No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

I spent a few seconds lost in thought before grabbing a book from the bookshelf and sprawling out on the couch to read, completely immersed until our housekeeper, called me down for dinner.

"You look even prettier in person than in the paintings, Miss Felicia," The housekeeper remarked just as I was about to dig into dinner, catching me off guard.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

"Paintings? What paintings?" I asked, puzzled.

The housekeeper chuckled, "The ones Mr. Wagner painted, all of them are of you. They're up in the studio on the second floor."

I had been out on the balcony earlier and passed by the second floor, but I hadn't ventured into any of the rooms, unaware of any studio.

What struck me most was that Dustin painted - this was news to me. We lived together before he went abroad, grew up together, yet he never once mentioned taking up painting. Could he have learned in these past four years? And all the paintings were of me?

Seeing the housekeeper bustling about the kitchen, I wondered if she was mistaken. After all, she's from a different country and might not differentiate faces as we do, much like how I view Westerners.

Even though I was skeptical, curiosity won out. After a few bites, I found myself heading upstairs.

Not knowing which room was the studio, I began checking each one.

Dustin's bedroom, the study, the gym, and even the walk-in closet, until I reached a door that was locked, secured with a keypad.

This had to be the studio.

Curiosity, especially when it involves oneself, can be overwhelming. The housekeeper's words had ignited an urge in me to see for myself, but without the passcode, I was stuck. After mulling over it for a few seconds, I tried Dustin's birthday. Incorrect. If not his birthday, then what?

Pondering over what Dustin might have chosen realized how little I knew about him now. We barely spoke when we lived together, my attention always on Conrad, and

met

after Dustin left the country, we lost touch completely.

Suddenly, it dawned on me - if the studio was full of my portraits, could the passcode be my birthday?

I entered my birthday on the keypad and heard the lock disengage. Instead of feeling like a winner, my chest tightened up with tension.

Dustin's feelings for me were evidently deeper than I had imagined.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open to find the walls adorned with paintings.

Just as the housekeeper said, each painting depicted me at different stages of my life: as a young girl newly joined the Wagner family, growing up, during my

award-winning moments, ridiel

bike with my hair flying in the wind, and even sitting on the steps, hugging my knees, crying...

These weren't just paintings; they were snapshots of my life, capturing every emotion.

As I perused each painting, forgotten moments flooded back to me.

The last painting was of me at the Wagner Group press conferenc Despite Dustin's absence, he had kept track of my life closely,

capturing it all on canvas.

My heart grew heavy with the weight of these paintings. My gaze shifted from the wall to a canvas covered with a cloth in the corner.

Every painting in this room was about me, so this hidden one must be too.

Driven by curiosity, I pulled off the cloth, revealing an unfinished painting. Only, this time, I wasn't alone.