She's not perfect, she's a raging storm.
He's utopian, yet far from Elysium.
Kang Ambrosia: the quintessential femme fatale, an austere workaholic with absolutely ZERO time for romance.
Perfect on the outside, yet an unfinished masterpiece.
Park...
"She wore her darkness like some girls wear a little black dress."
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At least not alone, not anymore Not since I found what I never went looking for And now you're in my head I must have lost my mind -Lost My Mind by FINNEAS
A HEART THAT'S BROKEN is a heart that's been loved. Bullshit.
Kang Ambrosia was heartbroken. Shattered over love she never had.
Her heart was in so many fragments, she wasn't even sure why it still beat through her miserable existence.
She'd never loved anyone. No knight in shining armour swept her off her feet and dumped her like a rag doll. After her immense success, no one dared to. Or rather, she simply never had the time to be swept.
She was happy. She had to be. Her parents lived in a posh neighborhood of Mumbai, complete with memberships of the most elite clubs. Money wasn't a problem anymore. She had company, the prince and his friends providing her with all the entertainment she'd ever need.
Then why this emptiness?
The sight of Jimin wearing a paint splattered shirt, the warmth of his coat engulfing her in the smell of turpentine all those weeks ago had awakened that congenital need. In ten years, she'd never seen a paint splatter. Never stopped to remember what she had left behind.
She'd spent the last decade running. Running to the next commission. Running away from her memories.
She knew, in the deepest part of her being, that she had no reason to run.
But she had to. It was all she knew, her only constant.
"Ready for this?" He questioned, a hand held out to her. Like the god-sent blessing to humanity he was, his hair was perfectly tousled, warmth and acceptance radiating from him like rays of the sun.
Lips in an irresistible coquettish set, his eyes brought peace to her mind. Encouraging little slits, black in the shadowed room. Despite her fears, she couldn't say no. Not to those midnight-dipped eyelashes, framing obsidian.
"No, " she gulped, "But let's go."
She took his hand, sliding her fingers between his, grasping on tight. He lead her to his studio, a place they often spent time together. Walking down the familiar rooms, she breathed deeply. The smell of paint overwhelmed her every sense. Warm, enticing her further.
The farthest room had its curtains drawn, letting in that golden Sykarian sunshine. An easel stood in the middle of the room, a blank canvas propped up on it. A chair faced it, making it look like a scene right out of a movie. It was quite possibly the perfect set up, better than Ambrosia ever had growing up.
"All the material is in that box," he gestured, pointing to a large woven basket, somewhat looking like it belonged in the hands of a family heading out for a picnic.
