Unopened Rose 소설 & 이야기

CHAPTER FIVE CALEB'S POV I picked up my lighter and pack of cigarettes and moved to the still figure. Her head was tilted down, her hair spreading out and hiding her face from my view. I has been slightly disappointed that the girl had refused to open her eyes and watch me fuck the shit out of Bella. The horrified look on her face when she saw my dick was gratifying and funny as hell. I shuffled my feet on the floor. She didn't even stir. I sighed and pushed her slightly on her shoulders. She still didn't stir a muscle

"You're hurt." She didn’t respond. She didn’t trust her voice. The door creaked open. He stepped in slowly, his silhouette backlit by orange glow and shadows. Dressed in all black, his tie undone, the top buttons of his shirt open, revealing a sliver of collarbone. His eyes found hers instantly. “There you are.” “Don’t come closer,” she warned. He paused. His brows furrowed, confused, maybe hurt. “What’s wrong?” “The fire. The screaming. You….”

As I am about to fling the door wide with my rage, it bursts open to reveal a drunk and disorderly man. Looking him up and down in distaste, Rose can only assume he is lost and tries to redirect him down the hall to his room… however, in her anger, she forgot to find the robe and is currently standing in front of said man wearing only her undergarments and a blouse half unbuttoned to her ribcage. He didn’t miss a thing though as he leered at her with a smirk. “Just what I needed to finish my night, a vision to warm my bed” he bellowed. As he took a step forward, almost falling into the room, Rose tried to prevent him from getting any farther. “Oh no you don’t, I am not some whore at this inn

And for a breath of a moment, I let myself believe maybe she was listening. Then I opened my eyes. And saw the red rose. It was fresh. Not the kind sold in plastic at street corners, but one cut with intention. The stem was still damp. There was no card—just a single folded note tucked beneath its weight. I didn’t touch it right away. The paper looked old, like it had been handled too many times before. Creased in the middle, stained at one edge. I picked it up carefully, heart already pounding even though I hadn’t read a word.

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.

I post it with the caption: When he finally realises the empire was never his. It hits a million views in four minutes. My phone starts exploding with numbers I don’t recognise. I silence it. Then I open the east-wing kitchenette fridge for the first time. There’s a single white rose in a crystal bud vase on the top shelf, right in front of the oat milk. The door was locked. The wing was locked. I never gave anyone the code. I stare at it for ten full seconds. Then I pick it up, thorns and all, and crush it in my fist until blood beads on my palm.

The air smelled of damp earth, woodsmoke, and the clean, fresh tide of the nearby Thames. She walked over to the wooden planter box sitting beneath the front window. She knelt down in the soft, dark soil. There, rising six inches out of the dark earth right beside the hidden, buried curve of the old plastic ring, was the crocus. Its purple petals were closed tightly against the cool night air, waiting patiently for the morning sun to break over the city once again. Rose reached down, her thumb gently brushing the dark soil around its stem. She didn't try to preserve it under glass, nor did she write a protocol about its beauty. She simply let it exist—wild, living, and free.

The college girl I was sponsoring, Yasmine Reed, texted me that she was pregnant. She asked me what to do. She was only a sophomore. I told her to focus on her degree. Before my message was even sent, she blocked me. A few weeks later, I twisted my ankle. My best friend, Clara Barnes, brought me to the clinic. Clara pointed at a young couple standing outside the maternity ward. "If your husband were in town, he would pamper you just like that," Clara sighed. "I still don't get why he insisted on taking that project that faraway." I stared down at my phone. "Julian is doing it for our future. As long as he loves me, I don't mind." As we walked out, the couple turned the corner. The ma

I can see flowers blossoming around a person when they fall in love. The stronger their love, the more beautiful the flowers. When Ann Liston proposed to me when I was 22, 99 white camellias had blossomed around my feet, stretching down the whole street. Seven years later, the flowers began to wither. Even so, she insisted that love always fades anyway, whereas companionship and responsibility were far more precious. That was why she no longer sneaked kisses when I'm asleep, but still came home punctually every day. That was why she no longer prepared surprises for me, but added my name into every estate. Even if work was busy, she'd spare a whole day for me every month. I was convinc

[Rose] I stared at the door wondering who It might be, I walked towards the door but I couldn't open it. I was so scared. What if it was him? "Rose?" I hear Kaden'svoice, My hand immediately swung the door open. Because I was shocked he was here. Why? Why did I feel so relieved when I heard his voice through the door? Was It because he was the first person other than Carried who helped me? Was It because I was starting to trust him?