He Who Wants A Rose Must Respect The Thorn นิยาย & เรื่องราว

He said and chuckled. "No, Obviously No." She said while rolling her eyes. "Now, let me pluck the thorn out of your back." She continued and observed that a large thorn has punctured his back with a large stem and few petals of a dark red rose similar to black shade. "It's okay darlo. The person should not be afraid of thorns if they crave for roses." He said while Irina plucked out the penetrated stem of a rose. He acted to hiss in a pain.

Trailing his fingers through them, sniffing them. “Do you know why the rose is the most beautiful flower of all and why covered with thorns?” He asked. I snuggled my head into his chest. “So that the beauty of rose can be protected,” I replied. “Yes, and if you want to hold something precious, you have to face the consequences,” he added. Something clicked inside me. “You are my flower, and I am your protective thorn,” he whispered. “But what would you do when someone else wants to touch your flower, trying to destroy those delicate petals?”

It’s usually the other way around and he was beginning to ask himself why he was even bothering. Then the morning came, the sun was rising and Theo was still waiting for her at the park with no emotions on his face. At that point he was ready to burst but learning from his anger management lessons before, he just took a deep breath in. Looking at his watch, his eyebrows furrowed before standing up to go back to his own apartment with a plan coming. 'Okay.. I was going to compromise with this Roj girl.. fine, if she wants it this way. Since Sei isn’t around anymore and it’s just a plan to make me confess, it’s a piece of cake ruining every company she owns.’

I looked around to find a note near the vase. #Bribe 2.2: Hope you're still in a good mood after #bribe 2.1. But if not, then these will definitely improve your mood. White rose reminds me a lot of you, y'know. Beautiful to look at, but can make you bleed if you press a wrong button, or wrong part of the stem. XD. Anyways, I'm learning how to prevent it. Hopefully I'll find one without thorns someday. Have a good day, friend. ;)

Roman continues to chatter about everything and nothing, I wish he would shut up and let me think. He takes my right hand, that's when I notice a single black rose. Wait, why didn’t I notice that before. That's when I feel it, a thorn from the rose pricks my palm and I suddenly come over all hot. I try to pull away but Roman holds on, he continues to act like he has no idea there is blood running down my wrist.

“I thought your room could use something beautiful.” He pushed the roses toward her. She didn’t move to take them. "I like lilies better," she declared bluntly. "Falsehoods." His smile got bigger. "Elara, you're no lily. In the sun, lilies wither. Roses bloom and bleed in it. He lean closer speaking slowly so she alone could hear. “You and I are roses. Power with thorns. And I intend to see you bloom beside me.” Her eyes narrowed. “And if I choose to bloom alone?”

I said, my voice probably too excited. I held up my phone to show him a close-up. "Look at that color. It's so bold. It doesn't apologize for being bright. It symbolizes bravery. Strength. It gives me courage. I want to be a woman like that." "Well," he said, a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face. "The red rose is like you, then. Thorny and dangerous." I made a face and pretended to smack his arm. He caught my wrist, his grin softening.

They saw me not as a person, but as a thing to be acquired, a weapon to be wielded. The fear that had paralyzed me began to harden into something else. Something sharp and resolute. The oily feel of their probe, the arrogant words on the page, the insult to my parents and my mate-it all fused into a single, white-hot point of defiance. I reached out, ignoring the warning hiss from Nolan, and plucked the crimson rose from the box. The thorn pierced my thumb, a bead of my own blood welling up, a stark red against my skin.

The petals stood out in stark, vivid contrast against the dark soil, a splash of blood on a wound. “He was the only one always there for me,” she said, her voice softer now, almost tender. “I hate that I wasn’t there for his last moment.” Her gaze lingered on the rose. “When I was sad, he’d always remind me of the rose. How beautiful it was, yet still armed with thorns.” She turned those sharp green eyes on me again, a faint, unsettling smile curving her lips. “I am that rose.” I blinked, unsure how to respond.