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Part 88
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2025-03-16 23:59:17
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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 68
Her pov:After he left me, the silence in this house became unbearable. I wandered aimlessly from room to room, a prisoner in a space that once felt too vast but now seemed to suffocate me. The walls loomed, the shadows stretched long and cold, and I moved like a ghost trapped within them. His men
His Poisoned Rose Part 66
Her Pov:And then, without hesitation, he lifts me.With just one arm, as if I weigh nothing to him.The air stills. My pulse stammers. My body presses against the heat of his, caught between fear and something far more dangerous.He carries me to the kitchen with effortless ease, settling me onto
His Poisoned Rose Part 65
Her Pov:I freshen up and change my clothes into a coffee toned frock that reaches to my mid thigh. It's an off shoulder dress, Leomardo brought from his apartment, and that's when I see it.The marks of his fingers on my throat.Faint, but undeniable. Shadows of his touch, pressed into my skin, pr
His Poisoned Rose Part 64
His Pov:I storm out of her cabin, slamming the door behind me. My pulse hammers against my skull, my breaths coming in sharp, ragged bursts. My fingers flex and curl into a tight fist at my side, aching with the ghost of her throat still beneath them. It took everything in me to let go, to force m
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