Cursed rose: Love that kills

The morning came, but there was no breakfast. There were no cheerful voices. There were only men in black suits standing outside their house, cars that looked expensive and intimidating parked by the curb. Her mother helped her dress. The clothes were not her own. They were expensive fabrics, silks and laces that felt foreign against her skin. They put her hair up, they put makeup on her face, trying to make her look older, trying to make her look like a perfect doll. "Mom... where are we going?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly. "Why are you crying?" "I'm not crying, I'm happy," her mother lied, wiping tears that wouldn't stop falling. "You are going to have a good life. You will be rich. You will never suffer again." But she saw the truth in her mother's eyes. It wasn't happiness. It was guilt. It was shame. They were sending their daughter to hell, and they were smiling while doing it because they were paid to do so. They led her outside. The air was cold. The men didn't speak, they just opened the car door. She looked back at the house, at the place she grew up, at the parents who betrayed her. They were standing in the doorway, watching her leave, watching their product being delivered. She got into the car. The seats were soft, the windows were tinted black, hiding her from the world. As the car drove away, leaving her old life behind, she felt a cold hand grip her heart. She didn't know who she was marrying. She only knew that he was rich, that he was powerful, and that her parents owed him everything. The car stopped in front of a massive building. It wasn't a church. It wasn't a city hall. It was a private estate, cold and imposing, surrounded by high walls and guards. She was led inside. The interior was luxurious, marble floors and chandeliers, but it felt empty. It felt like a museum, or a mausoleum. And then, she saw him. He was standing there, waiting. He was tall, dressed in a perfect suit that fit his broad shoulders. His face was handsome, dangerously so, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to see right through her. He was young to be so successful, a renowned surgeon, a genius in his field. But as he looked at her, she didn't see love. She didn't see kindness. She saw hunger. He walked towards her, his steps slow and deliberate. He stopped right in front of her, towering over her small frame. He reached out, his hand cold as ice, and touched her cheek. His fingers traced her jawline, her lips, her neck, with a familiarity that made her skin crawl. It wasn't the touch of a groom meeting his bride. It was the touch of an owner inspecting his property. "You are even more beautiful than the pictures," he whispered, his voice low and smooth, like velvet covering steel. "My perfect little rose." She flinched, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened instantly. Not painfully, but firmly. Possessively. "Don't move," he commanded softly. "You are mine now. Your parents gave you to me. Everything you are, everything you have... it all belongs to me." The ceremony was quick. It was just signatures on paper, witnesses who didn't care. There were no vows of love, only promises of ownership. She signed her name, her hand shaking, sealing her fate. From that moment on, she was no longer the daughter of the poor family. She was no longer a student. She was Mrs.Johnson. She was the wife of the monster. They took her to his home. It was a huge mansion, isolated and quiet. But as soon as the doors closed behind them, locking them inside together, the mask fell off. The handsome surgeon was gone. The obsessed devil remained. "I've waited so long for this," he said, walking closer to her, backing her up against the wall. "I watched you. I saw you in that old school, walking around, so innocent... so pure. I knew I had to have you. I made your parents owe me everything. I pulled every string. I bought everything just so I could have you." "You... you did this?" she whispered, horrified. "You made them poor? You forced them?" He laughed, a sound that was beautiful but terrifying. "Of course. Do you think they would have given you away otherwise? They loved their money more than they loved you. And now... you are all mine to do whatever I want." He grabbed her arm, pulling her close. His touch was everywhere, invasive, demanding, unnatural. He knew the human body better than anyone. He knew exactly where to touch, exactly how to hold her to make her feel weak, to make her tremble. It wasn't passion. It was dissection. He was exploring her like a specimen, claiming every inch of her skin, every nerve ending. "Your body is perfect," he muttered against her skin, his breath hot and heavy. "So soft... so fragile. I could break you, or I could keep you. The choice is mine." That night was the beginning of her nightmare. There was no honeymoon bliss. There was only pain, confusion, and a twisted kind of affection that hurt more than any beating. He loved her, yes, but his love is poison.It was a love that breathed down her neck, that watched her every move, that owned every breath she took. It was a love that demanded total surrender, absolute obedience. He loved her so much that he wanted to break her apart and put her back together again, just so she would be molded perfectly in his image. He loved her so much that he forgot she was a human being with feelings, with a heart that could break. Every day was the same cycle. He would leave in the morning, dressed in his white coat, going out to save lives in the hospital, playing the role of the perfect, kind doctor. And she would stay behind, trapped in the golden cage he built for her, waiting for him to return. Waiting for the moment the doors would lock again, and the monster would come out to play. He would come home, and the moment he saw her, his eyes would light up with that dangerous fire. He would touch her, and it felt like being examined under a microscope. He knew every inch of her skin, every line, every scar. He knew exactly where to press to cause pain, exactly where to touch to make her shiver in ways that were not right. He used his knowledge not to heal, but to control. "You are so beautiful when you are afraid," he would whisper, holding her tightly against his chest, his heart beating fast against her back. "It makes me want to protect you... and possess you all at once." She tried to resist. She tried to fight back with words, with tears, with silence. But nothing worked. He was too strong, too rich, too powerful. Her parents were gone, bought and paid for, living happily ever after with the money he gave them. They forgot about her. They abandoned her to this fate. She was completely alone. The days turned into months, and the months stretched into what felt like an eternity. The light in her eyes faded. The girl who used to walk to school with hope in her heart was gone. In her place was a shadow, a doll that moved when pulled by strings. She endured the touches that felt like violations, the kisses that tasted like iron and obsession, the words that were sweet but cut deeper than knives. She realized then that there was no escape. Not while she was alive. Not while he was breathing. He had woven a web around her so tight, so complex, using money, power, and his twisted devotion, that there was no way out. Unless... Unless she left this world completely. Unless she gave up the very life he was so obsessed with keeping. The thought started small, like a seed growing in the dark soil of her despair. What if I just stop? What if I just end it? Would he still love her if she was cold? Would he still want her if she was nothing but bones and memory? She looked at her reflection in the mirror one night. She looked pale, tired, broken. She looked like a dead rose walking. And she knew. She knew what she had to do. She would rather be free in death than be his prisoner in life. She would rather destroy herself than let him have her anymore.