Portrait of An Arrogant Master - Chapter 12
The touch had felt so gentle that she had fallen back asleep.
‘The idea of the usually harsh Eren Wood being gentle…’
It seemed impossible. Yet this improbable, delicate situation had become a recent occurrence.
Of course, whenever she opened her eyes, she found herself alone in the bed. Facing the empty room always left her with an inexplicable sense of loneliness.
The painting of the dawn rising over the landscape was created by recalling the view outside her window during those times.
The image was beautiful but imbued with a sense of emptiness.
Macy turned her gaze back to the portrait of Eren. She moved closer, her fingers lightly brushing the blank canvas where his facial features should be.
‘I wonder…’
A relationship that vanished with the sunrise, like a mirage. An illusion that seems impossible to catch, much like the faceless portrait.
‘Should I ask if I can at least touch his face with my hands?’
Taking off the blindfold wouldn’t breach their contract. Perhaps if she asked to see just once… Or if she secretly removed the blindfold while he slept…
She knew it was wrong but couldn’t help herself. The tender touch from that night gave her the false hope that he might not mind.
“I don’t want any more contact than necessary.”
“…”
“And I hope you won’t be curious about who we are. We meet for the sake of the name treatment, there’s no need to know more.”
But such hopes were shattered when she remembered their first conversation about the name treatment.
It was foolish to think otherwise. He would never permit her to see his face. If she got caught sneaking a look, he might even terminate their contract.
This gloomy conclusion left her feeling unsettled.
She patted her chest, trying to ease the discomfort, and returned to the easel. The jar of white paint, which she used the most for her oil paintings, was nearly empty.
‘Looks like I’m out of paint. I guess painting is out of the question for today…’
Macy was about to consider sending one of the maids to run the errand, but she quickly changed her mind.
‘I should start doing things myself now.’
She had never been to the bustling market where the art supply store was located. Preparing for independence meant learning to handle these tasks on her own.
‘Besides, a change of scenery might inspire me. A breath of fresh air could do me good.’
Glancing out the window, she noticed the weather was bright and sunny. The white magnolias on the branches were starting to bloom.
* * *
Following the directions Yannick had drawn for her, Macy made her way to the art supply store.
Her leg, still a bit stiff, ached from the long walk but was not unbearable. Yannick had fussed over her decision to go alone, insisting on taking her by carriage, but she had managed to dissuade him.
Actions that once seemed like concern now felt insincere, especially given his drastically different behavior when her hands were stiff.
‘I need to hurry and become independent if I want to avoid his hypocrisy.’
Macy reaffirmed her will.
The art supply store was housed in an old stone building. Carvings symbolizing merchants flanked the wooden door. When she entered, the shopkeeper greeted her warmly.
“Welcome! What can I help you find today?”
“Hello. Do you have any white pigment?”
“Of course, just a moment.”
The shopkeeper, sporting a well-groomed beard, went to the back to fetch the pigment. Macy took the opportunity to browse the store.
She saw canvases of various sizes, fabric, wooden and glass palettes, conte holders, and brushes made from various materials. She picked up a brush and rubbed it against her palm. It wasn’t too soft or too stiff, perfect for delicate work.
“Are you buying supplies for yourself, miss?”
“Pardon?”
Macy was startled by the shopkeeper’s sudden question when he came back. It wasn’t common for women to paint, and she wondered why he asked so nonchalantly.
‘Does he know something…?’
Macy, who was accustomed to hiding her true self, hesitated momentarily, unsure whether to confirm or deny it.
Her role as Yannick’s ghost painter was fraudulent, and if the truth came out, she would face severe consequences. As she remained silent, the shopkeeper continued speaking regardless of her reaction.
“You’ve got a good eye! This one is flexible and highly absorbent. It’s one of our best-selling brushes lately.”
“Really? What is this one made of?”
Macy continued the conversation naturally to avoid suspicion.
“It’s made from deer hair. This one here, made from weasel hair, is excellent for fine lines.”
“The tips look well-made for precision.”
“Exactly! Would you like to buy it?”
“Yes, please.”
“Hold on. Since such a lovely young lady has come in, let me show you something even better. You don’t get such an opportunity every day.”
“Um, okay.”
“And this one too.”
“Sure…”
“And you must see this one!”
By the time she realized it, Macy’s hands were full of art supplies. The extra money she had brought just in case was nearly depleted.
‘I had hoped to explore more places, but that won’t be possible now…’
Carrying all these supplies around would exhaust her. Resigning herself to return home, she was about to leave.
“Macy?”
When a familiar voice called out from behind.
