The Color of Betrayal
Starling's POV
The small studio smelled of turpentine and rain.
Canvases leaned against the walls — half-finished portraits, faces that looked too familiar to be strangers.
This was her mother's secret hideout — part studio, part sanctuary, part graveyard of memories.
Elijah sat shirtless on the stool, his skin pale under the dim yellow light. Blood had soaked through the bandage on his side, and his breathing came in shallow waves.
Starling knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she pressed another cloth to his wound. "You shouldn't have moved," she whispered.
He tried to smirk. "You sound like you care."
"Maybe I do," she said sharply — but her voice cracked halfway through.
Elijah winced as she tied the cloth tighter, but his eyes never left her face. "You saved me back there."
She didn't reply. Her hands stilled, eyes lowering to the red stain spreading through the gauze.
Saving him wasn't part of her plan — but when she saw him bleeding, something inside her refused to let go.
From behind them came a quiet voice.
"You were always stubborn like your father."
Starling froze.
Slowly, she turned toward the shadow near the doorway — where her mother stood.
The words hit like a cold blade.
Starling stood, her throat tight "Mother, please tell me the real truth, from the start before and after I was born"
"I think you have the right to know," her mother said softly. "If Voss had known I was alive, he would've come for you. Faking my death was the only way to keep you safe."
Starling's eyes glistened with fury. "Safe? You call this safe? He knows who I am now. He called me daughter!"
Her mother flinched — just barely — but didn't deny it.
Elijah looked between them, confused. "Wait—Voss is your—?"
"Don't say it," Starling snapped. Her voice cracked. "Don't you dare say it."
Her mother stepped closer. "Starling… I never told you the truth because I couldn't bear for you to see yourself through his shadow. You are not him. You never will be."
Starling's jaw trembled. "Then tell me the truth now. All of it."
Her mother sighed, eyes distant. "He was charming once — ambitious, brilliant, dangerous in ways I didn't understand. When I met him, I didn't know what he truly was. By the time I did, I was already pregnant… with you."
Elijah's gaze dropped. Starling's world tilted.
Her mother continued quietly, "When I realized what he'd done, how he destroyed your father's career, how he used people like pawns — I ran. I hid you under another man's name, someone kind enough to protect us both. But Voss found out. He wanted you back, his 'masterpiece,' he called you. That's why I disappeared."
Starling's breath came shallow. "And now?"
Her mother's tone hardened. "Now we stop him. Before he destroys anyone else you love."
Starling looked down at her hands stained with paint and Elijah's blood. She felt the weight of her father's memory pressing against her chest.
"How?" she whispered. "He's always two steps ahead."
Her mother turned to a covered canvas leaning against the wall. She pulled away the cloth, revealing a massive painting — a stormy seascape with hidden markings carved beneath the layers of paint.
"Your father left more than art behind," she said. "He hid everything Voss feared most — the proof of what he did. It's all in here, but only you can finish it."
Elijah frowned. "Finish it?"
Her mother nodded. "There's a pattern beneath the brushstrokes — coordinates, codes, signatures. He trusted only Starling to reveal them. Because she paints like he did."
Starling stared at the canvas, her breath uneven. "So all this time… my faher knew what Voss was up to."
"Exactly," her mother said. "To end Voss, you must complete what your father started."
For a long moment, Starling said nothing.
Then she turned to Elijah, who was now standing despite his pain, watching her with quiet pride.
Her voice was calm, almost steady. "Then I'll paint him his downfall."
Starling's POV
The rain outside had softened to a whisper.
The storm had spent its rage, but inside the small hideout, another one was quietly being born.
Starling sat before the unfinished canvas — her father's last piece — a storm frozen in color. The paint had long dried, but beneath it, faint symbols shimmered under the flicker of candlelight.
Numbers. Letters. Hidden strokes she never noticed before.
Her fingers traced them slowly. "He knew I'd find this," she murmured.
Her mother stood beside the window, watching the road through a crack in the curtain. "He trusted you more than anyone. You were his light in that darkness."
Starling swallowed hard, picking up the same old brush her father once used. "Then I'll finish it for him."
Behind her, Elijah sat on the couch, his shirt replaced with one of her mother's clean bandages. The wound on his side was wrapped tightly, but he still looked pale.
"You should rest," she said quietly.
He smirked, though his eyes were tired. "And miss watching you paint like you're about to summon the dead? Not a chance."
She gave him a faint glare, but her lips twitched despite herself. "You're impossible."
"And you're bleeding inside," he replied softly. "Don't hide it."
Her brush hesitated mid-stroke.
He always saw through her — even now, when she wished he didn't.
Her mother turned from the window, her voice cutting through the quiet.
"He won't stop, Starling. Voss believes you're his legacy. That painting — if it gets out, he loses everything. Which means he'll burn the world to keep it hidden."
Starling's jaw tightened. "We finish the painting to see what's truly in it, burn the painting first, then gets our hand on Voss and finish him.pp"
Her mother's eyes softened, but worry lingered there. "It's not that simple. He has people in every circle — the police, the galleries, the investors. You expose him without proof, and they'll call you insane."
Starling looked down at the painting, her hand tightening on the brush. "Then I'll give them proof they can't ignore."
As she painted, colors began to shift under her strokes — the stormy sea slowly revealing something beneath: a face.
Not her father's.
Not Voss's.
A woman's.
Her mother's.
Starling froze. "Why is your face… here?"
Her mother stepped closer, confusion flickering across her features. "I don't know. That wasn't in the original."
