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The White Rose Mystery

Penulis: Amelia Hart
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-12-13 02:46:09

Day six in the Kane fortress.

I wake to the scent of something green and wet, like a greenhouse after rain.

My eyes snap open.

A single white rose lies on the pillow beside my head, dew still clinging to its petals as if it was cut seconds ago.

I did not put it there.

I sit up so fast the black silk sheets slide to my waist, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

The bedroom door is still locked from the inside. The keypad glows green with my code (0714) untouched.

I haven’t opened this door since yesterday’s coffee victory.

My skin crawls like a thousand insects are marching under it.

I pick the rose up by the stem. No thorns this time; someone trimmed them with surgical precision. The cut is clean, almost tender.

He was here. While I slept. While I was vulnerable.

My stomach flips (not morning sickness, something colder).

I walk barefoot through the east wing, pulse hammering in my throat, checking every surface like I’m hunting a ghost.

One on the bathroom count
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    Alexander’s POVI wake up before the sun, like always.The penthouse is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like the world is holding its breath.Livia is in the east wing.I was in her room yesterday after Amara decided to embarrass herself publiclyI’ve felt her stomach twice now like the baby is mine. Damn, I want the baby to be mine. Even though I’m not the biological father.What am I thinking?I’ve almost lost control againAnd I’m starting to lose count of how many times I’ve almost lost control.I’m tired of taking. I want to give. I want her to choose.I want her to see me, the boy from Chicago who lost everything and built this empire on the bones of men like Theo Whitford.I want her to see the man who’s been in love with her for eight years and never said it out loud.I get out of bed, pull on sweatpants, and head to the gym.I run twelve miles on the treadmill, faster than usual, trying to outrun the memory of her body against mine, the way she moaned my name like it hurt

  • The Kane Contract: Vows of Venom   Amara’s Meltdown Live

    I wake up to the sound of rain against the windows, soft and steady, like the city is crying for me.The east wing feels colder than usual, the bed too big, the sheets too clean.I’m back in my own wing. Back to my own bed after the safe word fight turned everything upside down and we both pretended it didn’t.After the baby kick yesterday, after the thirty seconds of his hand on mine and the way his eyes softened like he was seeing something fragile he didn’t want to break, I fled.I locked the door and cried until I fell asleep. Then I woke up alone.I hate that I checked his side of the bed first and hate that it was empty.I hate that I wanted it not to be.I hate that the memory of his palm over mine, warm and steady, waiting for the next flutter, is the only thing that kept me from screaming into the pillow all night.I hate that for those thirty seconds, I let myself believe we could be something real.Something soft. Something safe.And then he walked away with “Later,” like t

  • The Kane Contract: Vows of Venom   The Baby Kicks

    The morning after the safe word fight.I wake up in Alexander’s bed, not my east wing, because last night we didn’t make it past the living room windows.The sheets are black silk, tangled around my body like they’re trying to hold me down, and the city light filters through the curtains like a hangover I deserve, one that throbs behind my eyes and between my legs.My thighs are sore in a way that makes me bite my lip when I shift. My lips are bruised, swollen from kisses that weren’t gentle. My heart is a mess, a tangled knot of hate and want and fear that I can’t untie no matter how hard I pull.I can still feel him inside me, the way he pressed me against the cold glass, city lights painting our skin in gold and shadow, his hands gripping my hips like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.I can still hear my moan when he thrust in, the way his growl vibrated through my chest when I scratched his back hard enough to draw blood.I can still taste the coffee on his tongue from the

  • The Kane Contract: Vows of Venom   The Safe Word Fight

    The morning after the gala.I wake up alone in the east wing. My body feels different.Heavy. Alive. Marked.I can still feel his hand low on my back during the waltz, fingers splayed possessively, thumb tracing slow circles that no camera caught but I felt in my bones. The way he pulled me closer with every turn, the way his breath ghosted my ear when he whispered, “The world needs to see what you look like when you’re mine.”I can still feel the way the world watched us dance and decided we were inevitable.I can still feel the way he looked at me when we got home, like he was one breath away from finishing what the elevator started.But he walked away. Again.I hate him for it.I hate myself for wanting him not to.I hate the way my body betrays me, nipples hardening under the sheets just from the memory, heat pooling between my legs like it's been waiting all night to remind me how close we came to snapping.I drag myself out of bed and stand in front of the mirror. The emerald go

  • The Kane Contract: Vows of Venom   The Gala Where They Dance

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  • The Kane Contract: Vows of Venom   Theo at the Gates

    I’m standing on the balcony, barefoot, wrapped only in Alexander’s black shirt (the one I stole from his closet this morning because it smells like him and I’m too tired to pretend I don’t want it).The city is quiet for once, the storm from last week long gone, the sky clear enough to see stars if you squint past the light pollution. The air is cold, biting at my bare legs, but I don’t go inside.I can’t sleep.Not since the elevator.Not since the way his mouth tasted like storm and calm all at once, the way his hands gripped my thighs like he was afraid I’d vanish, the way I moaned into his kiss like I was starving.We haven’t talked about it.We’ve barely even talked at all.Breakfasts are silent. Hallways are minefields. The white roses keep appearing (ten now, one tucked under my pillow this morning like a cruel joke).I lean on the balcony railing, arms wrapped around myself, staring down at the street sixty-five floors below. The gates are lit by soft security lights, the Mayb

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