The Arrogant Artist : A Billionaire Boss Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 2), стр. 62

Are these girls stupid?

“He will if you testify,” Georgia adds.

My eyes bug out. “Are you fucking serious? You think I’m going to testify against him?”

“You’re not?” she asks.

“Of course, I’m not. The media is going to get a hold of this and twist it. They are going to make me out to be a whore, or even worse, a serial reporter. I can’t do that. I can’t handle it.” Tears well in my eyes. “It’s going to be a national scandal.”

“We’re here for you. We’ll support you. We will protect you,” Ava reassures me.

“Like you did that night?” The room falls silent. “Like you all did with... with... Connor?” Tears fall from my friends’ eyes, and I’m not sorry. “Both times something has happened to me, you have all been there right beside me. You were supposed to protect me. But you didn’t,” I scream at my friends. “You let them take me. Touch me. Destroy me.” They’re all sobbing now at my words. “How can I ever trust you all?”

“That’s not fair, Emmy,” Georgia argues.

“Not fair! Not fair! What’s not fair is having someone forcibly take your virginity. Someone who was your best friend. The person you thought you could trust. That’s not fucking fair.”

“We’re sorry, Emmy.” Rosie is sobbing.

“You’re sorry. That’s good, yeah, that makes everything all okay then, doesn’t it. Because you are sorry.”

I’m angry, so fucking angry.

Why me?

Why is this happening to me again?

“There’s another bouquet of flowers.” Rosie places the vases of sunflowers in the kitchen and adds it alongside the others. Every single day for the past two weeks Louis has sent me a vase of sunflowers. No note, just the flowers. Every single time they arrive, I want to throw them into the bin, but Rosie stops me and tells me she loves sunflowers, and she’d rather look at them than waste them.

What I have been doing to occupy my time is painting.

Rosie has let me set up an art space in the spare room, and I spend most of my days locked away in the room. There’s a gorgeous view of the private residents’ gardens from there. I’m not painting happy, light paintings. They are more angry, aggressive, dark, and haunting, which is all the emotions that are inside of me at the moment and are flowing out through to my artwork.

Every day when Rosie comes home from work and sees my latest creations, her smile fades just a little more. She thinks it’s fantastic that I’m painting again after all these years, but I can see the concern on her face when she sees the images I’ve painted that aren’t so nice.

She’s worried about me, I know she is, all my friends are. They think I should go to therapy, and maybe I should, but I want to process this myself. Art is my therapy. If I can get rid of the demons that haunt me overnight when I close my eyes through painting, then I’d rather that than some doctor prescribing me drugs like they did last time. Those drugs simply added to my misery and sent me into a deep depression. I never want to be like that ever again.

The girls finally explained to me what happened that night. I needed to know—I needed to know how far Yves got. Apparently, the friends that had surrounded our table in the VIP section were his crew. Yves had used them as a distraction. One of his friends placed something in my drink while we were talking. I hadn’t noticed, but the cameras from the VIP section caught it all. Unfortunately, security had missed it happening as there was a fight on the lower level which conveniently happened at the same time.

Yves waited for his moment, and when I went to the bathroom, that’s when he took it. Louis told the girls that they busted through the door just as he was taking my clothes off. The doctor’s report showed no physical or sexual assault had taken place, only a few bruises. I’m so thankful. I don’t know if I could have coped with being defiled for a second time.

Georgia made sure I knew that Louis attacked Yves, pummeled him to within an inch of his life for touching me. There’s a small section deep inside of me that’s happy he did, that he cared enough to fight for me.

But I should never have been put in that situation—I should never have been around someone so evil as Yves.

There’s a knock at Rosie’s door which I find rather strange as it’s the middle of the day. I’ve been holed up in my studio for hours lost in myself.

Maybe Rosie forgot her keys?

I make my way to the door and peek through the hole. It’s Daniel.

What the hell is he doing here?

How did he get in?

This is a secure building.

My heart begins to race, my hands shake, and my skin becomes clammy. I suck in a deep breath calming myself, then I open the door. He seems surprised that I’m even opening the door as a friendly smile eventually lands on his face.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly as if he doesn’t know what to say to me.

“Hey.” Well, that’s the start of a great conversation.

“You’re painting.” He points to my paint-splattered clothes.

“Yeah, I am.” My curt answer makes him shift from one foot to another nervously before me.

“Can I come in? I want to talk to you about something.”

Every part of my body is screaming ‘no you can’t come in,’ but for some reason, I go against my inner thoughts and reply, “Yes.” Opening the door for Daniel, I allow him to pass. He walks into the living room and stands awkwardly.

“Would you like a drink?”

He nods. “Water, please.”

I busy myself in the kitchen getting us both a glass of water, then hand it to him, and we both take a seat on the sofa in silence for a couple of moments.

“How are you