Epilogue

SIX MONTHS LATER

T he gallery buzzes with energy, filled with patrons captivated by the dark, haunting artwork on the walls. Conversations hum around me, blending with the soft strains of classical music. Every piece I’ve created is on display—each painting a window into my soul, a testament to the horrors of Everwood and my battle with Liliana. My series, Possession , has drawn a crowd, and I can feel the weight of their eyes on me. This time, though, it doesn’t feel like judgment. It feels like acknowledgment, recognition of what I’ve survived and what I’ve turned it into.

I stand near the center of the gallery, surrounded by my work. Hayes is beside me, his hand a comforting anchor in mine. His presence calms my nerves, reminds me of how far I’ve come. The paintings capture my journey in raw, vivid strokes—dark, gothic depictions of my trauma, the moments when I fought for control. There’s one of the mirrored room, its fractured glass reflecting Liliana’s ghostly form entwined with mine. Another shows the mansion consumed by flames, shadowy figures lost in the fire. But the centerpiece— The Dance of Shadows —has drawn the most attention. It depicts Liliana’s spectral hands gripping my throat, her face just behind mine, her eyes burning with fury.

There are other pieces too—ones that delve deeper, into not just the terror but the sensual entanglement of fear and desire. These are the ones that surprise people, draw them closer with a mix of curiosity and something darker. There’s a painting titled The Taken , where my body is half-draped, half-exposed, my face twisted between agony and ecstasy, Liliana’s shadowy form behind me, her hands caressing, possessing, blending violence with a disturbing intimacy.

Another piece, Bound , shows me naked, my wrists tied with crimson ribbons that almost look like blood, my back arched in a state of surrender—or maybe defiance. It’s hard to tell. The lines between pain and pleasure are blurred, each stroke of the brush a reflection of the complex emotions I felt under Liliana’s control.

And then, there are the more intimate pieces, the ones that capture the nights with Hayes after Everwood. After the Fire shows us in bed, our bodies entwined, his hands holding my wrists above my head, my face full of vulnerability and raw desire. It’s a scene that feels both deeply personal and liberating—a statement of reclaiming my body, my desires, after everything that happened.

Hayes leans in closer to me as we stand in front of one of these paintings, his breath warm against my ear. “These ones,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl, “make me want to drag you into the bathroom, fuck you until all these people in here hear you scream.”

I glance at him, a smile tugging at my lips. “Go on,” I tease, feeling a warmth spread through me. There’s a thrill in knowing my art can evoke such strong emotions in him, in knowing that I can still affect him this way. His gaze is intense, filled with a heat that mirrors my own.

Hayes laughs softly, his eyes glinting with a playful light. “Come on then,” he says, taking my hand. He pulls me closer, his body warm against mine. The sensation sends a shiver through me, full of anticipation and desire.

We’re weaving through the crowd when a familiar voice cuts through, sharp and disbelieving. “Tori? This is your work?”

I turn to see Charles Knight, standing next to his wife, Sophia, with her perfectly manicured hands clutching her purse. Their faces are full of shock and resentment. Charles’s eyes are wide with surprise. I feel a jolt of something between dread and satisfaction seeing them here, witnessing my success. Sophia’s lips are tight, her eyes scanning the room, taking in the sold signs on every piece. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face here,” she spits, her voice low but venomous. “And you’re the one behind all these paintings. You used a pseudonym?”

“I go by Lily Hadley now,” I say, not bothering to explain further. I could deal with them later if I choose, but right now, I’m enjoying Charles’s longing expression and Sophia’s hurt response to it. “Enjoy the show,” I say with a dismissive wave, turning my attention back to Hayes. He looks sharp tonight, dressed in a tailored Armani suit that hugs his frame perfectly. The thought of peeling it off him, right here, right now, sends a thrill through me.

Charles steps closer, his eyes lingering on me with that familiar look I once found so irresistible. “You always had something, Tori,” he says quietly, almost wistfully. “Something different.”

I smirk, feeling the power of his gaze and my own strength reflected in it. “Maybe it was my tight young body,” I reply coolly, “since that’s all you seemed interested in back then.” I can feel a tingle in my fingertips, an old, familiar heat rising—a part of me wants to reach out, claw his eyes out, make him see what he lost. But I resist. I’m in control now. I catch my reflection in one of the large framed pieces, and for a second, my eyes seem sharper, more intense, almost unfamiliar. A flicker of something deeper, more primal, stirs inside me—a presence, an essence that’s shaped me, fortified me, made me more than I ever thought possible.The old Tori would’ve faltered under Sophia’s sharp gaze, would’ve felt a pang of regret seeing Charles’s conflicted expression. But now, the thought barely registers.It’s as if my soul has been stretched, fused with something else, something stronger that refuses to let anyone have power over me again.

Hayes shifts beside me, his presence steady and supportive. He steps forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe you two should just leave,” he suggests, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sophia looks like she wants to argue, but she glances at me and something in my expression makes her stay silent. She scowls, grabbing Charles’s arm. “Come on, let’s go,” she snaps, clearly furious at his lingering attention on me.

Charles hesitates, his expression conflicted. For a moment, I see the man I once cared about, the man I thought I loved. But that was a long time ago. He nods slowly, allowing Sophia to pull him away. I watch them go, a strange sense of satisfaction settling in my chest. I’ve taken away their power, their ability to belittle me. I’ve shown them—and everyone else—that I’m stronger than they ever knew.

Hayes leans in close, whispering against my ear. “You good?”

“Perfect,” I reply, a wicked smile spreading across my face. “Absolutely perfect.”

We make our way to the back of the gallery, finding a small space where no one can see us. Hayes’s lips find mine in a heated kiss, his hands roaming my body, reminding me of how alive we are. We stumble into a small, private office, the door swinging shut behind us. I push him against the wall, my hands sliding down his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“I want you,” I whisper, my voice rough with desire. “Right now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He lifts me onto the desk, his hands pulling my dress up as he leans down, his mouth capturing mine again. We move with a frantic urgency, a desperate need to feel alive, to feel each other. The rest of the world falls away, leaving just us, just this moment.

Afterward, I slip into the restroom, the door closing softly behind me. The air is cool, soothing against my flushed skin as I walk to the sink. I turn on the faucet, letting the icy water cascade over my hands, grounding me in the moment. My breath steadies as I raise my head, expecting to see my own tired reflection in the mirror.

But it’s not just me.

Liliana’s face hovers just behind mine, her eyes steady, calm, and filled with a strange, knowing serenity. Her presence doesn’t send a shiver of fear down my spine, nor does it make me recoil. Instead, there’s a quiet understanding between us now—an acceptance of what we’ve both become, intertwined.

I stare at our reflection, feeling the power of it settle deep in my bones. And for the first time, I feel at peace.

We are one.

And I’m okay with that.