Chapter: 1947

Rosa clenched her jaw, her gaze sharp as she met his.

Within Carson, a spark reignited amidst the emotional barrenness, akin to the first hint of spring after a long winter. He yearned for the truth, but Rosa sealed her lips tight, a fortress of silence.

"Rosa—"

"It's you. The portrait is of you," Rosa finally admitted, ceasing her futile attempts to retrieve the frame.

Taking a step closer, Carson pressed, the frame still in hand. "Rosa, isn't it time you shared why you felt compelled to paint me?"