The Rose Sorry Novels & Stories

Not with us yelling so our voice could cover the insane crowd noise. With a quick scan at the guy, black jersey like the black and gold player’s jersey, ripped-muscled legs and arms, I realized he is the footballer I claimed I recognized. He is Balorz, David’s friend. “You are Balorz,” I said. No way I could twist this around. “I am Balorz,” he confirmed, smiling. “Sorry. I should have been honest with you. I just don’t want to sound like a novice.” “No, it’s alright. I like you. You’re funny.”

She said nothing wrong, so why was Roxanne shedding tears? Roxanne's eyes were red-rimmed moments later, and tears wouldn't stop coming. Her crying was silent. "It's not you, Anya." Roxanne sobbed. "I don't know why, but my chest hurts after the marriage's canceled. It's like I've lost something, and my heart's crying." Then, she started talking gibberish, and it was mixed in with her sobbing. Anya was confused. She couldn't hear her friend through all the sobbing.

I continued, "Just now, when you said you hadn't realized until today that you loved me—that was the exact moment I stopped loving you. I've waited three years. I've collected too much disappointment. And a lifetime is far too long. I no longer have the strength to endure your sudden love today and your sudden indifference tomorrow." He staggered back, his voice breaking. "Catelyn, I regret it… Give me a chance to make it right, please?" I shook my head firmly. "I am his only rose, the one he holds closest to his heart. And the feeling of being truly cherished is something I can't bear to let go of." I looked him in the eye and spoke sincerely, "George, I wish you one thing—that you never mi

As I moved, I mistakenly pressed something and the buzz sound filled the room. Reaching for it, I pulled out a red rose. “Oh my god, I'm so sorry,” Victoria gasped, her cheeks burning even redder. “I thought I had tucked them away.” Her nipple piercing through her shirt wasn’t the only thing I saw, but an opportunity. “Are sex starved?” I asked. “Ethan,” her eyes popped wide, something like anger flickering in her eyes. Ooops. I cleared my throat. “I’m just concerned, it’s been hard. Especially since my father…”

If he loved me, why'd he trash me in front of Charlotte? I couldn't stomach more of his fake, nauseating love. "You've got it all wrong. I'm not a rose. I was born to belong to this land. Someday, I'll fill this barren place with roses myself."

Saying that he pulled out a red rose from his coat and held it before her. “I'm sorry for talking harshly with you last night. I hope you can forgive me.” His voice was sincere but Grace just ignored it. “Don't you get tired of saying sorry again and again? You keep saying sorry and keep making mistakes. Please stop all of this. I don't want your sorry. Actually, I don't want to have anything to do with you. Just stay away from me. It will be the best thing you could do for me.” Saying that she crushed the rose under her heel.

In an instant, her message is sent, leaving her with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. However, before she can fully process her actions, a sudden force collides with her, causing her to stumble and fall to the ground with a resounding thud. The person she bumps into also finds themselves sprawled on the ground, sharing in her embarrassment. As their eyes meet, a wave of shame washes over both of them. The person extends a helping hand as they quickly ask, "I'm sorry... Rose. Are you okay?" Rose chuckles lightly, a hint of amusement in her voice, as she accepts the assistance and rises to her feet. "Dexter, I'm sorry... I didn't see you," she apologizes, her voice filled with a mix of

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.

Ten years ago, I brought my distant cousin Sofia to New York after finding her cornered by her stepfather's creditors in an old Sicilian port. I taught her English, etiquette, and the laws of our world. I even introduced her to my fiancé, Alessandro Moretti. On the eve of our wedding, I found a secure family thread on my brother's computer—a thread that excluded me. My mother had written, "Sofia is pregnant. Are you really going through with tomorrow's wedding?" Alessandro replied, "The legal marriage is hers. The ceremony and the Moretti name will be Isabella's." That was when I learned they’d already gotten legally married. Our wedding was meant to seal a truce between two Mafia families a

Deceive. Give me strength. I look down onto the ground, seeing my own cut that would've usually hurt but right now, at this moment, I feel nothing except for my aching heart and lifeless soul. It should've felt this way when I was with Danielle because she was my wife. I promised her an everlasting love but why does it hurts more with Rose? Is it because I love her truthfully? ''I'm sorry, Rose.'' I breathe out.