he said, his voice rising.

"Protect me?" I gave a sour laugh. "Roman, you don't even see me. You only see a pawn in your game, something you can move around and give up when it suits you.”

Something colder took the place of the wrath in his eyes, and they darkened. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then tell me!" My voice broke as I yelled. "Tell me why you’re doing this! Why are you so hell-bent on destroying me!”

He stared at me for a while without saying anything. Then he suddenly turned away from me.

With a decisive tone, he declared, "This conversation is over."

"No, it isn't!" I shouted. "You can't just walk away from this"

Roman stopped, his shoulders tense. Without turning around, he said, “You don’t want to push me, Naomi.”

“Why? Because I might finally get through that cold, unfeeling exterior of yours?”

Then he turned, his eyes burning. "Because what you find might not be to your liking."

The words hovered between us, oppressive and suffocating. With a mixture of rage and sorrow, I stood there with my hands shaking and my chest heaving.

Roman's expression was unreadable as his eyes fell to the damaged picture on the ground. The door slammed behind him as he left without saying another word

My knees struck the wooden floor with a dull thud as I fell to the ground. My fingers brushed the sharp edges of the ripped canvas as my hands sought for it.

Then, as I clutched the remains of my work, the tears poured, hot and unrelenting, overflowing over.

I was genuinely broken at that time. My independence, my dignity, and now the one thing that had given me a glimmer of hope had all been stolen away by Roman.

However, a glimmer of defiance glowed to life even as the sorrow threatened to overwhelm me.

This was not the end of it.

Roman might think that he had triumphed and that I was irreparably damaged. But, he was wrong.

I would figure out how to get back what was rightfully mine. And when I did, Roman Blackwood would learn that I wasn’t as easy to destroy as he thought.