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Part 74
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2025-02-28 08:37:34
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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 looks… 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 look… 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 more… 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 him… 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 104
Her Pov:Paris stretches endlessly beyond the car window, a blur of elegant streets and towering architecture, but none of it holds my attention. All I see is him—Leonardo, sitting beside me in the backseat, his presence heavy, commanding. He hasn’t spoken much since we left, and I can’t tell if the silence between us is suffocating or intoxicating. Maybe both. His fingers tap lightly against his knee, his eyes staring straight ahead, but I know he’s aware of every movement I make. Every breath.The ride stretches on for hours, the city fading into quieter roads, then almost nothingness. I shift uncomfortably, feeling the slight ache still lingering in my body, a reminder of last night—of him.Heat curls under my skin at the memory, but I push it away. He hasn’t looked at me the same way since this morning, and I hate how that unsettles me. Like I’m standing on uneven ground, waiting for him to either pull me in or push me away.His two men sit in the front, quiet as ever, focused on
His Poisoned Rose Part 62
Her Pov:The warmth of the morning sun kissed my skin, pulling me from the depths of sleep. My eyes fluttered open, instinctively searching for him—the man who held me captive in his arms last night. Or had I sought refuge there on my own? I couldn’t tell anymore.I shouldn’t have found solace in h
His Poisoned Rose Part 61
His Pov:She sleeps so soundly, as if yesterday never happened. As if she wasn’t trembling in my arms, her lips quivering, her entire body frozen in terror. But I remember. I remember too damn well. The way she looked at me— not as me, but as someone else. Marco.That name alone makes my jaw clench
His Poisoned Rose Part 60
His Pov: I run my fingers through her silky dark brown hair, feeling the tremors of her quiet sobs as they shake her fragile frame. Her fists clutch desperately at my shirt, the fabric growing damp with her tears—but I couldn't care less. What mattered was the way she fit against me, small and tre
His Poisoned Rose Part 59
His Pov:I watch her, and my blood turns to ice as rage floods my veins, burning hotter than fire. All I see is red. Whoever did this—whoever made her look at me like this—will suffer. I will tear him apart, rip the flesh from his bones, and paint my walls with his blood for daring to break her lik
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