CHAPTER 117: 117

The cold breeze played with Elisa’s hair, lifting the loose strands and brushing them across her cheek. She stood by the balcony railing, staring down at the quiet Australian street beneath her. People walked past cafés with steaming cups, students mounted bicycles, and cars hummed softly through the wide lanes.

It was peaceful and beautiful but her mind was nowhere near it.

She looked present... but inside, she was oceans away.

She had always dreamed of seeing the world of traveling, of painting landscapes in faraway countries, of breathing air untouched by her past.

Yet never.. never in her wildest imagination did she think she would be doing it under these circumstances.

Her father had moved her and Nyxella to Australia under the guise of safety, but it wasn’t protection.

It was isolation wrapped in luxury.

A gilded cage with sunlight through the bars.

He had everything prepared long before she even understood his intentions: an art studio rented under another name, a house purchased in secret, legal papers, accounts,and even schedules.

As though he had always anticipated this day.

As though this exile was not a reaction... but a plan set in motion long ago.

The breeze chilled her skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold inside her chest.

She didn’t know how long she had been staring when a voice floated from behind her.

"Madam Elisa... it’s time for the class."

She turned to find Nyxella in the new nanny’s arms well, just like it was supposed to be but the little girl was squirming restlessly, her cheeks puffed in frustration.

"Mama!" Nyxella cried, reaching both tiny hands toward her.

The nanny struggled to keep her still. "She refused to wait today."

Elisa’s heart softened instantly.

"It’s all right," she said gently, reaching out and taking her daughter into her arms. "I’ll take her with me."

Nyxella wrapped herself around her mother like a small, warm koala, pressing her face into Elisa’s shoulder.

With a sigh to steady herself, Elisa headed down the hallway toward the studio-classroom.

The moment she entered, chatter filled the room, students setting up canvases, others washed their brushes, some adjusted their aprons and some admired her. The space smelled faintly of turpentine and paper, and sunlight spilled in through large windows, illuminating the polished wooden floors.

Elisa smiled warmly at everyone.

"Good morning, everyone," she greeted, shifting Nyxella gently on her hip. "Today we’ll be covering the basics of fine art, which includes understanding form, balance, and how emotion guides the hand before the brush ever touches the canvas."

The class suddenly went quiet as everyone placed their kin attention on her trying to listen attentively.

"Fine art," she continued, "is not only about skill. It’s communication. Every brushstroke is a sentence. Every color choice is a feeling. And every finished work is a conversation between the artist and the world." she smiled as her eyes went across the room noting how everyone’s attention was on her, then suddenly a hand went up.

"How do we make our paintings feel more... alive?"

Elisa smiled and set Nyxella down beside her chair hearing the question but the little girl clung to her skirt, staring curiously at the students.

"By understanding movement," Elisa said. "Let me demonstrate."

She walked toward the table where the palette knives, flat brushes, filbert brushes, and the charcoal sticks were arranged neatly beside the acrylic set and gessoed practice boards.

But as she reached for a brush, something inside her tightened.

Her right hand.

She hesitated only for a breath but internally, it felt like a lifetime.

She remembered the accident... the injury... the months of hiding the weakness because showing it felt like revealing a vulnerability her father would exploit.

Her fingers trembled.. just slightly as she remembered the impact the rod had on her hand once more.

"ou can’t use this hand anymore like you used to" the words of the physician flooded in once more

"You can do this. Just use the left.. no one will notice." She murmured to herself but she couldn’t.

Not today.

Not when these students were looking at her with expectation.

Not when she had already lost so much.

So she forced a smile, pushed the pain deep down, and picked up the brush with her right hand.

A sharp jolt ran straight up her arm but she pretended not to feel it.

"As you can see," she said lightly, beginning to demonstrate a sweeping motion on the board, "even a simple line tells a story."

Her hand shook subtly and her wrist ached.

But she kept going until the demonstration was complete.

When she turned back to the class, her smile never wavered.

"That will be your warm-up. I want each of you to practice five expressive strokes that portray emotion without relying on color."

