---- Chapter 10 Hope Morton POV: The dust settled. Days turned into a week, then two. There were no more sightings of Kingston, no more anonymous calls. The quiet that followed was profound, and in it, | finally began to breathe again. | started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he had finally heard me. That he had finally let me go. | was working a late shift at the clinic, cleaning up after the last appointment, when Jaxon walked in. He was holding a large, flat cardboard box. "Special delivery," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "| didn't order anything," | said, wiping down the stainless steel examination table. "It's not for you," he said, placing the box on the counter. "It's from you." | looked at him, confused. He nudged the box closer. The return address was for a high-end art supply store in the city. My heart gave a little flutter. Before | met Kingston, before my life became a waiting game, | used to paint. It was the one thing that was truly mine, a way to create beauty in a world that had often been ugly. ---- After he found me, with the promise of a new life always dangling just out of reach, | had packed my canvases and paints away. It felt frivolous to paint when | should have been preparing for the 'real' life that was coming. | opened the box. Inside was a brand-new easel, a full set of professional-grade oil paints, brushes of every size, and a stack of blank canvases. A small, handwritten note was tucked inside. 'The world needs to see what you can do. - J.' Tears welled in my eyes. It was the most thoughtful gift | had ever received. Kingston had given me expensive jewelry and designer bags, gifts that were meant to mold me into the sister he wanted. Jaxon had given me back a piece of myself | thought | had lost forever. That night, for the first time in eight years, | painted. | didn't have a plan. | just let the colors flow, a riot of emotion and memory pouring out onto the canvas. | painted the fury of a hurricane sky, the quiet gray of a foster home bedroom, the warm, golden yellow of Mrs. Gable's kitchen. When | was done, hours later, | stepped back and looked at what | had made. It was chaotic and messy and painful, but it was also beautiful. It was my story. A few months later, | was walking Buddy in the park when my phone buzzed with an email. It was from Finn. My first instinct was to delete it, but curiosity got the better of me. The subject line was just one word: 'FYI'. ---- Attached was a link to a press release. | clicked on it. KINGSTON KOCH STEPS DOWN AS CEO OF KOCH INDUSTRIES. | read the article in a state of shock. He had resigned, citing 'personal health reasons'. The board had appointed an interim CEO. The article mentioned a dramatic drop in stock prices following rumors of family turmoil and the CEO's erratic behavior. It also mentioned, in passing, the abrupt departure of his adopted sister, Everly Koch, who had reportedly been sent to a 'therapeutic boarding school' in Switzerland following a public scandal involving destruction of property. He had imploded. Just as Finn had predicted. His perfectly curated world had crumbled to dust. | felt a strange pang in my chest. It wasn't pity, not exactly. It was a faint, sorrowful ache for the brother he could have been, for the family we might have had if he had only been stronger, braver. | closed the article and kept walking. The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant strokes of orange and pink. Buddy chased a squirrel up a tree, his tail wagging furiously. A group of kids were laughing on the swings. It was a perfect, ordinary evening. My life was no longer defined by Kingston Koch. His rise or fall had no bearing on my own. My world was here, in this small town, with the quiet mechanic who knew my soul, the ---- foster mom who made me pot roast, and the steady, healing work of mending broken paws and painting my own future. Later that week, a large manila envelope arrived at the clinic, addressed to me. There were no return address. Inside were legal documents. A deed to a penthouse apartment. A portfolio of stocks worth millions of dollars. And a single, handwritten note on heavy cream cardstock. It was always yours. I'm sorry. The handwriting was shaky, almost illegible. | didn't know if he got better, if he found peace, or if he was still rattling around in his glass prison, haunted by the ghosts of his own making. And | realized, with a startling clarity, that | didn't care. His story was over. ---- Mine was just beginning. | walked into the warm, bright kitchen where Jaxon was waiting for me, a smile on his face. The smell of fresh paint and turpentine clung to me like a second skin. | was a mess of color and chaos and light. And for the first time in my life, | felt completely, irrevocably, and beautifully whole. | was home. In "A Relationship Kept in The Dark" by CrushReel, the storyline unfolds as renowned photographer Jane finds herself drawn to the charismatic rookie model, Hector. Little does she know that Hector harbors a secret—he is actually the heir to a powerful business empire. As their romance blossoms, Hector grapples with concealing his true identity to capture Jane's heart. However, their love story takes a tumultuous turn when jealousy rears its ugly head, threatening to unravel the delicate balance they've built. This modern romance novel delves into themes of hidden identities, unexpected love, and the complexities of maintaining a relationship shrouded in secrecy. 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