Chapter Forty One

Isa dragged her feet into the studio, rubbing the back of her neck. Her eyes landed on her phone resting on the stool—right beside the painting she had stood before earlier that morning. She walked over and picked it up, but as she did, her gaze drifted to the painting—and her eyes widened.

The once faded painting now gleamed with colour and clarity. It showed a man’s head and hands stretching out of a tangled burst of colour, as if he were clawing his way out. His face was etched with panic, his arms straining against whatever was holding him back.

Isa’s lips curved into a bitter smile. She couldn’t believe her boss had actually taken her words seriously enough to paint again. Warmth swelled in her chest, and she let out a soft sigh of relief.

Staring at the painting—so vivid now—hardened her resolve. I don’t want to live caged anymore, she told herself. Her smile widened.

As she turned away, something caught her eye. Her gaze landed on the abandoned shelf shoved into a corner of the studio, draped with cobwebs and dust. Her brows drew together when she noticed a key dangling from the lock.

That wasn’t there before.

Curiosity gnawed at her. Her boss must’ve opened the shelf recently and forgotten the key.

What is he hiding there? she wondered, tilting her head. She remembered how he’d yanked the shelf shut, how his grip clamped onto her wrist before he hauled her away. His grip had been strong—tight with something more than anger.

He’d been panicked.

What was he so afraid of?

Isa glanced at the door. Her fingers curled as she eyed the shelf. Slowly, she tiptoed toward it. Once in front of the locked cabinet, she looked back at the door again. Her stomach twisted. Her heartbeat thumped wildly in her ears.

I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought, biting her lower lip. But her feet refused to move back.

She wanted answers. Why didn’t her boss let anyone into his home? Who was Stacy—the name he’d whispered in that nightmare? The longer she stayed in this house, the more questions piled up. No visitors. No family. Only business calls.

He didn’t just fall from the sky… did he?

Isa pressed her lips together, then slowly wrapped her fingers around the key. She turned it, and with a soft click, the lock gave way. Holding her breath, she opened the drawer.

Inside were several painting portraits. Tilting her head, she carefully pulled them out.

The first was of a woman sitting on a stool by the window, her legs crossed, long hair cascading over her shoulders. One hand rested on the windowpane as she stared outside, a soft smile lighting her face. The golden glow of sunlight touched her cheeks.

This must be Stacy, Isa guessed, smiling faintly. She found herself wishing she could meet her. Sweet? Gentle? A quiet chuckle escaped her lips as she shifted the painting aside.

Then she froze.

The next painting made her hands turn cold. Her heartbeat slowed, her body stiffened as if time itself had paused. With trembling hands, she flipped through the portraits.

Steven. And his parents.

They sat around a table, smiling at him as if he were their most precious treasure.

Her eyes scanned the images, picking out the details. Her gaze dropped into the drawer, where a large brown envelope lay tucked in the back. Isa gently set the portraits aside and grabbed the envelope, hands trembling. She opened it—and poured the contents into the drawer.

The moment the photos spilled out, she gasped and stepped back, hand flying to her mouth. Her body locked in place, ice crawling over her skin.

Photos of Steven and his parents—again and again.

But one photo stole her breath.

Steven and Isa, dressed in their school’s intersport uniforms, smiling at the camera. She remembered that day. Steven had dragged her to the photo stand, insisting they take the picture together.

Shakily, Isa stepped closer and picked up two more photos—one of young Steven, the other of her boss, dressed in a suit. The resemblance was unmistakable.

Her hands shook as cold sweat beaded across her forehead, her body trembling beneath the weight of realization. A dry, nervous laugh escaped her lips.

“This… this can’t be true,” she whispered, scanning every inch of the two photos.

Then Alex’s voice echoed in her memory:

“After you left school when your father died, Steven had an accident… and died.”

The photos slipped from her fingers.

“It’s not true,” she choked. “It’s not true.”

Suddenly, footsteps pounded into the studio. Isa jumped, stumbling back and slamming her hip against the shelf. She clutched her chest and slowly turned to the door.

He was there. Her boss. Standing in the doorway.

His eyes widened as they flicked to the open shelf behind her. He froze.

Isa stared at him—really stared. It was as if a mask had fallen away. For the first time, she saw it clearly: the resemblance. The same translucent blue eyes.

As his gaze slowly met hers, Isa smirked. She could finally see through him. His lips parted, trying to form words, but no sound came. His eyes shimmered with panic, as if someone had exposed his most fragile secret.

Isa looked away, laughed dryly, and nodded. Her hands balled into fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“So I was right all along?” she scoffed. Did I really mean nothing to him anymore?

She remembered their first meeting. The way he’d spoken to her with such indifference. How he’d dumped work on her without any training, without even looking at her properly.

“I’m Isabella. I grew up at Silvercrest High—” “I’m not asking for your biography. Just tell me your full name.”

The memory clicked into place. Piece by piece.

He hadn’t forgotten her.

He had wanted her gone.

Isa’s smirk deepened. It’s clear now. He knew me. And he tried to get rid of me.

She turned to face him fully, chin lifted.

“Fine,” she said, voice steady now. “If that’s what you wanted all along… then I’m done. I quit.”

Thanks for reading! You can check out the painting pictures on my Instagram. Thanks.

https://www.instagram.com/oyinde_19/?hl=en