āļŦāđ‰āļ­āļ‡āļŠāļĄāļļāļ”

āđāļŠāļĢāđŒ

Part 58

āļœāļđāđ‰āđ€āļ‚āļĩāļĒāļ™: Strawberry 🍓
last update āļ§āļąāļ™āļ—āļĩāđˆāđ€āļœāļĒāđāļžāļĢāđˆ: 2025-02-14 23:57:10

His Pov:

All? Maybe not all... Maybe except her...

Rosalina...

Almost all except the one with her.... Because with her, neither do I have gratitude for her nor do I have any profit keeping her. But do I even have any relation with her? No.... She's....She's just there... Without any relation...Except maybe the one I have with her. The relation of an owner and a property.

I shake that thought of for now as I focus back to Father's question.

"I have information on them. Either they give us the
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  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 110

    Her Pov:I go to the kitchen and find the breakfast Leonardo prepared for me. Smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with a glass of apple juice. It has become a routine for him. No matter how late he goes to sleep or how early he has to leave for work, he always makes sure to leave me breakfast before he goes.And the fact that he doesn't even care much for breakfast himself—usually, he leaves after nothing more than a cup of coffee—yet still makes a whole breakfast for me every morning is somehow... touching.It's such a small thing, but perhaps that's what makes it mean so much.When I first met him, I could never have imagined Leonardo had this side to him. The kind of side that notices what I like, remembers it, and quietly makes sure I have it waiting for me in the morning.Come to think of it, he never even hesitated to make me breakfast. Even on my very first morning at his apartment, he made breakfast for me. And somehow, he just never stopped doing it.I don't think I realized whe

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 109

    Her Pov:I freshen up and change into a beige mid-length frock that moulds to my breasts, cinches tight at my waist, and flares at the bottom. Just a normal beige frock.But it looksâ€Ķ too revealing. As if I’m trying too hard. As if I want to be seen.To be seen by him.Do I?Why am I putting effort into how I look? Why am I overthinking a dress when he has already seen me in my worst states—vomiting, hallucinating, crying so hard I couldn’t even form words? He has seen the raw, ugly, unfiltered parts of me. So why does this feel different?I look into the mirror.My ice-blue eyes stare back at me.I lookâ€Ķ flushed.I look different.Just like he said.Happy, maybe? Peaceful? I don’t even know what to call it. But something in my reflection has shifted. Something softer. Something warmer. Something that doesn’t look like it’s constantly bracing for impact.I take a comb and start running it through my hair, slow, distracted strokes, still watching myself. My eyes look moreâ€Ķ alive. My br

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 108

    Her Pov:Warm light falls across my face, gentle and golden, and a strange calm spreads through my chest. It feels almost unreal—I can’t even remember the last time I felt anything close to this peace. Maybe never. For a while, I just lie there, smiling to myself, the memory of last night sweep through me. “I choose you,” he had said. The words still thrum through me like a heartbeat, making my pulse race even now, yet somehow the peace lingers inside me too.“Beautiful.”The low, breathy murmur slices through my rosy haze, startling me awake. My eyes snap open, and I jolt upright, my heart stumbling hard against my ribs. He’s there—sitting opposite the bed, dressed in black from head to toe. A hoodie and trousers, so simple, and yet on himâ€Ķ it looks majestic, almost regal.The sunlight streams across the room and catches his face, softening the sharp edges and turning his hazel eyes to liquid gold. He looks less like a man and more like something otherworldly, a creature carved from

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 107

    His Pov: She is asleep before I finish the words. My little mischief. My undoing. Her head rests against my shoulder, the silk of her hair brushing my jaw with every uneven breath. She clings even in sleep, her hand still curled inside mine, as if she thinks I would vanish the moment she lets go. But I don’t vanish. I can’t. I’ve built empires out of blood and steel, carved out loyalty with terror and fire. I’ve never once flinched from the weight of power or the filth of the crown I wear. Yet here she is, breaking me with nothing but a sigh against my throat. I close my eyes and inhale her scent deeply—roses, soft and intoxicating—as if I can anchor myself in it, as if I can force my mind to believe this is real. She’s real. We’re real. I was scared. No—scared is too weak a word. I was terrified. Terrified that she would choose her freedom over me. That she would slip through my fingers the way she’s always wanted to, the way she’s dreamed of since the day I chained her fate

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 106

    Her Pov:The sun sinks lower over the Seine, casting molten gold across the water, painting the ripples with liquid fire. The city hums around us—soft laughter from distant lovers drifting through the air, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the stone embankment, the whisper of the wind as it tangles through my dress.Paris feels like a dream, weightless and unreal, but Leonardo beside me is more vivid than anything else.He moves with his usual silent grace, his presence coiled and restrained, like a predator choosing patience over pursuit. The evening glow sharpens the angles of his face and deepens the shadows beneath his cheekbones, making him look like something sculpted from darkness itself. He is breathtaking, but never soft—never safe.A sudden gust of wind sweeps in, lifting the hem of my dress, sending a shiver dancing up my spine. Before I can react, warmth engulfs me. Leonardo moves with a quiet swiftness that steals the breath from my lungs, pressing against my back, h

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 105

    Her Pov:I swallow hard, looking away from him for a second, trying to gather my thoughts. “Is that it?” I finally ask, my voice barely a whisper. The question lingers, hanging between us, almost absurd in its simplicity.“No,” he says softly, his voice barely louder than the river’s murmur. “There’s more to be freed than just the fish.”I glance up at him, but his expression remains unreadable, as always. But something in the way he looks at me makes my breath hitch, like he’s seeing through every wall I’ve built.He steps closer, and I feel the heat of his presence before I even see him fully. The air between us thickens as though the world is holding its breath. I want to speak, to ask him everything, but my throat tightens, the words sticking in my chest. I stand there, frozen in place, as his gaze holds me captive, just as much as he claims to have done to the fish."They’re just like me..." he whispers, the words soft but piercing, making my chest tighten. His eyes are intense,

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 29

    His Pov:I watch her storm off the dance floor, her movements sharp and deliberate, as if she's desperate to escape—from me, my touch, my very existence. My jaw tightens, and I clench my fists, the thin thread of my patience stretched to its limit.Her heels click against the polished floor, each s

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 28

    Her Pov:And I break down into tears. I lie there and cry. But it's as if even the tears are not able to wash off the pain I am feeling. My hands find the remaining fabric of the cloth as I pull them up, covering the front of my body as my body shakes uncontrollably and my breathing got hitched as

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 14

    Her Pov: I am so tired.. I don't know what I am living for anymore.. Am I only alive for others to use me like a fucking toy.. To use me and throw me away... Whatever I see wherever I see all I see is black. Darkness.. I am surrounded by darkness.. I am held captive in darkness, or maybe my soul its

  • His Poisoned Rose   Part 12

    Her Pov:My eyes widen as fresh tears trail down my cheeks. He's still leaning against the shelf as his eyes are scanning my whole body, taking me in. " Move your hands, Rosalina." He states at a low voice, gesturing towards my crossed hands covering my brasts. His tone leaves no room for negotiation

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