Chapter 4 – The Studio

LILA

The mansion was too quiet.

After dinner, after Ryder’s little performance with that mocking “step-princess” line, I couldn’t sit still in my room. The silence pressed down on me, broken only by the occasional tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.

I wandered.

The place was a maze, all endless hallways and high ceilings, each corner hiding another doorway. Every room seemed more impressive than the last—libraries with floor-to-ceiling shelves, sitting rooms with velvet armchairs, little alcoves filled with vases that probably cost more than my entire old apartment.

I ran my fingers along the smooth banister as I moved, marveling at how polished everything felt. Like a museum, but lived in. Richard’s wealth showed in every detail, but there were hints of life scattered in small ways: a sweater draped across a chair, a stack of magazines left on a table, a coffee mug abandoned on a windowsill.

It wasn’t just Richard and Mom here. It was Ryder’s home, too.

That thought sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.

I should’ve gone back to my room, but curiosity tugged harder. I found myself climbing the narrower staircase that branched off the main one, less polished, more… private. The kind of staircase staff might use.

At the top, the hallway was dimmer, quieter. The doors weren’t grand or gilded—they were plain, darker wood, some slightly ajar.

I peeked into one. A gym. Another door revealed what looked like a game room, pool table lit by a single lamp.

And then, at the very end, I found it.

The door wasn’t shut all the way. Light spilled through the crack—soft, golden. I hesitated, hand hovering on the knob. Something about it felt… forbidden.

Still, I pushed.

The room opened wide, and my breath caught.

It wasn’t like the other rooms. No perfection here. No polished marble or neatly arranged décor. This space was chaos, alive in a way the rest of the mansion wasn’t.

Canvases leaned against every wall, some finished, some splattered with colors in frantic strokes. Sketches littered the floor, pages torn from notebooks and crumpled, then flattened again. An easel stood in the center, paintbrush balanced on the edge, a half-finished painting waiting.

And the smell—sharp, earthy, the unmistakable scent of turpentine and paint.

I stepped inside slowly, eyes wide. This wasn’t Richard’s world. It wasn’t my mom’s. It was Ryder’s.

I shouldn’t have been there, but my feet moved anyway, drawn deeper.

One canvas pulled me closer: a portrait of a woman’s face, half-shadowed, her eyes haunting, almost accusing. The strokes were rough, angry, but there was something beautiful in the chaos.

Another canvas showed a city skyline, dripping with red like it was bleeding.

And then—my stomach flipped—I found a sketch pinned to the wall. A girl.

Not finished, not detailed, but familiar. Long hair, soft features. The tilt of the head… it looked a little like me.

I froze.

Was I imagining it? Maybe Ryder just sketched people vaguely, practice outlines, random muses. But the longer I stared, the more certain I felt that it was me.

A sound behind me made me spin around.

The door clicked shut.

Ryder leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest, shirt clinging to his frame like he’d just come from the gym. His eyes locked on me instantly, unreadable.

My breath caught.

“What are you doing in here, step-princess?” His voice was low, even, but the edge in it made my pulse race.

“I—” My throat tightened. “I was just… exploring. I didn’t know this was yours.”

He pushed off the door slowly, walking toward me. Each step felt deliberate, heavy, like he had all the time in the world. My heart pounded faster with every inch he closed.

“And now you do,” he murmured.

I took a step back, bumping into a canvas behind me. My fingers curled around the edge, careful not to smudge the wet paint.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” I whispered.

Ryder tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “But you did.”

The room suddenly felt too small. The air thickened with his presence, the smell of paint mixing with the faint trace of his cologne. My skin prickled, awareness spreading through every nerve.

I swallowed, forcing my gaze away from his and onto the mess of the studio. “You… you paint.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Brilliant observation.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I just didn’t expect—”

“Didn’t expect what?” he cut in, stepping closer until I could see the flecks of darker gray in his irises. “That the villain has hobbies?”

I exhaled shakily, my back brushing against another canvas. He was too close. My chest rose and fell too quickly, and I hated the way he made me feel cornered yet… alive.

My eyes darted back to that sketch pinned on the wall, and something in his gaze shifted when he saw where I was looking.

“You saw it,” he said flatly.

I froze. “It’s… it looks like—”

“You.” His voice dropped, the single word heavy between us.

My breath caught. “Why?”

His jaw flexed, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he leaned closer, his hand bracing the wall just beside my head. I was trapped between him and the canvas, his scent overwhelming, his presence too much.

“Because you’re under my skin,” he murmured, his breath warm against my cheek. “And I don’t know if I want you out.”

My heart slammed against my ribs, heat flooding my entire body. His words wrapped around me, dangerous and intoxicating.

I should’ve pushed him away. I should’ve said something, anything, but all I could do was stand there, trembling, caught in his gravity.

His eyes flicked down to my lips, lingering, and the room went silent except for the ragged sound of my breathing.

Then—he pulled back suddenly, a harsh laugh escaping him.

“Careful, step-princess,” he said, voice sharp again, though his eyes still burned. “Curiosity has consequences.”

And before I could respond, he grabbed the canvas I’d been leaning against, flipped it face-down, and brushed past me toward the door.

The heat of his body lingered as he opened it, his final words hanging in the air.

“Stay out of my studio.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and I was left in the chaos of his world, pulse racing, lips tingling with a kiss that hadn’t even happened.