Falling For The Biker - Chapter 70: Chapter 70

Sierra’s POV
The science that explained how these little beings with barely any work to do tend to have so much strength in their palm was unknown to me. I was in my late twenties and I doubted I had that much strength to send an electric bolt of pain through my body.
“Mommy, wake up,”
Yes, Elvis' usual routine. It took a moment to open my eyes as not only was I trying to fight off the sleep that wasn’t so easy to ward off with his slap, but the pain of said slap. I titled my head to the side, fluttering my eyes open to the clock.
7 am.
When I wanted him to be energetic in the morning, I didn’t think it would backfire on me. “Mommy, wake up. See,” he said, jumpy.
It took a lot for me not to get back to sleep. With a yawn, I sat up, pulling the covers with me. I was still in his room and on his bed. “What is it, sweetie?” my voice groggy from my uncompleted beauty sleep.
“Mommy, look,” he held out a tablet in front of me.
“What am I looking at?” I asked, still sleepy.
“Mommy, look,” he sounded impatient.
“I am, honey,” I said. It was a post with over a million likes and comments. It seems a few people wanted to bid on the painting. “It’s really good. I’m impressed. There are good artists out there,”
“It’s your painting!” Elvis yelled.
“Huh?” the drowsiness disappeared.
I grabbed the tablet from him, staring at the piece. My signature was embedded at the bottom left of the canvas. I studied the piece a while longer. It was truly my painting, but how?
I don’t remember ever posting any of my paintings. “There is more, mommy,” Elvis told me.
I scrolled down, and I found more of my paintings on the internet. A few of them were free while others were tagged exclusive and people needed to pay to view them. And there was also a hint of an exhibition soon with no date mentioned.
I tried to find the poster, but it was a new account that quickly grew in just a few hours. I raised my head and found Elvis was no longer in the room. I rushed out of the room, downstairs.
“Jackson!” I called out as I headed down the stairs.
Elvis was with Mum as they talked about something while dad busied himself with a newspaper. A habit never dies. However, I kept looking around for Jackson. “Mum, where is Jackson?” I asked.
Just before she could reply, Jackson cut in. “Why yell my name this early in the morning, Sierra?” he said, coming down the stairs.
“What did you do to my paintings?” I asked.
He raised a brow. “Your paintings? Nothing. I haven’t touched them. Is something wrong with them?” he said.
With that, I headed down to the basement, opening up the suitcase. All my paintings were right here, with none of them missing. Then how did they get on social media? My head spun with the countless possibilities.
“Is something wrong?” Jackson asked, walking over to me.
I shook my head, but then nodded the next minute. Was I being plagiarized, but it had my pen name as the artist? I turned the screen to Jackson. “Did you do this?” I asked.
He took the tablet from me, staring at the screen with his brows furrowed, and it soon relaxed. “Finally, got over your fear,” he said, handing over the tablet back to me.
“I… I didn’t post them. I’ve been plagiarized. We need to find a way to take them down. They are really important to me. I can’t lose them,” I said, slowly panicking.
My heart was racing, and sweat filled my face. “You should let it be,” Jackson said, and I froze.
“What?” I exclaimed.
“You don’t want to use them, then why bother when someone sees value in them,” Jackson said.
“Just because I don’t want them doesn’t mean someone could have them. I put a lot of thought into them. How can I let it go to someone else?” I argued, hoping he would see sense in them, but Jackson shrugged.
Jackson was always the first to jump in to help me when I needed it, yet today he seemed like it was nothing. My heart ached seeing his nonchalance. I could not let this happen. “Please, help me, Jackson,” I said. “You can’t let them steal it, can you?”
Jackson massaged his temples with a sigh. This was the first time he was ever reluctant to do something. Why? Was he mad at me for something? But that never constituted a problem before.
“I’m sorry if I did something wrong, but I really need help to take it down,” I pleaded.
He raised his hand, then sighed. “You did nothing…” he paused, then continued, “You don’t need help. Seriously, Sierra, let it rest. I’m off to see Arthur. He seems down with some illness. I’m going to freshen up. I’ll tell you when I’m done,”
I watched him turn around and walked out, leaving me in the basement with my heart still racing. I swallowed, trying to understand what was going on. Did Jackson just put off my worries? I needed to do something about it.
I thought of reporting it, but what if they don’t believe me? I looked down at the canvas papers of my paintings littered around on the floor. I took a step towards the door when it clicked like a light bulb in my head.
I moved my gaze from the door to the canvas papers. I repeated the action once more before bending over and packing up the paintings, placing them carefully in the suitcase. The next minute, I rushed out to my room to take a quick shower.
Once dressed and ready, I grabbed my phone and almost immediately, a notification came through, followed by my phone ringing.