Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Isla
André Nebruski’s studio sits on the corner of an old, converted factory in the Garment District.
The building has four stories of exposed brick, giant steel-framed windows, and a vintage freight elevator. Exactly the kind of place I always imagined the creative heart of the Lyceum Theatre would use.
Knox dropped me off earlier with a kiss for luck, one he insisted I didn’t need.
Then André’s assistant met me in the lobby and whisked me upstairs.
The moment I walked into the studio, I stopped breathing.
My portfolio—my paintings, my sketches, pieces of my heart—was arranged throughout the space on individual display easels. Like an exhibition. Like I was someone worth showcasing.
Then André came out to greet me, and I nearly passed out.
Dressed in a black silk shirt with a peacock-colored cravat around his neck, he looked every bit the artist. And his personality matched.
That’s how my interview began.
For the last hour, I’ve followed him from painting to painting while he studies my work with the intensity of a surgeon and the soul of a poet. Every now and then, he murmurs something to himself—usually in French—and gestures for me to explain what he feels.
Not what I intended.
Not what I think it should mean.
What he feels.
And every time I answer, I find myself unraveling truths I didn’t even know I’d hidden inside the painting.
Finally, we reach the last canvas.
I smile to myself. It’s the painting I was working on the night Knox came to pick me up at my apartment.
Somehow, it turned out different from the others. Darker and moodier, something between a nightmare and a fairytale.
My mind was all over the place that night, but the chaos poured straight into the brush until it became one of my best pieces.
The finished result is a twisted forest under a crescent moon, with skeletal branches reaching toward a horizon washed in silver and deep reds.
It’s Sleepy Hollow meets Neo-Noir.
A haunted dreamscape.
And maybe a tale of the night my life split in two.
André steps closer, hands behind his back, chin lifted just enough to show he’s in deep artistic-analysis mode. But the wide smile on his face says everything.
“This one,” he says quietly, “is special.”
I swallow, almost afraid to breathe. “Really?”
“Oh, yes.” He nods with vigor. “I was most eager to see it. The picture I was sent was good, but now that I see the brushstrokes and the emotion… it’s sensational.”
A shiver of excitement runs down my spine. That’s the biggest compliment I’ve ever received. “Thank you so much. I’m so glad you think so.”
“Absolutely. This piece is not merely art. It feels like a doorway. You step close and feel… something pulling at you.” He moves forward, almost reverently, as if the painting might breathe.
“The composition is bold. The texture is fearless. And the atmosphere…” He exhales softly, like the truth is settling in his chest. “It’s the work of someone who isn’t just painting a scene but a state of being.
A moment suspended between terror and longing. ”
Wow. He’s spot on. “That’s exactly what I was going for.” Because that’s how I felt.
He points to the streaks of iridescent red I layered into the sky. “These,” he murmurs, “are extraordinary. Most artists shy away from mixing cold fear with warm hope, but you blend them. Seamlessly. As if you understand that beauty and horror sometimes live in the same heartbeat.”
“That’s the essence of my style. I like to explore the deepest point of beauty and taint it with a kiss of darkness.”
André looks even more impressed with me. “Isla, you have the kind of raw creative talent that I’ve only ever come across a few times in my life. I would absolutely love you on my design team.”
My heart stops, and my breath stills. “I…you want… me?”
He smiles warmly, the kind of smile you only give when you’re absolutely certain of your decision. “Yes,” he says simply. “Your work has soul. I want that on my stage.”
My knees nearly buckle. “Oh my God. I actually have the job?”
He laughs heartily. “If you want it.”
“I want it. I do.” I say the words like I’m making a vow. “Thank you so, so much. This is such an amazing opportunity.”
“For me, too.” His smile brightens. “As you know, I don’t hold conventional interviews.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“I’m happy your husband got in touch with me. I’m glad I got to snap you up before any other theater.”
This feels like a dream. Him talking about snapping me up?
I feel like pinching myself. But I know this is real. No dream has ever felt this amazing.
“I’m so honored.”
“Welcome aboard, Isla Vale.” He extends a hand. “Come to the theatre on Monday. We have a production meeting at six. We can discuss contract details then.”
“Thank you.” I place my trembling hand in his, and he gives a gentle, reassuring shake.
“See you next week.”
I nod and head outside on shaky legs.
Tears of joy burn the backs of my eyes, and my heart lodges in my throat.
I’ve dreamed of this moment my entire life.
All that time I spent in the back of the restaurant sketching my designs. All that time I spent fighting with my parents so I could pursue my dreams. All the inspiration my grandparents gave me. The learning. The growing. Everything life threw at me—good and bad.
It’s led me to this point.
And Knox.
Oh God… Knox.
He’s like the angel who walked into my life and gave me everything I ever wanted.
None of this would have been possible without him.
He’s in the car waiting for me. I can’t wait to get to him and tell him what happened. My pace quickens at the thought.
Crisp, fresh air greats me when I step outside the building. I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself as I look down the road at the Maybach.
I barely take a step before the car door swings open and Knox is hurrying toward me.
I rush him, too, smiling so wide my face hurts.
The moment we meet, I throw my arms around him and squeal.
“Oh my God, Knox. Oh my God.” A small laugh breaks out of me. Half sob, half joy.
He spins me around. “I take it you got the job.”
“I did,” I whisper, then I laugh out loud. “I… got the job.”
Knox sets me down and cups my face with both hands, pride filling his eyes. “I knew it. I knew you’d get it.”
“Thank you for believing in me.”
He lifts my chin, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t even know had fallen. “It wasn’t that hard to do. Now, this is the job you can keep. The other one can go.”
“Yes, I’ll quit.”
We both laugh, but as I stare back at him, my heart cracks open. I think of what my life is supposed to look like in the next two months and feel sick.
The tears come faster. Knox strokes my jaw, and I can tell he senses the shift in the emotion behind my tears.
“Talk to me, love. You’re crying. Those don’t look like happy tears anymore.”
I drag in a haggard breath. “They’re not. Because you’re not an asshole anymore, and I don’t hate you.”
“No?” His eyes spark with mischief.
“No.”
“Why is that so bad, love?” He searches my eyes.
“Because… what the hell am I going to do in two months when I’m not with you?” God. There. I said it. I spoke the words I never thought I could say to him.
At first, he stares at me, and the surge of emotion in his eyes throws me. For a moment, I’m not sure what he’ll say, then he tilts his head and shakes it.
“I’m… not letting you go, Isla.”
My pulse stops, and something crashes into my chest. “What did you say?” I whisper, hope blooming.
He steps closer. “I’m not letting you go. That’s crazy, isn’t it? I was the one who told you not to fall for me, then I fell for you.”
I just stare at him, trembling, because no one has ever said anything like that to me. No one has ever chosen me with that kind of certainty. “It’s a good thing I didn’t listen to you. Because I fell for you, too.”
He smiles, and suddenly, my heart feels too big for my ribs.
“Is that so, love?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I should ask you to stay with me.”
I chuckle. “Do I have a choice?”
“Absolutely not. I was just trying to be nice.”
He pulls me in for a kiss. A slow, deep, reverent kiss. And for once, the world feels right.
I don’t feel lost anymore.