Chapter 4: The Roses and the Ruin

DERICK'S POV

The party was suffocating.

Gold balloons bobbed against the ceiling. Music thumped through my chest like a second heartbeat. Bodies pressed together on the makeshift dance floor, drunk and careless and absolutely oblivious to the war I was about to start.

I hated every single one of them.

But I needed them. All of them. Their phones. Their whispers. Their hungry eyes that would devour the scene I was about to create.

Tonight was the night.

I'd spent seventy-two hours laying the groundwork. Casual touches during practice. Lingering stares. That moment when I'd "accidentally" brushed my fingers against his when handing him a water bottle. I'd watched his walls crumble, brick by brick. I'd seen the confusion flicker behind those gray eyes.

He was starting to believe me.

And tonight? Tonight I'd make him fall.

Then I'd break him.

I spotted him in the corner. Alone. Pressed against the wall like he was trying to disappear into it. His silver hair caught the strobe lights, shimmering like moonlight on water. His fingers wrapped around a cup he hadn't touched.

He looked like a trapped animal.

My stomach twisted.

Focus, I told myself. This is the plan. Seduce and destroy. That's all.

I pushed through the crowd. Bodies parted for me. They always did. Money had that effect. Power had that effect. I was Derick Blackwood, and the world opened its legs for me.

Except for him.

Except for Ciel.

"Laurent."

He looked up. His eyes widened when he saw the roses in my hand, fifty red stems wrapped in gold foil. Then his expression shuttered. Cold. Guarded.

"What's that?"

"A peace offering." I held them out, my voice pitching low and intimate. "I know we got off on the wrong foot. I know I came across as arrogant—"

"You came across as an ass."

"Fair." I stepped closer. I could smell him now. Lavender and ice. Something soft beneath the hard edges. "But I want to change that. I want to start over. I want—"

I stopped. Swallowed. Forced my voice to crack.

"I want you to see the real me."

His jaw tightened. His eyes searched mine, looking for the lie.

I gave him nothing but sincerity.

"Derick." His voice was flat. Dangerous. "What are you doing?"

"Confessing." I dropped to one knee. The room went quiet. Phones rose like a wave. "I know we've only known each other a few days. I know this is insane. But I can't stop thinking about you."

"Stop."

"The way you move on the ice." I kept going, my voice shaking with manufactured emotion. "The way your eyes light up when you skate. The way you laugh when you think no one's watching."

"I said stop."

"The way I feel when I'm near you." I reached for his hand. "It's like nothing I've ever experienced. I'm falling for you, Ciel. Completely. Terribly. And I don't care who knows it."

The room erupted.

Gasps. Shouts. Someone actually squealed.

I looked up at him, expecting cracks. Expecting tears. Expecting that beautiful, vulnerable crumble I'd been planning for weeks.

Instead, he smiled.

It was the coldest thing I'd ever seen.

"Nice speech," he said. "Did you practice it in the mirror?"

My heart stopped. "What?"

"The roses." He nudged them with his foot. "Fifty red roses. Very romantic. Very dramatic. Very... rehearsed."

"I don't know what you're—"

"Tracy Holloway." He said her name like a blade. "You took her out three nights ago. Bought her dinner. Told her she was special. Then dropped her the next morning."

The crowd gasped again. Phones zoomed in.

My throat went dry. "That was—"

"A distraction." He stepped closer. His voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for me. "I know everything, Derick. I know you're using me. I know you're trying to make me fall so you can humiliate me. I know the whole pathetic game."

"I'm not"

"You're pathetic."

The word hit me like a punch to the chest.

"Pathetic," he repeated, louder now. The crowd leaned in. "You thought I'd fall for cheap roses and cheaper words? You thought I'd melt because some rich boy pretended to like me?"

"You don't understand"

"I understand perfectly." His eyes burned. "You're a predator. And predators always reveal themselves eventually. You just did."

"Please"

"Stay away from me." His voice cracked. Just slightly. Just enough for me to hear the hurt beneath the fury. "Whatever game you're playing, I'm not interested. Find someone else to destroy. Someone who hasn't already been broken."

He turned. Walked away.

I watched him go. Watched the crowd part like water. Watched his silver hair disappear through the exit.

And something inside me snapped.

"It's like a disease!"

The words tore out of me. Raw. Desperate. Unscripted.

Ciel stopped. Turned. His face was pale. His hands were shaking.

"Liking you is like a disease!" I screamed it across the room. My voice cracked on the last word. "It infects you! Consumes you! Makes you do stupid, reckless, insane things! That's what you are, Laurent! A disease!"

His face went white. His lips parted. For one second, just one, I saw something flicker in his eyes.

Pain.

Real, raw, undiluted pain.

Then it was gone. His walls slammed back up. His expression turned to stone.

"Goodbye, Derick."

He walked out. The door slammed behind him.

I stood there, surrounded by shattered roses and blinking phone lights. My chest heaved. My hands trembled. My heart pounded so loud I couldn't hear the whispers crawling up my spine.

I'd planned this. I'd rehearsed this.

So why did I feel like I'd just stabbed myself?

LATER. DERICK'S DORM.

I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

My hand was still shaking.

I looked down at it. The same hand that had touched Ciel's wrist during practice. The same hand that had caught him when we fell. The same hand that had held those stupid, useless roses.

Still warm.

Still shaking.

Still remembering the feel of his skin against mine.

"What if I wasn't lying?" I whispered.

My reflection stared back. Silent. Accusing.

I thought about his face when I shouted that word. That flicker of pain before the ice returned. The way his hands shook when he walked away.

He'd called me pathetic.

He was right.

I was pathetic.

Because somewhere between the roses and the ruin, somewhere between the plan and the execution, somewhere between fake feelings and real ones—

I'd stopped pretending.

And that terrified me more than anything.

I splashed cold water on my face. Dried it. Stared at myself again.

"Three weeks," I said. "Three weeks to make him fall."

But this time, when I said it, I wasn't sure who I was talking about.

Him?

Or me?

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Enjoyed the show tonight. You're in over your head, Blackwood. Watch your back.

I stared at the screen. My blood turned to ice.

Someone was watching.

And they weren't on my side.

I typed back: Who is this?

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Unknown: Someone who knows what you did to Tracy. Someone who knows what you're planning to do to Ciel. Someone who will make you pay.

The dots vanished.

I called the number. It rang. Then clicked off.

I called again. Voicemail. A generic automated message.

I threw my phone against the wall. It shattered. Pieces of glass scattered across the floor like the roses at the party.

I sank to my knees.

And for the first time in years, I didn't know what to do.

Because the hunter had become the hunted.

And the prey I'd been chasing?

He was the only one I wanted to protect.

I pressed my forehead to the cold tile floor and whispered into the dark.

"What have I done?”