Damian's Rose Novels & Stories

'' He replies. Somehow, I immediately stop breathing all at once but that's just an impression. My heart hurts for a few seconds but I regain my consciousness by smiling slightly at him, ''You see, Elia. I barely know anything about you yet I still think of you as a good guy. I think of you as someone who respects other people and never once would treat them like shit. I guess I judged you too quickly.'' I take a few steps towards him and once we're close enough, I look straight into his brown eyes, ''Who are you, Elia Dominic Morello?'' He leans in so that our noses are touching, ''Are you any better, Rose?''

Damian emerged from the terrace, whiskey glass in hand, his silhouette sharp against the neon-lit Vegas skyline. His grey eyes pinned her, heavy with intent. A reflex she couldn’t stifle sent her fingers brushing over the book’s spine. He crossed the room, his steps deliberate, his gaze unwavering. He plucked an orchid from its nest of tissue paper, his thumb grazing its velvety edge before his fist closed, crushing it. The ruined petals fell to the marble like ash. “He thinks he can claim your mind, milaya,” Damian said, his voice a low growl, the Russian accent curling around the endearment. “My uncle missed the lesson on the Strip.”

Every shadow seemed to whisper, traitor, even though she had done nothing wrong. Behind her, footsteps crunched against the gravel. She didn’t turn. “I didn’t expect to find you here,” Damian’s voice said, low and rough from exhaustion. Adriana froze. He was the last person she expected to come to her after last night. “I needed to breathe,” she murmured. “These roses were my mother’s. She said they grew best after storms.” Damian stepped closer, his presence pulling at something deep inside her despite the ache. “Storms make things bloom,” he said, “but they also tear roots out of the ground.”

I could almost see her a pale woman in a ruined silk dress, fingers bleeding as she pruned her precious blooms. "Why black roses?" I asked. Damien's expression darkened. "Because they don't exist." *Damien, Age 9* The greenhouse smelled of chemicals and damp earth. Young Damien crouched behind potting tables, hands clamped over his ears. The shouting from the house carried even here. A rustle of silk. His mother appeared between the rose bushes, her right eye already swelling shut. She gathered him into arms that trembled like wounded birds. "Look, darling," she whispered, pressing his small hand against a velvety black petal. "Magic."

she smiled and gave Damian the cards one by one—baby blue, black, and white. “I'm all yours,” she whispered. Damian smiled widely and hugged her. “She said yes!” he shouted, making their friends scream and sing together. “Well, technically I didn't say yes like other people. I—” “Just shut up, you idiot.” Damian cut her off and attacked her lips.

Not just any bouquet—an extravagant arrangement of crimson roses, their petals full and perfect, the kind that carried both elegance and danger. Rhian blinked, taken aback. Damon wasn’t a man of clichés. He didn’t deal in soft gestures. His way of care was meals slipped into her schedule, silent protection, brutal vengeance against anyone who harmed her. Flowers… were unexpected. Attached was a single black card with silver lettering, in Damon’s handwriting: To the fire that refuses to burn out. —D Her throat tightened as she lifted the bouquet, the fragrance filling the air with a sweetness that contrasted the steel edge of her office. She ran her fingers over the petals, her heart racing.

Ethan As Nathaniel and Liam’s kiss ended, they leaned into each other, their foreheads touching, lost in the intimate silence of their love. The clearing was filled with the sounds of cheering, laughter, and celebration, but at that moment, it felt like time stood still for them. I moved forward, ready to embrace my best friend and share his joy, but the atmosphere suddenly shifted. A loud scream pierced the air, shattering the peaceful moment. I whipped around and saw Rose on her knees, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face contorted in pain. Fear gripped me, my heart pounding as I sprinted toward her. By the time I reached her, she had collapsed, unconscious, her body limp in m

He held it up to the light, the delicate pen pressed between his fingers - light yet exquisite. "I like it", he turned, staring at the bouquet of blue roses, his gaze complicated. Dylan scratched his head, an awkward laugh escaping his lips. "That... the flower shop i contacted had ran out of chamomiles and only had those". Matthew inhaled, nodding slowly with a low hum. "Thanks" "It was nothing actually, just something that i had to do...out of courtesy", Dylan smiled, waving his hands lightly. They stared at each other silently for a while, neither having a word to say. After a moment, Dylan cleared his throat, his hands running through his thick, strands of hair.

Amelia’s grip tightened. “What is this supposed to be?” Damian’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Everything I couldn’t see before.” A pause. “Everything I ignored while I was busy believing the wrong story.” Amelia’s stomach tightened. “What are you trying to say?” Damian finally looked at her directly. “I’m saying Vanessa didn’t act alone.” Silence. The air shifted immediately. Amelia’s voice dropped. “What?” Damian’s jaw tightened slightly. “I found the missing links.”