All Chapters of His Poisoned Rose: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Her POV:“Pack your clothes, Rosalina.”His voice is smooth, commanding—so effortlessly authoritative that it leaves no room for defiance. But beneath that polished control, there’s something else. An edge of impatience. A quiet demand that brooks no refusal.I freeze, my grip tightening around the phone. Leaving?“P-Pack my clothes?” My voice comes out uncertain, barely above a whisper. My heart is already hammering against my ribs. “But why? Where are we going?”A pause. Just long enough to make my breath hitch. And then, finally—“Paris.”The word drops like a stone, heavy, and final.I forget to breathe. Forget that he’s still on the line. I just stand there, the phone pressed to my ear, my mind struggling to process what he just said.Paris? Is he serious? Is this some kind of twisted joke?My stomach clenches as reality crashes into me like a tidal wave. He slept with me once, and now he thinks he owns me? Does he really believe that because last night, I’ll just follow him like

Her Pov:"I don’t have a fiancée."The words land like a spark in the air between us—final, firm, and undeniable.My breath catches. My eyes widen. My entire body freezes as the weight of his statement settles into my bones, turning my limbs heavy and useless. I stare at him, my lips parting, but no sound comes out.I try again. "B-but you had a f-fiancée just yesterday."His lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile—too sharp, too knowing. "And I don’t today," he states, his voice drenched in amusement, his eyes never leaving mine.I swallow hard, my pulse hammering at the base of my throat. "B-but how?" I whisper, my voice trembling as I search his face for an answer. For something. Anything.He steps closer. Too close. The heat of his body presses against mine, seeping into my skin, overwhelming my senses.His fingers trace along my jaw before tilting my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. His deep sharp hazel eyes. I shudder at the possessiveness in his touch. His l

Her Pov:A sharp beam of sunlight slices through the room, falling across my face, pulling me from the depths of sleep. My lashes flutter as I stir, instinctively trying to sit up, but something—or rather, someone—keeps me anchored in place. A firm, warm weight around my waist.Leonardo.I turn my head, and my breath catches in my throat. Even in sleep, he looks otherworldly, like a sculpture carved by the gods themselves. His dark hair falls in careless waves over his forehead, framing a face so devastatingly beautiful it feels unfair. Thick lashes rest against his high cheekbones, his full lips slightly parted, his jawline a perfect, sharp edge—so sharp it could probably slice through stone. And yet, despite the lethal beauty of his face, he looks peaceful, almost angelic, as if he belongs to a world untouched by human flaws.The golden morning light kisses his bare skin, highlighting every defined ridge of his torso—the hard planes of his six-pack, the deep lines carving into his

Her Pov:I freshen up and complete my morning routine before stepping out of the room. The moment I do, a gasp escapes my lips.The sheer beauty of this place is overwhelming. Sunlight spills through towering arched windows, casting soft golden hues over the polished marble floors. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate moldings, and elegant chandeliers dangle like frozen rain, their crystals catching the light in dazzling patterns. Every inch of this house speaks of luxury—so much so that it feels like I’ve stepped into a palace.From the upper floor, I take in the sight of several other doors lining the hallway, their dark mahogany surfaces carved with delicate details. Without knowing what lies behind them, I make my way toward the grand staircase. The bannister, a sweeping curve of gilded iron, is cool beneath my fingertips as I descend, each step echoing softly in the vast space below.The living area stretches before me in effortless elegance—plush velvet sofas arranged ar

Her Pov:The boutique attendants move quickly, carefully wrapping each piece in layers of tissue paper before placing them into elegant bags. Leonardo doesn’t watch them. His gaze remains fixed on me, his presence an unspoken weight against my skin.I exhale slowly, trying to settle the unease curling in my stomach. This should feel like a relief—having clothes, essentials, things that make me feel human again. But it doesn’t. It feels like something else entirely, something I can’t name.I follow him out of the store, the heels of my borrowed shoes clicking against the marble floor. He walks ahead, confident and unbothered, his long strides forcing me to keep pace. Outside, the city hums around us, the heat pressing against my skin as we move toward the waiting car.The driver opens the door, and I hesitate for half a second before sliding inside. Leonardo follows, his scent curling into the small space between us. The door shuts with a soft click, enclosing us in silence once more.