The Bad Boy Has A Soft Spot

Chapter 17 Acting disarrangements

Roselia's POV

The room was around 6 times bigger than mine. A large window was built on the side of the room. The height of the window spanned across the floor to the ceiling, making the black-coloured room look less intimidating in the day. Facing the window on the side of the room was a desk and on it were 3 monitors of a computer. A king-sized bed lay in the centre of the room and shocker. His sheets were dark brown in colour. The scent of the room was blessed with the ocean. I bet his sheets also smelled like it.

'Get out, now!'

I tried not to poke around his room, I promise, but a few things caught my eye. A seemingly plain book laid at the exact centre of his study desk right beside the window. The bright rays of the sun pointed to the translucent cover and my hand itched to touch it. What if it has magical properties?

My body stood directly over it before I knew it. It was a sketchbook. Without my conscious control, my fingers were already lifting the pages of the book. Intricate and detailed drawings of monochrome flowers were revealed on the first page, and the second, the third and the next until the last. Based on the shadings of pollen in the flowers, whoever drew this paid supreme attention to detail. The sketchbook couldn't be larger than a normal A4 paper size but the dimensions of the flowers itself made the drawings look enormous. In all the pages, the flowers bloomed with so much radiance even without the help of coloured paint. It made me want to jump into the dimension in that sketchbook and live with those flowers. I flipped the pages fast enough to generate moving imagery of flowers rustling in the wind- I could almost hear it. I stared in awe as I turned the pages a few more times, taking in the absolute beauty of the art.

I opened a single page at the middle of the sketchbook where the beauty of the flower was accentuated with colours. At this page, there was only a single flower with yellowish-white petals growing from a green stalk surrounded by healthy leaves. The next page was back to monochrome. With the colours in that page, it seemed to have lost their artistic appeal and the allure of the overall craft decreased, as did the radiance.

Strange.

Shouldn't colours have added to their beauty?

I took a closer look and slanted my eyes on the coloured page. Water was falling to the edge of the flower to the soil, giving the impression that it had been recently invigorated with water. However, the white petals were drooping towards the ground even though the hue of the page suggested the sun was shining bright. The flower was wilting.

I read the initials on the corner of the page.

J. C. E.

J.C.E.

Jace?

One thing I knew for certain; he was talented. I caught a glimpse of his knack for creativity when he drew representations of business jargons in class. Never would I have guessed he had Picasso's blood in him!

A certain picture frame seemed to glow under the sun. It was situated at the table beside his bed. I closed the sketchbook and placed it back on the table. The gold-framed picture became clearer as I came closer. I clutched the frame on my right hand. In the picture were four people; one middle-aged woman and one middle-aged man. The woman was almost a carbon copy of Jenna. Green eyes, button nose and plump lips. On the other hand, the man looked more like Jasper's sharper features. A strong cheekbone, high defined nose and thinner lips. The woman smiled as she held an adolescent Jenna; she couldn't be more than 15 years old in that picture. Her husband had his hands on Jasper's shoulder who was still a teenager. The picture was taken on a bright day in front of the driveway's fountain of the mansion. Like the sun, their faces also glowed in happiness. Their pearly white teeth reflected the sunlight that shined upon them.