The Hockey Star's Fake Bride

Chapter 3: The Cold Claim

The art studio was silent except for the steady scrape of my brush against the canvas.

Moonlight poured through the tall glass windows, spreading pale silver light across the wooden floor. Every corner of the room lay in darkness except for the easel standing before me.

I had been painting for hours.

The smell of oil paint filled the air as I dipped my brush into thick crimson paint again and again. My breathing had grown uneven, and my hand refused to slow down.

Ever since the wound on Caspian’s body had appeared on mine, something inside me had changed.

Sometimes I felt emotions that were not my own.

When anger consumed him, an invisible weight settled on my chest until I struggled to breathe.

When exhaustion overtook him, my own body became weak for no reason.

Tonight was worse than ever.

My head throbbed with pressure so intense that it felt as though someone was forcing images into my mind. Every time I tried to stop painting, another picture flashed before my eyes.

I dipped my brush into the red paint again.

“I gave you three rules when you came to Blackthorn Manor.”

The brush slipped from my fingers.

It struck the wooden floor with a sharp crack that echoed through the studio.

My heart lurched, I turned around.

Caspian stood quietly in the doorway.

He wore dark trousers and a fitted black shirt. The shadows hid most of his face, but his pale grey eyes were fixed on me.

“Caspian,” I whispered, pressing a hand against my chest. “You frightened me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off me.

“Rule number three, Seraphina.” His voice was calm. “Never paint your nightmares.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

The words rushed out before I could stop them. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought painting would clear my mind.”

“So you came here instead.”

“I wanted to paint the ocean.” I glanced helplessly toward the canvas. “That was all I intended to paint.”

“And yet that isn’t what happened.”

“No.” My voice cracked. “I don’t understand it either.”

He walked toward me at an unhurried pace. “I tried to stop.”

His eyes remained on mine.

“I put the brush down twice.”

"I didn't mean to break your rule," I said. I was completely trapped between his hard body. "The vision was just too strong. It was burning in my head."

"Show me," he demanded.

"No, please..." I started to say.

"Show me the painting, Seraphina.” He looked over my shoulder at the wet canvas and I saw his sharp jaw lock tight. His muscles getting hard.

On the canvas was a giant painting of a heart. But it wasn't a normal heart. It was the Blackthorn family crest the "Cursed Heart."

It was covered in thick, wet, red paint and it looked like it was actually bleeding right there in the room.

"The Cursed Heart," Caspian said. His voice turned ice cold.

"I don't know why I painted it!" I panicked. I tried to step in front of the canvas to hide it from him. "Please, Caspian, don't be mad at me. I will throw it away right now."

"Don't move," he ordered.

"I will burn it,"

I rushed out. "I won't look at it again."

"I said don't move," he growled.

He stepped closer, pinning me completely against the board. He smelled like rich cedarwood. He spread my legs slightly with his knee. His hard thighs pressed right against my bare legs.

"Caspian, please..." I said. He was so close I could barely breathe and the heat that was coming off his body made me feel dizzy and weak.

"Please what?" he asked, looking down at my lips.

"Please don't be mad at me," I whispered.

"I am not mad," he said. His voice dropped , . "But you need to learn."

Caspian reached his hand behind me. I heard his fingers touch the wet red paint on the canvas. The sticky sound made me jump.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my heart beating so fast.

“Teaching you a lesson," he said.

He brought his hand back and His long fingers were completely covered in the thick red paint.

"You want to dig into my family's past uh?" he asked. "You want to paint my curse?"

"No," I said. "I told you it was all an accident. I didn't want to paint it."

"Yes, you do." He stepped even closer. This time his hard chest rubbed against my soft chest. "You are obsessed with me. Just like I am obsessed with you. But if you paint my secrets, you will wear them."

He reached out and he pressed his paint-covered fingers right against my neck.

"Ah," I gasped. The wet paint felt so cold on my hot skin.

Caspian reached past me without taking his eyes off the canvas.

His fingertips brushed through the thick red paint before he slowly pulled his hand back.

The crimson color stained his fingers.

“What are you doing?” I asked quietly.

Instead of answering, he looked at the paint for a long moment before dragging one finger across the corner of the canvas, revealing another layer beneath the fresh paint.

“You didn’t paint this by choice,” he said.

“I’ve been telling you that.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“You painted what you were shown.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. Not yet.”

My heart pounded faster.

“Then explain it.”

“I can’t.”

“Or you won’t?”

For the first time, something unreadable crossed his face.

“There are truths that become dangerous the moment they are spoken.”

I stared at him.

“You keep talking in riddles.”

“Because plain answers won’t protect you.”

My hands tightened around the edge of the easel.

“I don’t need protection. I need the truth.”

“The truth is exactly what I’m trying to keep you alive long enough to understand.”

Silence settled between us. Neither of us looked away.

Finally, he shifted his attention back to the painting.mHis expression changed.

Every trace of calm disappeared.m“Did you paint all of this?” he asked.

“I… I think so.”

Did you paint this?" he asked. His voice was suddenly hard and deadly.

"Paint what?" I asked, confused.

"The background," he said.

I turned my head to see what he was looking at.

Hidden in the dark shadows behind the giant bleeding heart, I had painted something else. I didn't even know I painted it. My hand just did it on its own while I was in the trance.

It was a perfect drawing of the room we were in right now. I painted the big glass windows and the wooden easel and I painted the moonlight shining on the floor.

But that wasn't all.

In the painting, standing right behind Caspian, was a dark shadow of a man. The man was holding a gun and The gun was pointed directly at the back of Caspian's head.

"Oh my god," I whispered in pure horror. "Caspian... my paintings... they predict the future."

"Quiet," Caspian snapped.

"Caspian, he is going to "

"I said quiet," he ordered.

He didn't turn around to check the room. He just stared at the canvas. His body was ready to fight.

Right at that exact second, a bright red laser dot appeared in real life. It shined straight through the glass windows of the studio.

The red light landed perfectly, dead center, right on Caspian’s forehead.

It matc

hed my painting exactly.

Someone was standing outside in the dark. And they were about to pull the trigger.