Don't you call her baby. We're not talking lately. Don't you call her what you used to call me... A story in which a girl who writes songs falls in love with the boy who sings them. "Color...What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams." - Paul Gauguin. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! *TW: story contains mature topics such as mental abuse, PTSD, minor drug usage, and minor sexual content.*

"I thought grief was the hardest thing I'd ever survive. Then I met him." Winnie thought grief was the hardest thing she would ever survive. She was wrong. After inheriting her late mother's gallery, Winnie clings to routine, beauty, and the quiet life she built inside its walls. But when suspicious crates begin showing up, strangers start watching her, and hidden ties to something dangerous begin surfacing, her world starts breaking apart piece by piece. Harry is the last person she should trust-violent, guarded, and tangled in the very darkness closing around her. But the closer danger gets, the closer he does too. And the worst part is, she can't tell if he's the threat... or the only reason she's still alive. Now, with her best friend in danger and her mother's legacy slipping through her hands, Winnie has to decide how far she's willing to go for the truth. Even if it ruins her. Even if it ruins him. Even if they were both fractured long before they ever met.