Estrella Rose Novels & Stories

As I put one of my feet inside of the warm and welcoming water filled with the petals of the beloved and most beautiful rose. I sometimes wonder why it has so much love being given to it. It is so imperfect, yet that is its perfection just like all of us--We are perfect and one because of the imperfections of us. I also wonder why a rose just steals my heart every time I look at it--it's just so magnificent. Is it because of the color that it possesses or because of the way it possesses the frail heart of mine? So melted in my thoughts that I was, I didn't realize that I had to get out of the bath to get ready.

“Good. Let them panic. I was afraid they wouldn’t.” The more they panicked, the more mistakes they would make. He liked seeing them panic. Meanwhile, at the Wright estate. After Gray took a phone call, he reported to Stella, “Evan found the hotel records for Summer and Frank.” Stella was trimming roses. Felix had sent them over. They were Louis XIV roses. After seeing so many red roses, this deep purple variety felt unusual. Stella had only seen it once before. Steven had once given them to Summer. It was said to be a rare variety.

And since he was very tall, Layla was almost lifted off the ground. "E-Eric… let go… I can't breathe…" Eric looked down at her, his handsome face gradually souring. "Did you forget, Layla, that the perfume you're using is Avril's favorite scent, with the main ingredient being rose oil? I bought her many bottles of rose perfume in the past because of how much she likes the scent of roses. I'd just forgotten about it later on…" Eric suddenly let out a self-deprecating laugh. Indeed, he'd forgotten too many things.

“Mr. Sterling, the flowers you picked this time are nice! They’re worth fifty bucks a small bunch. Last time, we picked so many and only got fifty something.” Tiesto glanced at the bouquet in her hands—worth nearly $1,400, imported from the Netherlands. The roses were a rare premium variety called Red Naomi, grown in limited quantities. If he told her the truth, Ella would surely worry and lose her appetite. He nodded. “Not bad.” Ella looked him over. Though his clothes were plain, his style was impeccable, and his aura was extraordinary. Having a man like him accompany her on something as trivial as picking flowers felt like a gross waste of talent.

House Veyra’s delegation had retired to their wing, but their presence lingered like a storm cloud on the horizon. Elara stood alone for a moment in the conservatory, the glass dome above her revealing a sky heavy with stars. The winter roses had grown even more vibrant in the past days, their petals carrying intricate swirls of silver, gold, crimson, and soft indigo — colors that seemed to shift depending on her mood. She touched one gently, feeling the living pulse of the manor beneath her fingertips.

However, before the food was served, the waiter brought over a bouquet of red roses. "This is for Ms. Stafford, sent by one Mr. Pennington in congratulations for the successful art exhibition." Heather did not take the flowers. She told the waiter to send them back. "Tell Mr. Pennington that I don't like red roses." Red roses were Anne's favorite, not hers. She only liked pink ones.

My heart was beating so fast I was sure they could hear it over the low thrum of music. "Gentlemen," Lorenzo began, his voice carrying that smooth authority that made people listen whether they wanted to or not. "I'd like you to meet Ellie Knight." He paused, and I felt his eyes on me even though I was staring at my hands folded in my lap. "She's officially a Black Rose now, under our protection." The words settled over the table like a heavy blanket. I didn't know what being a Black Rose meant, but from the way the three strangers straightened in their seats, it was clearly something significant. Something that changed how they looked at me.

Silver light cascaded from Aria’s chest. Storm sparked from Clara’s fingertips. Gold erupted down my arms. All three lights spiraling upward twisting blending aimed straight toward the vessel. Its head lifted. Its chest glowed. The core pulsed. boom boom boom A perfect three-beat rhythm. Us. Aria stepped closer to me, voice barely breath: “Ares… tell it who we are.” My breath hitched. Clara’s storm curled around her like a living shield. Aria’s silver haloed her like moonfire.

But the dress is what threatens to knock the breath out of my chest. Around here, we mostly wear single shades, sometimes with a little embroidery. Estrella is a swirl of color and hue. Golds bring out the warmth in her skin, purples turn her eyes luminous, greens harmonize with the other two and make her look like a work of art. The swaths of wrapped fabric highlight the plush curve of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts. She curtsies then takes the arm of the woman next to her and hurries down the stairs.