" A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom. - Chinese Proverb.

Ryan finished his painting and left the canvas out to dry. It had been a week since his journey to the South to Katrina's new place and inspiration had now seemed to have struck or had flooded in.

Over ten canvases waiting to be framed filled now stood on almost every corner of his spacious studio and with the sale of these, Ryan was sure that his father would not have that much of a hold on him. He should have been scared, the man knew, but his father had been careless to dismiss his art as a useless hobby. A waste of time, he had called it, but Ryan knew better. This hobby was what was paying his bills and with the investments he had made out of his income, he was sure that he could continue to live a comfortable life despite his father's numerous threats.

Ryan wiped his hands and walked o

"Love speaks in flowers. Truth requires thorns." -Leigh Bardugo

"Ryan, your dad-"

"Good afternoon to you too mum." He greeted her, his mother, who was fidgeting with her black gloves and the small handbag gripped tightly in her hands. As usual Mirena Thorpe was looking as exquisite as ever in a black skirt suit and black kitten heels. Black stockings covered the entirety of her legs, from her knees, down her calves to the toes that were peeking out from the little openings at the front of her open-toed pumps. Her blonde hair was short, cropped, and as yellow as the blonde locks on her son's head and beneath the bangs were a pair of startling blues that Ryan must have inherited.

"I wish we had the luxury of that, but your father-"

"I know mum." Ryan cut her off. "He plans on cutting me off and to be honest, I do not care."

"Don't talk like that! With Lennita in Veterum, you are our o

" The rose does not bloom without thorns. True, but would that the thorns did not outlive the rose. - Richter"

"She's with them mother, Katrina is with them. The old hag took her!" Dominic burst through the double doorways and into the drawing-room where his mother was busy knitting.

"What are you raging about?"

"Charlotte! That blasted woman took my daughter away!"

"Language Dominic!" the elderly woman scolded without once looking up from her work. It was a little cardigan. Something that she had started working on the moment she had learned of Katrina's pregnancy. These and other small knitted pieces allowed her mind to think while her fingers were distracted.

"You do not understand Mother. Charlotte took her!"

"No. I do not believe it. I am sure Katrina went there of her own free will..."

"No! You do not understand mother." her son cut her off. "I am telling the truth mother, t

" A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom. - Chinese Proverb.

Ryan finished his painting and left the canvas out to dry. It had been a week since his journey to the South to Katrina's new place and inspiration had now seemed to have struck or had flooded in.

Over ten canvases waiting to be framed filled now stood on almost every corner of his spacious studio and with the sale of these, Ryan was sure that his father would not have that much of a hold on him. He should have been scared, the man knew, but his father had been careless to dismiss his art as a useless hobby. A waste of time, he had called it, but Ryan knew better. This hobby was what was paying his bills and with the investments he had made out of his income, he was sure that he could continue to live a comfortable life despite his father's numerous threats.

Ryan wiped his hands and walked out of the studio. He pauses in the corridor debating on what to do first until his mind was made up 

Chapter 14