The Ruin of Roses

Roses arrived at the penthouse.

A dozen white blooms, pristine and cruel in their elegance, were left in a crystal vase outside the penthouse door. Elena froze when she saw them, roses were her mother's favorite. And her mother has died mysteriously, under circumstances Elena had never fully understood.

Jack found her staring at them.

“Those from you?” She asked, her voice thin.

He frowned. “No. But I don't like surprises.”

They brought the flowers inside and placed them on the marble counter like evidence. The scent was sweet and sharp. Almost mocking.

Elena pulled the envelope tucked beneath the vase. Inside was a photo.

Her mother. Younger. Holding baby Elena. And standing just behind her, face half-showed, was a man who looked hauntingly like Jack.

Her stomach twisted.

“That's not me,” Jack said, reading her expression before even seeing the photo.

She handed it to him. He paled.

“That's my father.” Jack mumbled.

The silence hung heavy.

“You never talk about him,” she said quietly.

“He disappeared when I was eight,” Jack murmured. “Left my mother, left me. I haven't seen a trace of him since.”

“But looks like he knew my mother.” She said.

Jack's voice hardened. “Someone wants us to know that.”

The silence stretched.

They spent the next two days chasing shadows.

Jack pulled up every record he could find— old hospital files, press photos, obscure guest lists. Meanwhile, Elena quietly questioned the last few staff members who remembered her mother.

One name kept surfacing: Julian Graves— a former Vale Foundation consultant. Fired quietly, and erased just as silently.

“I'm telling you,” Jack said, tapping through documents on his screen. “Julian Graves is a cover identity. My father used aliases. Graves was one of them. He must have worked for your family.”

“And left,” Elena whispered. “Around the same time my mother died.”

They stared at each other, realization clicking into place.

“If your father was working inside the foundation,” she said, “he could have discovered something. Something dangerous. My mother might have known —”

“Or tried to stop it.” Jack finished. “And paid for it.”

Soon, they met with one of Elena's mother's old friends— Marietta DuPont, an elegant woman with a sharp tongue and a reputation for discretion.

“I always knew your mother feared something,” Marietta said, eyes glassy with age and memory. “She'd call me in the middle of the night, whispering about documents she shouldn't have seen. She was scared, Elena. Not for herself, but for you.”

Elena's breath caught. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“Because your father made sure no one would listen. And because a week after she tried to resign from the Foundation, she was dead.”

Jack leaned forward. “Do you remember the name Julian Graves?”

Marietta went still. “He was charming. Brilliant. And dangerous. He vanished the same month Clarissa did.”

“Clarissa?” Elena asked.

“Your mother.”

The name hit like a punch. Her father had always insisted they not use it. “Call her my wife,” he'd say. “She’s not to be idolized.”

Now Elena understood why.

That night, Elena didn't sleep. She couldn't. She wandered the penthouse like a ghost, haunted by the realiithat the man who raised her had also destroyed her mother's memory. That her marriage — this reckless, brilliant rebellion, had led her to truths she might never have found otherwise.

She found Jack on the rooftop, watching the skyline.

She slowly sat beside him, silent for a long time.

Then she asked, “If your father is still alive, what would you do if you found him?”

Jack didn't answer right away.

“I used to want revenge,” he said. “Now I just want to know why. Why he left. Why he hid. Why I had to become everything he abandoned.”

Elena nodded. “My mother died a ghost in our house. And I let my father erase her completely. I thought control was the only way to stay strong.”

“He nodded slightly at her. “And now?”

“Now I think… maybe strength is knowing when to burn the rules.”

They both sighed and stared into the sky.

The next morning, they woke to chaos.

The tabloids had exploded overnight with a leak:

JACK ROMAN'S PAST EXPOSED — FROM BLACK-HAT HACKER TO CORPORATE SPY.

And worse, screenshots of Elena and Jack's contract. Signed. Dated. Legal. Cold.

Elena's phone rang nonstop. PR. Legal. The board.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed, his brows furrowed with conviction. “It's Harrow.”

“He wants us to fall apart. To panic.”

“And your father will use this as the excuse to vote you out.”

Elena stood slowly, fire in her eyes. “Then we go on the offensive.”

“How?”

She looked at him with steel in her spine.

“We go public. Together.”

Jack ran his hand through his hair.

At the press conference, cameras buzzed like bees around honey. The ballroom was packed — journalists, analysts, half the business elite.

Elena stepped up to the podium first. Cool. Composed.

“You've read the headlines. You've seen the contract. Yes, Jack and I entered into our marriage for business reasons. But what began as strategy became… something else.”

The crowd murmured.

Jack stepped beside her. “I have a past. I never denied it. But what I've done since then, is build. Build systems that protect, companies that thrive, and now, stand beside a woman who's been underestimated her entire life.”

Elena added, “The Vale legacy does not belong to my father alone. It belongs to those who continue its vision of progress. That includes me. And that includes my husband.”

They looked at each other.

The headlines the next morning read:

FROM CONTRACT TO CONVICTION: THE VOW REBELLION FIGHTS BACK.

But the victory was shortlived. Conrad Vale had other plans. He was ready to destroy whatever is left of his daughter's marriage.

That night, Elena found an envelope on her pillow.

Inside, a single petal from the white roses. And a note in block letters:

THE TRUTH COMES NEXT. ARE YOU READY TO BLEED FOR IT?