Her Muse

Chapter One - Iris

“Cause I’d never treat me this shitty. You made me hate this city..” I sang softly to myself as I flipped a pancake.

“Who made you hate this city?” my brother asked, walking down the stairs.

I smiled without looking up. “Good morning to you too. And nobody—it’s a Billie Eilish song.”

“Mhmm.” He pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “How are you awake this early? You’re even making breakfast.”

“You don’t remember what today is?”

He frowned. “Enlighten me.”

“I start work today.”

“Oh..” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Iris, you don’t have to work with me at the studio. I don’t want you meeting all those dangerous guys. I promised myself I’d take care of you, and I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

He’d called me Iris.

That was how I knew he was serious.

My brother, Ezra Vale, only ever called me by my middle name, Nova, even though I always thought Iris sounded prettier. He’d been overprotective ever since we lost our parents.

They died in a car accident when I was sixteen.

They were driving home from an anniversary date when a drunk driver crossed into their lane.

I was the one who answered the door when the police arrived.

I still remembered the look on the officer’s face. The sympathy. The hesitation. The way my entire world shattered before he even finished speaking.

Ezra was in his final year of college, so I called him because he was the only family I had left.

He came home that night and never really left again.

Tattooing had always been his dream. He dropped out of college, took a job at a small tattoo studio, and worked tirelessly to support both of us.

After I graduated, I picked up shifts at diners while helping him around the studio whenever I wasn’t working. Somewhere between cleaning stations, organizing ink, and watching artists transform blank skin into living art, I fell in love with tattooing too.

Years later, Ezra had saved enough money for us to move to a new city.

We rented a small apartment.

Then we opened our own tattoo studio.

Raïs.

I’d come up with the name by combining the last letters of our names. It was simple, unique, and ours.

Over the years, my sketchbooks filled with designs. At first, I’d practice on fake skin. Then on myself. Sometimes, after enough convincing, Ezra would let me tattoo him too.

Even though he made me co-owner of the studio, he refused to let me tattoo clients.

Three years ago, after months of relentless begging, he’d finally snapped.

“Fine. When you turn twenty-five, you can work as an artist.”

Well..

I turned twenty-five last week.

Today was my first official day.

“I know, I know,” I said, smiling. “You’ll be there the whole time. I’m not doing house calls. We went over the rules a hundred times. I’ll be fine, Ez.”

He studied me for a second before sighing.

“Okay.”

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“But if anyone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” He stood up. “Now let’s eat before everything gets cold.”

We ate in comfortable silence.

Every now and then, I’d catch him looking at me.

Unlike me, Ezra had inherited our mother’s striking blue eyes and our father’s tall frame. We both had warm brown skin and thick curls, though mine were a little wilder than his.

Sometimes, looking at him felt like looking at the only piece of home I had left.

After breakfast, I washed the dishes while Ezra went through the day’s appointments on his laptop.

“Nova!” he called from the living room. “Can we leave now? We’re going to be late.”

“One minute!”

I rushed upstairs and grabbed my bag, phone, and sketchbook from my dresser.

My sketchbook never left my side.

It held every design I’d ever dreamed of tattooing.

I’d thrown on an oversized faded black tee, a pair of loose cargo pants, and worn-in black boots. A few silver rings decorated my fingers, and my curls were pulled into a messy bun that was already threatening to fall apart.

I hurried back downstairs just as Ezra stepped outside. He waited by the front door until I came out, then pulled it shut and locked it behind us.

“Finally,” he muttered.

“I said one minute.”

“You said one minute five minutes ago.”

I rolled my eyes and followed him down the driveway toward his black Tesla. He unlocked the car with the key fob, and I immediately opened the passenger door and slid inside.

Ezra walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

“Buckle up.”

I rolled my eyes as I reached for the seatbelt.

“Do you have to say that every single time I get in the car?”

“Yup.”

He made sure to pop the p, earning another eye roll from me.

I couldn’t help smiling anyway.

Some habits were just.. Ezra.