The students nodded, already bending over their canvases. Elisa exhaled quietly and reached for Nyxella.. But her hand closed in the empty air.

"Nyxella?" she whispered, her pulse skipping.

She looked around quickly but the little girl was no longer beside her.

A sudden chill ran down Elisa’s spine as she turned about to panic but froze, spotting her daughter.

Nyxella stood a few paces away, smiling up at a tall figure.

A familiar figure.

Elisa’s breath tore from her chest as her eyes slowly traced upward

Over the broad shoulders.

The dark clothes.

The hand gently brushing Nyxella’s hair.

Until she met his eyes.

Nix.

Standing there.

Looking at her.

So close she could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

For a moment

She forgot how to breathe.

They stared at each other and Elisa froze in place, Nix sat unmoving, and Nyxella looked between them with an innocent curiosity.

But Elisa gave nothing away.

No shock.

No fear.

Not even longing even though she felt it all

She stepped forward, reaching for Nyxella instinctively with her right hand. But pain shot up her wrist like lightning making her flinch but she barely made a sound, just the tremor of her fingers could be seen

Nix’s eyes widened slightly just enough to show he noticed.

But before he could move, she quietly switched to her left hand and lifted Nyxella into her arms. She didn’t offer him a word, a glance, nothing.

Then she turned and walked away.

Nix didn’t call after her.

He didn’t make a scene.

He simply followed her until she disappeared into the small private room behind the studio.

Elisa lowered Nyxella on the bed, breath stuttering. Her palm throbbed violently, swollen and pulsing with every heartbeat.

"Lara," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice, "please get me an ice pack. And the pain balm... the strong one."

"Yes, madam!" The maid hurried out.

The moment the door clicked shut, Elisa let out a shaky breath, pressing her right hand against her chest as if trying to keep it from falling apart.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t whimper.

She just breathed through the pain, her eyes closed tightly, and get shoulders trembling as she tried to hold herself together.

Footsteps returned.

But two sets, not one.

"Madam, I.. "

"Hand it to me," a calm, deep voice interrupted.

Lara stiffened. "Sir? I.. I don’t know if.."

"Who are you?" she whispered, frightened.

Nix gave a small, quiet smile gentle in a way that made her step back.

"I’m her husband," he said simply, taking the ice pack and balm from her hands.

The words stunned the maid into silence.

He didn’t wait for more questions.

"Thank you. You may go," he added softly.

Lara retreated immediately, closing the door behind her.

Elisa hadn’t opened her eyes.

She was still sitting beside Nyxella, her injured hand resting limply on her knee, and her breath uneven.

Nix approached slowly almost as if afraid one wrong step would shatter her completely.

He sat beside her.

Close... but not touching.

For a moment, he simply looked at her hand. Then, gently, he reached out and took her palm in his.

She tensed.

But she didn’t pull away.

Nix pressed the ice pack against her skin.

"That’s it," he whispered, almost to himself as he wasn’t audible enough for her to hear "Just breathe."

She hissed in pain, her face tightening. But he held her hand more firmly not forcefully, but with a steadiness she remembered too well. A steadiness that made her bones ache.

Minutes passed.

Neither spoke.

Nix’s thumb brushed lightly over the side of her hand, grounding and steadying her trembling fingers.

When the swelling eased slightly, he set the ice aside, uncapped the balm, and rubbed a little onto his fingertips.

"Sorry," he murmured. "This might sting."

Every touch sent sharp sparks through her nerves. She flinched again and again, chest rising and falling rapidly.

But Nix never stopped. And never rushed and neither did he loosened his hold on her

His breath was slow.

His touch painful, but careful.

As though he was afraid of hurting her more than she was already hurting.

After a while, the pain dulled.

And slowly...

Her eyes fluttered open.

Tears had gathered in them without her noticing. They clung to her lashes, trembling on the edge of falling.

Nix froze when he saw them.

She looked at him. really looked.

And for the first time in months...

He was close enough for her to see the pain in his eyes too.

His voice broke the silence, quiet and devastating

"Does it hurt that much?"