How far is he willing to go just to get what he desires?
When will she realize her place in this world?
Despite the number of differences they share, they both know that they have one thing in common: They are sold.

Note: Vincent's name has been changed to Christian

Chapter 1 - A paintbrush

The sky on his canvas was dark grey with clouds of the same colour but with a lighter hue. Christian Abernathy's dark brown eyes which almost seemed black switched to the window. His velvet blackout curtains were separated, granting him a view of the sky outside. Unlike the one in his painting, it was clear blue with white puffy clouds. The sun was shining quite brightly. And also, unlike in his painting, there were no dead bodies on the ground with their bloods seemingly getting washed off by the two dimensional rain.

     Zachary raised his eyebrow at his master’s artwork. A while ago, he told him to make a painting of whatever he liked. But he did not quite expect him to paint. . .that. He also saw him glancing at the window every now and then while he was painting. He knows that Christian's eyesight is not as clear as his but is it that poor that he saw the sky that way? And what were those dead bodies for? Despite the number of questions he wanted to ask, Zachary just smiled.

     “Splendid, Young Master,” He complimented. “You have improved. I am sure your parents—”

     “Are unaware that I know that paintbrushes exist,” Christian said, handing Zachary his paintbrush. Zachary took the black wooden brush and studied his Master’s face. As usual, he looked as if he would collapse any moment now due to sleepiness. His eyelids were dropped and his lips were pressed together. Zachary did not mind his comment and gave Christian a bow.

     “Do you need anything else, Young Master?” Christian shook his head. “If that is the case then I shall be prepa—“

     “No need.”

     Christian walked to the wooden double doors and went out of the room. After climbing two flights of stairs and walking through a few hallways, he made it to his bedroom. He opened the door and locked it once he was inside. He made his way to the balcony and crossed his arms as he watched his gardener tend to the garden. His eyes flickered to his maids who were sweeping, wiping the glass tables and windows. After a while, a carriage has arrived. His servants stopped doing their work and formed a line on the sides. A tall man with a big stomach came out first and took the hand of a petite woman. When he saw the man tripping on his feet, he walked away from the balcony.

      He laid down on his king sized bed on his side and gripped the crimson red sheets, crumpling it. His eyes started to close slowly.

    ‘Even with that brush, the world I dream of will remain only painted in a canvas.’

The End

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