Elijah leaned forward, his tone wary. "Maybe it's reacting to something — the paint, the lighting—"
"No," Starling interrupted, her voice trembling. "This isn't random. He wanted me to see this."
The colors deepened as if breathing. The woman's face — her mother's face — looked frightened, as though caught in motion, looking over her shoulder at something unseen.
And behind her — faint outlines of a man.
Starling's heart pounded.
It was Voss.
Her mother's hand flew to her mouth. "He found me… even then."
The air in the room turned cold.
Starling stepped back, staring at the painting as realization sank in. "This wasn't just art. It's a record — he painted the day you disappeared."
Her mother's eyes glistened with tears. "He knew Voss would come for me. He painted proof before it happened."
Elijah stood, his voice low. "Then this painting isn't just evidence… it's a confession."
The room fell silent.
Outside, thunder rolled again — distant, threatening.
Starling glanced at the window, unease crawling up her spine. "If that's true, then he'll come for this."
Her mother nodded grimly. "He already knows you're alive, Starling. It's only a matter of time before he finds this place."
Elijah reached for his gun, checking the chamber. "Then we'll be ready."
Starling's hand brushed against his arm — stopping him. "No. We can't just hide and wait."
Her voice hardened, the same cold resolve that once belonged to her father now burning in her tone.
"If Voss wants his legacy," she said, eyes on the painting, "then I'll show him what it costs to lose it."
Her mother frowned. "What are you planning?"
Starling looked up, her expression unreadable.
"Something he won't see coming."
..........
The Fracture of Blood
Ivy's POV
The night was too quiet.
Even the city lights outside her window looked distant — like they knew something she didn't.
Her phone buzzed again.
An unknown number. No name. Just a single message.
"You're not who you think you are. Hayes is your father. Ask Voss."
Her breath caught.
For a second, she thought it was a prank — a cruel joke. But then another message followed, this time with a photo.
A birth certificate.
Her name. Ivy Hayes.
The signature — unmistakably his.
Her fingers went numb.
The world around her blurred into static. Hayes. The man she hated, the man Starling called "father" — the one whose name she'd spat in disgust a hundred times — was hers.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"Lies," she whispered. "This has to be lies."
But deep down, something in her cracked open — a memory she couldn't ignore.
Voss's voice, once calm and patient, telling her she was special, that her blood carried power, that Hayes was nothing but a means to an end.
Her stomach twisted.
He knew.
He always knew.
Ivy's hands trembled as she reached for her coat. The message had come with coordinates — a warehouse on the outskirts of the city.
And she already knew who she'd find there.
---
The warehouse loomed in silence, rain dripping through the broken roof.
Voss stood near the center, his coat perfectly dry despite the storm. A ghost of a smile touched his lips when he saw her.
"Ivy," he said softly. "You shouldn't have come here."
"Then you shouldn't have lied," she snapped, stepping closer. "Hayes. You told me he was nothing. A fool. A man you destroyed."
Voss sighed, as though the truth bored him. "Because that's what he was."
"He was my father!" she screamed, voice cracking.
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes — not regret, but recognition. "So you finally know."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "You used me. You let me believe I was yours. You let me destroy everything for you!"
Voss's tone was cold. "Because you wanted to be me, Ivy. Don't play the victim now."
"I wanted to be loved!" she shouted.
The words echoed off the steel walls — raw, trembling, true.
Clara appeared from the shadows then, her gun drawn but her expression uncertain.
"Voss, this isn't the way," she said quietly. "She's not your enemy."
But Ivy's eyes were already wild with fury. "Don't you dare defend him!"
Voss turned to Clara, voice calm. "She's broken, Clara. Let her burn herself out."
"No," Clara said, stepping between them. "She deserves to know everything."
Voss's eyes hardened. "You're forgetting your place."
Clara didn't move. "Maybe I finally remember it."
The tension snapped.
Ivy raised her gun — hands shaking, eyes filled with betrayal and rage. "You ruined my life, Voss. You ruined hers."
Voss didn't flinch. "Then finish it."
The gun fired.
But before the bullet could reach him, Clara stepped in front — a flash of movement, a gasp, and blood.
Ivy froze.
"C-Clara?" she whispered, lowering the gun.
Clara fell to her knees, eyes glassy, a faint smile curving her lips. "You… were never supposed to be his pawn," she whispered, voice fading. "None of us were…"
Then she went still.
Voss's face twisted with fury. "You fool!"
He lunged forward, grabbing Ivy's wrist and slamming her against the wall. "Do you think you can stop me? Do you even understand what you've started?"
But Ivy wasn't afraid anymore.
Through her tears, she smiled — cold and trembling. "Yeah," she breathed. "I just broke your favorite toy."
Voss's hand tightened, but before he could speak, the sound of sirens echoed faintly in the distance.
He released her, eyes narrowing. "This isn't over."
Then he vanished into the dark — leaving Ivy kneeling beside Clara's lifeless body, the gun cold in her hand and her heart in pieces.
---
Starling's POV
The rain had eased into a soft drizzle by the time she reached the hill outside the old villa.
She stood there, staring at the lights flickering in the distance — the remnants of a war that hadn't even begun.
Her phone buzzed.
Rin's name lit the screen.
Starling answered in one breath. "Did you deliver it?"
There was a pause.
Then Rin's voice, quiet but steady. "She knows."
Starling closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. "And Voss?"
"Gone. But not for long."
Starling's gaze hardened.
"Good," she said. "Then it's time he learns what it feels like to lose everything."
The line went dead.
And somewhere in the distance, lightning flashed — pale and sharp — as if the night itself knew that the real storm was only just beginning.