Chapter 390: Strip

Though every sculpture bore my face, subtle differences became apparent on closer inspection. These weren’t just random recreations—they captured me at distinct stages of my life. It was undeniable now. The Carlyns had been watching the Sanders for years. The idea of being scrutinized, like an animal in a zoo, filled me with revulsion. I couldn’t afford to lose my composure. There were answers to uncover.

I gestured to a statue clad in an elegant gown. “This was from the piano competition, wasn’t it? When I won. You must’ve been twelve back then.”

“Yes,” he said, his tone almost reverent. “I’ve known about you for a long time. Chloe, you’re like a jewel—brilliant and radiant, even in the darkest places.”

I forced myself to keep probing. “The fake Anna—she’s working with you, isn’t she? What do you have against the Sanders? My sister disappeared when we were kids. Ethan and Jake—dead, and not just dead, but brutally so. My grandmother barely clings to life because of that woman. Why? Why all this?”

He didn’t answer, offering only a cryptic smile. “You’ll understand soon enough.” Then, as if dismissing my questions entirely, he shifted gears. “You must be hungry. Let’s eat first.”

The house didn’t look like anyone had lived in it for years. Cooking was clearly out of the question, but he had brought food—instant noodles, the kind you could eat anywhere.

“Sorry, Chloe,” he said, opening two containers and pouring in hot water. “No time for anything better today.” He handed me one, already prepared. I accepted it, though my appetite was nonexistent.

While he focused on his meal, I studied the room, letting my gaze linger on the sculptures. I searched for clues, anything to make sense of this nightmare. But his obsession was singular. Every piece in the room depicted me. Each sculpture was unnervingly lifelike, down to the expressions etched into stone. His skill was undeniable, but that only made it worse.

It explained a lot. No wonder he’d been so eager when he first saw Zoey’s face—even then, he must’ve seen her as a stand-in for me. Though I believed he wouldn’t kill me, I could tell I wouldn’t escape unscathed. The Carlyn brothers shared a streak of madness, but his was worse—fueled by an artist’s unrelenting fixation.

I turned away from the statues, intending to leave the room, but as I pivoted, I collided with him. I hadn’t even heard him approach. How had he moved so silently?

I instinctively stepped back, only to feel the icy surface of a statue press against my spine. He stood close, too close, his eyes alight with something I didn’t want to…

“Chloe,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, “do you know what I’ve always wanted?”

He stepped closer still, his fingers catching my chin and tilting my face up. His expression was unyielding, and his possessiveness unmistakable. He wasn’t a boy anymore. Whatever innocence might have been there was long gone. This was a man—a man who didn’t believe in boundaries.

Fear gripped my face so tightly that it felt frozen in place. My fingers, without my realizing it, clung to the edge of the cold sculpture. When I finally managed to speak, my voice cracked. “W–what?”

He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly across my lips. The touch barely registered, but it sent a shiver through me, like a shadow passing too close. My nerves felt stretched to the breaking point.

“I’ve sculpted you countless times,” he said, his tone unsettling in its calmness, “but I’ve never done it while you were actually here. Chloe, be my model.”

Relief flooded through me, loosening the grip of panic. It was just modeling. I hated how my mind had wandered somewhere darker for a moment.

“I’m hungry,” I said, hoping to shift the conversation somewhere less dangerous.

He nodded, stepping back. “Fair enough. Eat first. We have all the time we need.” His eyes gleamed with an almost childlike eagerness. At least his obsession seemed confined to his art. For now, anyway.

He gestured to a pair of containers. “The noodles are ready. Sorry, Chloe, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“It’s fine, Yael,” I replied, sitting down and taking one of the containers. “Are we staying here long?”

He nodded again, his expression steady. “For the time being. Amber won’t find you here. Damian’s already handled things—he’s made sure she believes you’re dead. To her, you’re nothing but a memory now.”

The fork froze halfway to my mouth. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t flinch. His voice remained composed, as though he were explaining the weather. “To everyone else, you died in an accident. There’s nobody. Nothing to trace back to you.”

My stomach churned. I’d hoped Carter hadn’t realized I was missing. But now it was clear—Damian had orchestrated an elaborate lie, one that even Carter would believe. Amber might be fooled, but Carter? He’d never recover.

“How could you do that?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “Yael, if Carl thinks I’m dead, he’ll lose his mind. Please, I’m begging you. Just give him a sign, something to let him know I’m alive.”

The thought of Carter, crushed under the weight of my imagined death, was too much. I couldn’t bear to imagine the grief that would consume him.

I set the container down. Food was the last thing I could think about now. “Yael,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “I know you’re not like the others. You’re an artist. You chase beauty and perfection. Let me stay. I’ll help with your sculptures. But promise me this one thing. Please.”

“Chloe,” he said, his voice calm but sharp, “where did you ever get that idea? What makes you think I’m a good person?”

He leaned in, his gaze locking onto mine. “Now, cat. Be good, or I’ll feed you myself.”

The words were spoken softly, almost tenderly, but they sliced through me. His calm demeanor only made them more chilling. The Carlyn brothers weren’t men who operated within the bounds of reason or morality. They didn’t just bend the rules; they shattered them.

His eyes held a quiet menace, a warning I couldn’t ignore. I didn’t doubt for a second that disobedience could lead to something far worse. It wasn’t hard to imagine becoming part of his twisted vision—a sculpture robbed of its humanity. They say art is most perfect when it’s incomplete.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and picked up the container again, forcing myself to eat. But my thoughts never left Carter. Carl, are you okay? I couldn’t help thinking of him, hoping he’d somehow figured out the truth. You must know I’m not really dead, right? We share something so deep. Don’t let this break you. I’ll come back—someday.

My hand moved mechanically as I forced down the last bite of the noodles. Yael watched me with that unnerving smile of his, tilting his head slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured.

I studied him for a moment, the question gnawing at me. How had the Carlyn brothers turned out this way? What kind of childhood—or lack thereof—could shape people into something so deranged?

He cleared the table, humming softly under his breath, before turning back to me. His eyes gleamed with an almost childlike excitement. “Shall we get started now?”

I nodded, trying to keep my breathing steady. This was about the sculptures. I had to believe that…

I sat down and positioned myself on the chair. “Like this? Is this what you need?”

Yael stepped closer, the smile on his face shifting into something more unsettling. “Chloe,” he said at last, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. “I need to understand your body better before we begin.”

Something cold ran through me, rooting me to the spot. My voice wavered, betraying my panic. “What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward, his expression calm, almost pleasant. “Take off your clothes, Chloe.”