Wounded Rose of Garden Metro

The first thing Elara noticed the next morning wasn’t the sunlight—it was the silence.Not the kind of silence she was used to, thick with tension or neglect. This was the soft kind. Peaceful. The kind you didn’t realize you missed until it wrapped around you like a warm coat.She sat up in the new bedroom Damien had arranged for her overnight—twice the size of her entire apartment, with ivory walls, golden fixtures, and a plush armchair by the balcony. There were no locks on the inside of the doors, but strangely, she didn’t feel unsafe.A note sat folded on her nightstand.Breakfast at 9. Downstairs. Don’t wander alone. – DUnderneath the message, in smaller print:P.S. Marcus is harmless. Mostly.Elara snorted despite herself. Damien had a sense of humor? That was... unsettling. And yet, oddly comforting.She followed the scent of food down the grand staircase. Damien’s mansion was like something out of a movie—clean lines, towering ceilings, and artwork that looked expensive enoug

It was strange how quickly the days began to blur.Elara’s mornings became structured—training with Marcus, learning basic self-defense, improving her stamina. Her bruises healed, her movements sharpened. She stopped flinching at sudden sounds. Her body was learning.But the real change happened in the afternoons.That was when Damien taught her how to think.She sat across from him each day in his private study, surrounded by case files, legal loopholes, political webs, and social media trails. Damien taught her how to map power—how influence moved like money, how secrets were currency, and how silence was often the loudest scream.“You don’t need to be feared to be dangerous,” he told her once, sliding a tablet across the desk. “You just need to be underestimated.”Today’s lesson was no different.Elara leaned over a stack of profiles Damien had assembled. Each person was someone who had hurt her—Cassidy, Dylan, Vanya, Trent. The pages read like glossy yearbook entries—smiling faces

Cassidy Monroe was unraveling.It was visible now—not just in private group chats or encrypted DMs. No, this time it was in the corridors of Garden Metro High, where her laughter no longer echoed with power but with desperation. Her strut was stiff. Her smiles—calculated. Every glance over her shoulder whispered paranoia.And Elara saw it all from the shadows.She wasn’t at school anymore, but the feeds Splice set up kept her updated in real time: hallway cameras, social accounts, audio bugs embedded in water bottles of trusted allies. Cassidy had no idea how exposed she was.“She’s losing control,” Elara murmured, watching her tablet screen from the greenhouse, sunlight flickering through the leaves overhead.“She’s spiraling,” Splice corrected through the earpiece. “Difference is important. Control implies you still think you’re winning. Spiral means you know you’re not.”Elara almost smiled.By midday, the perfect opportunity presented itself.Cassidy had been asked to host a commu

There were rooms in the Vale estate Elara had never entered.Not because they were locked. But because they felt like they should be.One of them was at the end of the east wing, past a quiet hallway draped in thick, sound-dampening carpet. The door was always closed, never spoken about. Once, Marcus caught her lingering near it and said only, “That’s not your battlefield.”But today, the door was open.And Damien was inside.The room was simple. Not cold—but untouched.A bookshelf of children’s novels. A small desk with an old notebook still open, pen uncapped. A delicate silver bracelet left on the dresser. No dust.Just time, paused.Damien stood by the window, his back to her, hands in his pockets. Elara hovered in the doorway, unsure if she should speak.“You can come in,” he said quietly, without turning.She stepped inside. “Is this… hers?”He nodded.“My sister. Lilith.”Elara glanced around. “It’s exactly the way she left it, isn’t it?”“I made sure of it.”There was a long p