“Different, yet the same…

Special For the DeValmonts

The door had barely closed behind Dominic when the silence settled into something heavier, something that didn’t feel empty but aware, as if the room itself had shifted its attention onto me, and even though I kept my eyes fixed on the canvas, forcing my hand to move with careful precision, I could feel Sebastian behind me, his presence no longer distant or controlled but closer, sharper, impossible to ignore, and when his voice finally broke through the stillness, smooth and unhurried, asking,

“So, Rose… can I speak during this painting? Because I don’t think I can sit still all night,”

I didn’t turn, didn’t give him the reaction he was clearly waiting for, instead answering evenly,

“We don’t have anything to talk about, Mr. Sebastian, let me do my job,” but the quiet that followed wasn’t compliance, it was movement, subtle at first, the soft shift of him rising from the sofa, the quiet sound of steps that I felt more than heard as they drew closer, each one tightening something in my chest, until his voice came again, lower now, too close, asking why I was so tense, telling me I didn’t have to be like this, that I should enjoy the view in front of me, and that was enough to make me turn sharply, setting the brush down as I faced him, the irritation finally breaking through as I called him egoistic, like his brother, accusing both De Valmonts of always needing dominance, always turning everything into a competition, telling him to leave me out of whatever game they were playing because I wanted no part in it, but he didn’t step back, didn’t argue either, instead closing the small distance I had tried to create as if it meant nothing, his gaze steady, unreadable, his hand lifting slowly, deliberately, until his fingers brushed a loose strand of my hair and tucked it behind my ear with a touch so light it shouldn’t have affected me the way it did, and yet my body stilled completely, my breath catching despite myself as he said my name quietly, asking if I didn’t see it, what made me different, the way I carried myself, the presence I brought into a room, his eyes moving over me not carelessly but with a kind of focus that felt far too personal, lingering just enough to make it clear this wasn’t a passing comment but an observation, something he had already decided, and that realization was what finally broke my composure, because it wasn’t the words themselves but the certainty behind them that felt dangerous, so before the moment could stretch any further, before I could lose the control I had been holding onto, I stepped back quickly, putting real distance between us this time as I turned toward the door and pointed to it, my voice steady again even if the tension hadn’t left my body when I told him the session was over and that he could leave now, adding a simple “see you tomorrow” without looking at him, as if ending the moment like that could make it normal again, even though deep down I already knew it wasn’t. Going back home thinking all night ,hearing my heartbeats all night and thinking ..why i Am special to them, what they want from me .........

Rose, wake up—you have a delivery.”

The words barely registered at first, my mind still caught between sleep and the fading edges of last night, but the scent reached me before anything else did soft, overwhelming, impossible to ignore. I sat up slowly, confusion slipping into curiosity as my eyes landed on them: flowers, everywhere. Two arrangements, carefully placed, both striking in completely different ways. One was deep red, rich, intense, a hundred roses gathered so perfectly they almost looked unreal, their color bold and unapologetic, impossible not to notice. The other was softer, pale pink, just as full, just as deliberate, but quieter in its beauty, almost deceptive in how gentle it seemed. My heart tightened slightly.I didn’t need to ask who they were from.I reached for the red bouquet first. Of course, I did.

A small card rested between the stems, the handwriting precise, controlled , familiar in a way that made my fingers pause for just a second before opening it.

Sorry for disturbing you. Domenic

Short. Formal. Exactly like him.

I exhaled slowly, placing it aside before my attention shifted to the second bouquet, the pink roses almost too soft in comparison, but somehow just as intentional. My fingers brushed over the petals before finding the card hidden within them, and this time, I already knew the tone would be different.

I can’t wait to see you again for the painting.

And I’m sorry… I’m not arrogant. Not a narcissist. Sebastian

A quiet breath escaped me, something between disbelief and something I didn’t want to name.

Completely, unmistakably them.

I leaned back slightly, surrounded by the scent of roses, both gestures lingering in the air like unfinished conversations, and for the first time that morning, I realized, this wasn’t just about the painting anymore. And somehow…

I was already in the middle of it.....