His Poisoned Rose
And people like him always underestimate girls like her.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Just don’t touch anything.”
She cheers, slipping past him before I can grab her, and I have no fucking choice but to follow.
The aquarium is quiet, the only sound the low hum of the filtration systems, the gentle ripple of water shifting through glass tanks. Rosalina moves through it like she belongs there, pressing her hands to the exhibits, her breath fogging up the glass as she watches the fish dart and weave between coral.
She giggles, spinning to face me, her eyes bright with something pure. Something unguarded. “Leonardo, look,” she whispers. “They’re so small.”
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