My Skin Was His Cruelest Canvas
Language: en
I was born a "Butterfly Child." My skin is as fragile as a monarch’s wing—thin, translucent, and prone to tearing at the slightest touch. When my family’s estate crumbled into bankruptcy, I went to the only person who could save us: my husband, Colin. He was the king of the city’s tech scene, a man who built an empire on cold logic. Instead of a check, Colin took me to a dimly lit, high-end tattoo parlor in the Meatpacking District. He leaned against the leather chair, an arched brow mocking my desperation. “One million for every tattoo,” he said, his voice like silk over gravel. “How much…