Rosenna Hart
My life is perfect.
A successful husband. A beautiful home. A gallery I built from the ground up.
But beneath the surface, it’s crumbling.
The debt. The pressure. The lies.
My husband says I’m the reason we’re sinking.
That I was never meant to lead.
And some nights, I believe him.
Then came Beckham Garcia.
A cold, calculating, brilliant artist prodigy.
His work could save my galleries.
His name alone could pull me out of this grave.
The only problem?
He doesn’t want money, recognition, praise.
He wants me.
To study. To unravel. To own.
And I’m so starved for touch, for affection, for something real
I keep telling myself I won’t give in. I keep pretending I have a choice.
I know I shouldn’t want him.
But God help me–I do.
Beckham Garcia
She came to me desperate. Polished. Married.
She hides behind pretty smiles and curated control,
but I see what she really needs.
To be seen. Touched. Owned. Ruined.
I don’t feel things the way I should.
I don’t do empathy. I don’t love.
But I understand fixation. Addiction.
Obsessions that bleed through every brushstroke.
That compel me to ruin something beautiful just to make it mine.
I don’t want to help her.
I want to unravel her.
Touch what her husband ignores.
Take what was never mine.
She thinks I’m doing this for her.
She thinks I’m her way out.
But this isn’t about her.
It’s about what I want.
And for the first time I want something real.
I want everything.
