The Tattoo Artist

In the few seconds I spent hesitating, Henry had already walked behind me.

He said nothing, not even the teasing remark he had made earlier.

The hand in the black glove clenched the tattoo machine tightly, his knuckles whitening from the force.

That suppressed despair, the kind that wanted to destroy everything yet had no choice but to restrain itself, was so intense it made my heart jolt.

“Lie down.”

The words were brief, his voice cold as ice.

I obediently lay back down, hardly daring to breathe.

Just then, my phone screen lit up again.

Ethan had sent a message:

[Wear something nice tomorrow night. You have to outshine everyone. Make my parents feel like this money was well spent. Whatever you do, don’t let anything slip!]

The notification popped up at the worst possible angle, directly in Henry’s line of sight.

Although I reacted quickly and turned off the screen, the prickling sensation only grew sharper.

I was finished.

He completely misunderstood it.

Henry did not say anything as he wiped my skin with an alcohol pad.

The spot I had just picked open began to sting sharply under his movements.

This time, he did not tell me to bear with it.

He continued until the area was cleaned and the color reapplied.

Then Henry suddenly spoke in a low voice, so hoarse it barely sounded like his own.

“Are you short on money?”

“Huh?” I froze for a moment.

“No, I’m not.”

Henry paused.

His mouth twitched, and the light in his eyes dimmed completely.

Of course, how could Miss Rivers ever be short on money?

What she lacked might only be the vanity of that social circle, or the “transaction” offered by that man.

And what was Henry, then?

Nothing more than a sad man lurking in the shadows, watching her dress up beautifully for another man.

The comments went wild again:

“This hurts so much! This big, stupid beast! He thinks the female lead made that deal for true love!”

“Henry must be thinking right now: “I’ll give you my life, okay? Just don’t be with that man.”

“But he’s insecure! He thinks he’s dirty, thinks he’s unworthy, and doesn’t even believe he has the right to ask her to stay!”

“Explain already, female lead! Don’t you have a mouth?”

I panicked and tried to turn around, but Henry pressed a hand firmly against my shoulder.

“Don’t move.”

He drew in a deep breath, as if summoning every ounce of strength to suppress the storm of emotion inside him.

“It’ll be over soon.”

The next ten minutes passed in silence.

Only the buzzing of the tattoo machine filled the air, like a saw cutting through both his heart and mine.

Finally, it was done.

Henry applied the healing film with hands so impossibly gentle, it clashed sharply with the icy expression he wore.

He removed his gloves and tossed them into the trash without looking at me, then slid a business card across the table.

“Save my number.”

The command carried a strength that allowed no refusal.

I blankly took out my phone.

“In the future…” Henry said, his voice barely audible, “if someone hurts you… or… he doesn’t want you anymore…

“Come to me anytime.

“I’ll be here. Always.”

A sting hit my nose.

This guy… Even after all this misunderstanding, his first instinct was still to leave me a way out.

“Then… if I miss you, can I come too?”

I tilted my head up and asked boldly.

The hand Henry was using to tidy his tools trembled violently, and a pair of scissors in the tray nearly clattered to the floor.

He spun around sharply, locking his gaze on me.

In that look, there was shock, doubt, and a trace of wild hope clawing its way to the surface.

Just then, a voice called from outside.

The butler, Aflred, was telling me to hurry.

I had no choice but to leave.