His Contract Bride for Christmas

Nine

TRIGGER WARNING: DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

Dani:

It wasn’t just any portrait—it was raw, unfiltered, painted in shades of black and gray. His expression was intense, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t name but had felt in every brushstroke.

Julian studied it for a long moment before glancing at me. “This is Ryan.”

I looked away, my cheeks burning. “It’s just a study. It’s not for sale.”

“Dani,” he said softly, setting the painting down. “This isn’t just a study. This is… remarkable. The way you’ve captured him—it’s intimate, vulnerable. It’s like you’ve painted not just his face but his soul.”

I bit my lip, refusing to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t planning on showing that to anyone.”

Julian nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the room. That’s when he saw the others.

One by one, he pulled them out: Ryan sitting on the porch, his profile illuminated by the setting sun. Ryan laughing, his head tilted back, his eyes crinkled with joy. Ryan stared off into the distance, his expression heavy with thought.

Each painting was different, but they all had the same thread running through them—something raw, something personal... Something as unique as he is.

Julian turned to me, his expression a mix of awe and curiosity. “Dani… these are incredible. Why didn’t you tell me you’d been painting him?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “They’re not for sale. None of them are.”

He didn’t flinch at my tone. Instead, he carefully set the last painting down and stepped back, giving me space.

“I understand,” he said finally. “But Dani, these are some of the most powerful pieces I’ve ever seen. They’re not just paintings—they’re a story. Your story. And his.”

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself. “I didn’t paint them for anyone else. I painted them because I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the way he made me feel. And now he’s gone, and all I have are these.”

Julian’s expression softened. “That’s exactly why they’re so important. Because they’re real. They’re honest. And people need to see that.”

I turned away, my throat tightening. “I can’t, Julian. I can’t let people see this part of me. If I think it makes me look crazy, everyone, including Ryan, would think I was some creep.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I won’t push you. But if you ever change your mind, these could change everything—for you, for your work, for your future.”

I didn’t respond, my back still to him.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’ll take the other pieces we talked about. But if you ever decide you’re ready to share these… let me know.”

Julian moved through the studio with the same reverence as before, pausing to admire the paintings that lined the walls and floors. But when his eyes landed on a canvas tucked partially behind a stack of others, something shifted in his demeanor.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing toward it.

I hesitated, my stomach twisting into knots. I’d forgotten that one was even here.

“Go ahead,” I said, though my voice was barely above a whisper.

He pulled the painting into the light, and the room seemed to shrink around us.

The canvas was large, almost overwhelming in its size. It depicted me on the floor, curled into a ball, my face hidden by my arms. The colors were dark and oppressive—black, deep reds, and sickly yellows that seemed to radiate tension.

Above me stood Will, his figure looming, his expression twisted into something cruel and unrecognizable. His shadow stretched across the floor, swallowing everything in its path, including me.

Julian stared at it, his hand frozen midair as if he’d reached out to touch it and thought better of it.

“Dani…” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “This… this is devastating.”

I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s just a painting,” I said, though the words rang hollow.

“No,” Julian said, shaking his head. “It’s not just a painting. It’s pain. It’s fear. It’s… survival.” He turned to look at me, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place—sympathy, maybe, or respect. “This is your story, isn’t it?”

I didn’t answer, my throat too tight to speak.

Julian set the painting down carefully as if it might have shattered if he hadn’t been gentle. “Dani, this is one of the most powerful pieces I’ve ever seen. It’s raw and unflinching. But it’s also brave.”

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “Brave? It doesn’t feel brave. It feels pathetic.”

He stepped closer, his voice firm but kind. “It’s not pathetic. It’s honest. Do you know how many people feel like this—trapped, powerless—but don’t have the words or the courage to express it? This painting speaks for them. For you.”

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “I didn’t paint it for anyone else. I painted it because I didn’t know how else to get it out of me. It’s not something I want people to see.”

Julian studied me for a moment, his expression softening. “I understand. But Dani, this piece… it’s important. It’s the kind of art that makes people stop and feel. It could change lives.”

I turned away, my chest tightening. “I don’t want to change lives, Julian. I just want to survive mine.”

He didn’t respond right away. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but resolute. “If you ever decide you’re ready, this painting could be the centerpiece of a gallery. Not because of what it shows but because of what it says. It’s not just about pain—it’s about resilience. About standing back up.”

I didn’t answer, my gaze fixed on the floor.

Julian sighed, but there was no frustration in it—just understanding. “I’ll leave it for now. But Dani… don’t hide this forever. The world needs to see it. And so do you.”

When he left, the studio felt emptier than ever. I stared at the paintings of Ryan, my chest aching.

I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to share them.

But a small part of me wondered if he’d ever see them—and if he’d understand what they meant.

But a small, quiet part of me wondered if Julian was right.

Maybe it wasn’t just about pain.

Maybe it was just about surviving it.

Ryan:

I didn’t know why Julian had called me. His voice had been solemn, lacking the typical arrogance he wore like a second skin.

“Come to my office,” he’d said. “It’s about Dani.”

Now, sitting across from him, I couldn’t shake the unease crawling up my spine. Julian wasn’t pacing or gesturing wildly like usual when talking about art. He sat still, his fingers steepled before him, his expression grim.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Julian exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. “I went to see her paintings yesterday. She finally let me into her studio.”

I nodded, unsure where this was going. “And?”

“And what I found… it wasn’t just art, Ryan. It was a story. Her story.”

