A Bouquet of Blood and Roses

Chapter III

As Kyojin drove her back to the dormitory, he lent her his coat for the cold night, the heavy fabric smelling faintly of cedarwood and smoke, the masculine scent that clung to him like a second skin. Draped in its warmth, she held it close, while he carried the shopping bags from their evening's wander through glittering boutiques — a galore of silks, accessories, and things she would never have bought for herself. Entering her dormitory room, he set them down gently at the edge of her bed, as though they were treasures too delicate for mortal hands.

"I've had the most wonderful and joyous night," Aella confessed, her voice feather-light yet firm with sincerity. "I don't think I'll ever forget this." She smiled, her lips curving with contentment as she leaned against the collar of the coat, nuzzling into its perfume as though it were him she touched.

Kyojin's lips quirked into a faint smile, his eyes softening with something that rarely dwelled there. He reached out, his fingers catching her chin, tilting her face upward. Then, with a precision that felt both careful and commanding, he brushed his lips against the corner of hers.

Not fully a kiss, not yet — but enough to brand her with his presence.

"Sweet dreams, sweet lamb," he murmured, the words a vow disguised as tenderness.

When he stepped back and departed, she remained rooted to the floor, her hand rising to cup the cheek he had touched, as though afraid the warmth might vanish too soon. She could not keep the smile from her face, nor banish the memories replaying in her mind — his gentle caress, the weight of his gaze, the way he touched her as if she were porcelain sculpted by divine hands, and he feared to fracture the art.

Kyojin returned home beneath the hush of midnight. The manor greeted him with its solemn silence, the corridors echoing faintly with the sound of his boots. He moved like a shadow uncoiling, straight to the living room where the fireplace still whispered with half - spent embers.

With a satisfied sigh, he sank into the leather couch, the weight of the night pressing from his shoulders like armor shed after battle.

Dina stood nearby, the ever-watchful sentinel, her presence so precise that it felt carved into the house itself. She bent at the hearth, feeding new logs into the fire until the flames leapt, casting orange-gold light across the marble and gilded frames.

"Have you seen how her beauty glistened, Dina?" Kyojin asked suddenly, his voice low but brimming with wonder. His eyes lingered on the flames, though they clearly reflected another face. "Her gaze is so soft, so humble, as though she would never ask for more than a quiet life.

Eyes so delicate, as if she has never yet seen the corruption of the world, the way the rich drown themselves in poisoned luxuries."

Dina rose, hands clasped behind her back in perfect poise. Her face, stern as always, betrayed no surprise at his admission. Only a flicker of acknowledgment passed in her crimson gaze.

"I would say she surpassed my expectations, Master," she answered, her tone even, measured, almost ceremonial. "When you first spoke of her, I thought she belonged to the same echelon as you — wealthy, proud, born to wield status as a weapon. Yet when you brought her here, I understood. She is not of that mold. Her beauty was not crafted by money nor polished by power. No — she was gifted it at birth. Divine beauty born in the dirt. A jewel formed in the soil, untouched by artifice. And jewels such as those... are often the first to feel the cruelty of the world."

Kyojin's gaze sharpened, drinking in every word.

"My advice, Master, is simple," Dina continued, her voice lowering like a decree. "Treasure her. Because no other man will. Not as you do. Your methods may be... questionable." She allowed the faintest pause. "But in a world driven by greed for power, control, fame, and wealth, innocence is a relic. Families betray one another. Lifelong bonds dissolve when tested by ambition. But you — "

She stepped closer to the firelight, her shadow spilling long and sharp across the rug. "You do not bow. You do not yield. You kneel only to the one who can tame you. And to those who hunger to bind you, you are the threat they cannot chain."

Kyojin's lips curled into the faintest smirk at her words.

"As for the girl," Dina finished, her tone now chilling with brutal realism, "if she falls for another, it will be tragedy. She would suffer poverty under a man too weak to provide. Or she would rot under the hand of an abuser. Or worse still, she would become nothing more than a vessel, a breeding toy, for a partner too faithless to remain. Only you, Master — only you — can grant her the life others would envy, the life others would kill to steal."

The fire popped sharply in the silence that followed.

Dina bowed once, crisp and perfect, then excused herself for the night. Her footsteps faded into the manor's endless halls, leaving Kyojin alone with the fire and the echo of her words.

He sat there for a long time, the flames painting his sharp features with shifting light, his mind wandering where it always strayed: to Aella.

In this world, he knew, greed devoured men. Those who sat on thrones of gold soon found themselves sinking into the mire of their own sins. To Kyojin, they were fragile — so easily broken.

He could bring any of them to their knees, not through wealth nor title, but through the truth he had learned: their own vices, their secrets, their betrayals. All power crumbled when exposed to fire.

But Aella was different. She had no throne, no hidden dagger behind her smile. Her humility was not performance — it was essence. She sought no crowns, no poisoned chalices. And that was why she had already claimed the one thing none of the rich could touch: his soul.

With a sigh that carried both weariness and longing, he reached for his phone. The firelight glinted against its screen as he typed.

[Kyojin]: Are you asleep, sweet lamb?

He hesitated only a moment before sending it. The reply came quickly, her words glowing soft in the darkness like candlelight.

[Aella]: No. I was just folding the clothes you bought for me. I wanted to say thank you for the gifts and accessories. They're all so nice and beautiful.

Kyojin let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing the edge of the phone as though the message itself were skin he could touch.

[Kyojin]: I'm glad you liked them, sweet lamb. I was wondering — would you like to have a picnic with me tomorrow? At my place, of course.

The seconds stretched as he waited. He pictured her curled in bed, biting her lip as she typed, her hair falling loose across her shoulders. When the reply came, his chest warmed.

[Aella]: Sure. I'd like that. Besides, the corridors of your place are like a maze... every side looks the same. I think I'll get lost without you.

His lips curved at that, his thumb tapping slowly.

[Kyojin]: Can't wait, sweet lamb.

A moment later:

[Aella]: I'm off to bed. Good night.

[Kyojin]: Good night, sweet lamb.

He stared at the last message long after it appeared, reluctant to let the glow fade. Finally, he set the phone down, his head sinking against the couch's backrest, his gaze drifting toward the restless flames.

His thoughts circled back to her as they always did. To the way she had marveled at the manor, wide-eyed and awestruck, like a pilgrim stepping into a temple of gods. To her flustered surprise when he confessed. To the moment she froze after his kiss — fragile, radiant, trembling beneath the weight of devotion.

Then came the darker thoughts. The vision of Aella in another's arms. Laughing at another's words. Smiling shyly at another's gaze. The image sickened him, twisting his chest until fury burned there. He saw faceless men with serpent smiles, men who would lure her with promises then crush her beneath their boots. Men who would see her not as goddess but as servant, womb, possession.

Never.

Dina's words rang again. No other man will love her as you do.

He believed it, bone - deep. Because where others would use her, he would worship her. Where others would demand, he would give. They would see her as a role to fulfill; he saw her as divinity incarnate.

Yes, he was a sinner. He did not deny it. His hands were already drenched with guilt and darkness. But if that was the price to claim her, then let him be the monster. Let him be the sinner damned.

Because for her — he would kill. For her — he would bleed. For her — he would bow, follow, obey. For her — he would die.

And if the world called it obsession, if they whispered madness in its place, then so be it. Love, in its purest form, had always been madness. And he, willingly, would be consumed.

The flames leapt high, dancing like spirits in the hearth, as Kyojin's vow hardened in silence.

For Aella, he would burn.