For several consecutive days, Nathan Moore did not go to Titus Zane’s room to torment her.
He had looked up online that when a woman’s intimate area is injured, it’s not suitable for relations and needs time to recuperate.
And Titus Zane just quietly stayed at home, not going out.
During the day, she locked herself in her room, with a glass of red wine by her side, sitting in front of the easel painting.
This oil painting must have been the longest and most heart-invested piece Titus Zane had ever worked on. She sketched and refined it every day, only to feel it still wasn’t perfect upon completion, so she would crumple it up, throw it into the trash, and start over.
The subject was still that same piece.
At the open window, a figure stood facing the wind, the breeze lifting a woman’s long hair—an undeniably aesthetic scene, but the woman’s silhouette exuded a touch of melancholic sorrow and loneliness.
Lately, Titus Zane often liked to listen to music while painting, an old song she stumbled upon by chance.
...I am the bird imprisoned by you,
having forgotten how high the sky is...
She wasn’t naturally prone to melancholy, but lately, for some reason, she often found herself inexplicably sorrowful, even desperate.
Nathan Moore’s gritted curses would frequently echo in her ears.
Titus Zane, as long as I don’t let go, don’t even think about escaping...
Previously, her mother had said that with the passage of time, Nathan Moore’s resentment towards her would gradually fade, but now, nearly a year later, his hatred for her had only intensified.
She had even selfishly fantasized before that once Nathan Moore let her go, she would elope with Logan Ray to far-off places, never to return to this city that shamed her—after all, Logan loved her so much, he surely wouldn’t mind...
But now, every time she recalled the painting of the young girl at the exhibition, Titus Zane felt that her life no longer held any hope.
Thus, imprisoning herself in her room every day, facing the easel was no longer about dreams and hobbies; it had become a way to pass the time.
In life, the most painful thing is not the arrival of hardship, but the torment of not knowing when it will end.
This was exactly Titus Zane’s current state of mind.
To live, yet in essence, her heart had died.
Picking up the red wine beside her, she took a sip, her slightly squinted gaze resting on the easel in front of her, yet seemingly looking beyond it.
Holding the paintbrush, she dipped it into the palette’s colors, adding a few strokes to the woman’s silhouette in the painting, her long hair dancing wildly in the wind, adding a touch of loneliness to the elegance.
She sipped lightly on the wine again, her right hand persistently holding the brush, her gaze fixed on the easel, blurred yet focused, trying to capture the soul of the figure in the painting to the fullest extent.
The cell phone on the floor changed the music, no longer playing the song "Prisoner Bird", but a ringtone instead.
Titus Zane put down her wine, casually grabbed the phone and held it to her ear, her eyes still fixed on the oil painting ahead.
"Hello, who is this?" Her voice was formal, polite but lacked warmth.
"May I ask... is this Miss Titus Zane?" On the other end of the call, the girl’s voice was timid, sounding somewhat frightened.
"It is I, who’s this?" Titus Zane’s gaze still lingered on the easel, she lifted the hand holding the brush and added a few more strokes.
"I... am Ava Charles, Logan is drunk and keeps calling your name..."
Ava Charles glanced back at Logan Ray, who was slouched over the bar, continuously murmuring, "Titus... don’t leave me..." and from his half-closed eyes, tears seeped out.
"Where is Logan? Tell me your location!" Hearing Logan Ray’s name, Titus Zane suddenly snapped to attention, her expression tensed, and her hand gripping the brush involuntarily tightened.