The Photographer's Deceptive Lens

y Wal

oked sound. "Austen, you lied to me.

and on the screen. His eyes, usually so warm and full of light, were now clouded wi

tarted, his voice hush

our entire secret life?" My throat tightened, the words scraping against my vocal cords. "You're Chiaroscu

ence stretched, thick and suffocating, between us. Every s

was my muse. My world, for a long time." He paused, a deep, shuddering breath escaping his lips. "I w

My world, for a long time. He was admitting i

mine, a desperate plea in their depths. "That was the

a bitter taste in my mouth. Did he really think that was

, your 'world,' suddenly needed you, truly needed you..

past chapter." He took a hesitant step toward me, reaching out. "Come here, let's talk

o her?" My voice was rising now, betraying the raw fear coiling in my gut. "Because she's clearly not just a 'p

d, Hailey. Let's get some rest. We'll talk in the mornin

artment. "No, we will not rest! We will not talk in

mors of Isolde's recent career slump, a botched campaign, a desperate need for a comeback.

g, hit me: he would go. He wou

eaking. "Are you going back to her? Is this

houlders slumped. "No," he said,

his hand, vibrated again. The screen lit up

s faster. I lunged, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt, my fingers digging in

something akin to trapped desperation. He looked at the phone, th

efeated sigh, he

soft and breathy, filled the room.

body stiffened even further. He didn't say anything, j

hotographer just walked out, claiming he can't 'capture my essence' anymore. It's a mess. My whole career is on the line." Her voi

clinging to his sleeve, but he didn't even seem to notice my presence anymore. His gaze was fixed on some distant point, lost in a memory, a fantasy

n, her voice thick with unshed