Obsession Rose Novels & Stories

The food was so delicious that I was the first to finish eating, Ezra ordered a round of soda and Margaret got up to go to the bathroom momentarily. “Do you like roses? Ezra asked as he rested his face on his hand.” “I'm not a big fan of them, but I do like them a lot.” "I should have followed my hunch, next time I'll send you chocolates." I stared at Ezra and processed the true meaning of his words. “Did you send me the roses?”

I raised my arm to cover my eyes, embarrassed to look. Suddenly, there was no movement around. What was Osborn doing? I looked up and saw him pick a few roses and come over. What did he want to do? I looked at him in confusion. He pulled off the petals of the roses in his hand and walked towards me. I looked at the petals in his hand with an ominous feeling, and couldn't help but back up. "Dear, you seem to know what I'm going to do."

I roared at her and she frowned at me, then her beautiful features turned ugly and her dark eyes felt like two dark pits as she advanced on me. “Why do you care so much about him? What? Do you want him? Interested in him? Does the Russian help you feel good at night?! He has been mine since the moment I laid my eyes on him. He will be with me no matter what and if you stood in my way, I won’t even fucking blink when I kill you and keep going. Yes, I want him, yes I want to own him and not even god would stop me from doing that.” Isis roared, and I blinked at her, taken aback by her outburst. And how furious she was just because she thought there was something between me and him?!

The Heinrich estate was quiet, its sprawling halls unnervingly still as Odessa sat in her private study, a cigarette perched delicately between her fingers. The ash threatened to fall, but she didn’t care. Her mind was consumed by one thing: Rosella. For a week, she had watched Marcus spiral further into obsession. He wasn’t himself, agitated, distracted, and worst of all, he didn’t seem to listen to her anymore. Rosella was a poison, and Odessa knew what had to be done.

“I think sometimes people don’t realize how deep they’ve fallen into it. It starts small—checking their social media, driving by their house ‘just to see.’ But over time…” He sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of experience. “It can escalate. The person might start following them or showing up unannounced, thinking they’re being romantic or that it’s a sign of how much they care. But that’s the thing about obsession—it warps your perception. What you think is love or concern might actually be… something darker.”

I say in a low chuckle. “Yes, Kensington. I’m sorry,” she chuckles. “Should we leave down, or—” “Yes, indeed.” I rise to my feet, unboxing the tiny bottle of perfume that cost twenty times my salary, and I have to actively squeeze the price tag, hiding it from Cherry. Fleur d’Obsession Flower of obsession. My heart skips a beat. That’s not all; the dark green bottle has an engraving on it. Jas-MINE. Heat shoots up my spine.

Tessa barely slept. She closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. She tossed once, then again, inhaling shallow breaths as the roses sat on the kitchen counter like a quiet curse. Who brought them? Who was close enough to leave something right at her doorstep without being caught on sight? And then the note… I’m sorry. Two words, but her mind made them infinite. She woke up early, before the sun properly stretched itself across the buildings. She pushed the duvet away and sat up slowly, staring blankly at the wall opposite her bed.

"I think about you every second of every day. I think about what I want to do to you, how I want to claim you, how I want to lock you away from the rest of this pathetic world until you forget there is anyone else but me. You make me go completely, utterly insane, little wolf. You destroy my sanity, and the worst part is, I don't care." Rosalie’s breath hitched in her throat, her fingers tightening into the thick fur of the cloak. The sheer honesty of his obsession was dizzying, a heavy, suffocating wave of a love so possessive it felt like a cage in itself. "My Lord..." she whispered, her voice fragile.

Just her and the work and the plan laid out in the notebooks stacked neatly at the end of the bench. She pulled the first notebook toward her. Opened it. Her own handwriting from three years ago. Neat and precise and completely certain about everything it was doing. *Subject profile: Damien Voss. CEO Voss Industries. Age 31. Psychological assessment consistent with primary psychopathy with elevated fixation markers. History of obsessive attachment to objects and concepts. No documented romantic relationships. Suspected olfactory sensitivity above baseline. Potential susceptibility to compound V7 estimated at 89% based on psychographic modeling.*

"Because he's apparently devastatingly attractive." Ines studies my face for a second. "You look flustered." "I walked up four flights of stairs." "That is not the reason." I sigh. Living with observant people is exhausting. "Fine. He's… interesting." Maisie bursts out laughing. "Interesting? That's your word for it?" Priya leans forward conspiratorially. "Did he flirt with you?" "No." "Did you flirt with him?" "No." "Did something happen?" "Nothing happened."