I frowned, leaning forward. “What are you talking about?”

Julian hesitated, his gaze flicking to the window before returning to me. “Dani’s been through hell. And I mean hell. The paintings… they’re a timeline. A visual diary of what she went through with her ex-husband.”

My stomach dropped. “Will.”

Julian nodded. “Yeah. And it’s not just implied, Ryan. It’s explicit. She painted it all—the control, the manipulation, the violence. It’s all there, laid out on canvas.”

I felt my fists clench, heat rising in my chest. “What do you mean, violence?”

Julian’s expression darkened. “There’s one painting where she’s on the floor, curled into a ball, and he’s standing over her. The way she painted his face… it’s pure evil. And there’s another one—a hand grabbing her arm, bruising it. And another with a shattered mirror. It’s like watching someone’s life break apart in slow motion.”

I stood abruptly, pacing the room. My mind was racing, every image Julian described flashing in my head like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

“She never told me,” I said, my voice low. “Not once.”

“She probably didn’t think she needed to,” Julian said quietly. “The paintings say it all. And Ryan, it’s not just the abuse. It’s the aftermath. There’s one of her sitting in a car, staring out at the rain. She looks… lost. Like she doesn’t know how to move forward. But then there’s another of her standing outside her house, and it’s different. She’s still worn down, but she’s standing. She’s upright. It’s powerful.”

I stopped pacing, turning to face him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to know,” Julian said. “You care about her, don’t you?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. “Of course I do.”

“Then you need to understand where she’s coming from,” he said. “She’s not just some small-town artist with a rough past. She’s a survivor. And those paintings? They’re not just art. They’re her way of processing everything she’s been through.”

I sank back into the chair, my head in my hands. The thought of Dani going through something like that—of her being hurt, controlled, broken—made me feel sick. And angry. So, so angry.

“What do I do?” I asked finally, my voice barely above a whisper

I sat in the corner booth of a dimly lit bar, nursing a drink I didn’t want. Si was late, which wasn’t like him. He thrived on punctuality almost as much as he thrived on uncovering secrets. His expression was grim when he finally slid into the seat across from me.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, dropping a thick folder onto the table between us. “This… this took longer than I expected.”

I eyed the folder, my stomach twisting. “What did you find?”

Si leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “You weren’t kidding when you said this guy, Will, was bad news. I thought it’d be a standard background check—financials, maybe a few skeletons in the closet. But this…” He shook his head. “This is a whole damn graveyard.”

I tensed. “Start from the beginning.”

Si opened the folder, flipping through pages of documents. “William Fletcher. Born and raised in Danville. The parents were well-off, but the family had a history of dysfunction—the father was an alcoholic, and the mother had a string of affairs. He went to private schools, but his record’s dotted with incidents: fights, bullying, even a suspension for ‘behavioral issues.’”

I frowned. “What kind of behavioral issues?”

“Violence,” Si said bluntly. “It started young. Teachers reported him for aggression toward other kids. It escalated in high school—there’s a police report about a fight that sent another student to the hospital. Charges were dropped, though. Family money, I’m guessing.”

I clenched my jaw. “And after high school?”

“He went to college but didn’t graduate. Got involved in real estate, flipping properties. That’s where he made his money. But there are complaints from tenants—claims of harassment and intimidation. A few lawsuits, all settled out of court.”

Si paused, his gaze shifting to the folder. “And then there’s Danielle.”

My chest tightened. “What about her?”

Si hesitated, then pulled out a separate stack of papers. “Ryan, I need you to understand something. What I found… it’s bad. Really bad.”

“Just tell me,” I said, my voice low.

He nodded, laying the papers in front of me. “They were married for a couple of years. During that time, there were multiple visits to the hospital. Broken bones, concussions, bruised ribs. The records don’t outright say ‘domestic abuse,’ but the patterns are there. And some of the notes from the doctors…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They suspected it. But she never pressed charges.”

I stared at the papers, the words blurring together. My hands clenched into fists, shaking with barely contained rage. “Why didn’t anyone do anything?”

“She didn’t report it,” Si said quietly. “And without her cooperation, there wasn’t much anyone could do. Will’s the kind of guy who knows how to cover his tracks. He’s smart and manipulative. He probably made her feel like she couldn’t leave.”

I thought of the painting Julian had described—Dani on the floor, Will standing over her. It wasn’t just art. It was a memory.

“What else?” I asked, my voice cold.

Si hesitated again, then sighed. “There’s more. After she left him, he tried to track her down. Hired private investigators and sent threatening letters. There’s no record of him physically confronting her after the divorce, but the harassment has been constant.”

I swallowed hard, the anger in my chest threatening to boil over. “Where is he now?”

“He’s still in the city, but it looks like he owns a flipped property in Danville,” Si said. “He’s still working in real estate, still throwing his weight around. But Ryan… if you’re thinking about going after him, be careful. This guy’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” I said, my voice like steel. “He hurt her. He ruined her life. He doesn’t get to walk away from that.”

Si studied me for a moment, then nodded. “I figured you’d say that. Which is why I kept digging.”

He pulled out another sheet of paper, sliding it across the table. “Will’s got his own skeletons. Financial fraud, shady business deals. If you want to take him down, you start here.”

I stared at the paper, the wheels in my mind already turning.

“This isn’t just about revenge,” I said quietly. “It’s about making sure he never hurts her—or anyone else—again.”

Si nodded, his expression grim. “Then let’s make sure we do it right.”