"Please don't thank me, Miss J," William said warmly as they settled into the plush seating. The lounge felt even more intimate now, just the three of them and the soft classical music drifting through the air. "I've always wondered—your painting, 'Stormy Eyes'—how can any piece of art hold so much emotion? Every time I look at it, I feel something new. Loss. Longing. Hope, even in the darkness."
Miss J's eyes flickered. For a moment, complex emotions passed through them, a flash of old pain, carefully buried.
"Pain made that painting," she said softly with a small smile. "When the heart overflows with things too heavy to carry alone, they spill onto the canvas. The storm becomes art. The tears become color."
Bella stared at her without blinking.
She couldn't help it. There was something about this woman, her voice, her presence, the way she spoke about pain like an old friend. It drew Bella in, held her captive.
