Chapter 4 - The Thorns Beneath the Roses
893 Words
The morning after Noor's failed escape dawned grey and heavy. Mist rolled in from the cliffs, cloaking the estate in a thick veil that matched the tight knot in her chest. The events of the previous night clung to her skin like sweat—his arms, his fury, his voice trembling with something between love and madness.
She hadn't spoken a word since he'd carried her back.
Now she sat by the window, knees hugged to her chest, wearing another one of his shirts. It was soft. Warm. And it made her feel like his possession.
Because she was.
The door creaked open.
Her head turned sharply.
"Little flame," Theodore's voice was low, cautious. As if approaching a wounded bird.
She didn't respond.
He stepped in and placed a tray down—a bowl of warm oats, fresh strawberries, and a cup of chai. "I made this myself. You haven't eaten."
Her eyes remained on the fog outside.
He sighed, moving closer but keeping his distance. "I promised I wouldn't touch you unless you wanted me to. And I meant it."
Silence.
His jaw clenched. "But don't ever try to leave me again."
Still, she said nothing.
He knelt by her feet, trying to find her eyes. "You think you hate me now, Noor. But one day, you'll realize no one could ever love you the way I do."
She met his gaze finally—those soft brown eyes now hardened with exhaustion. "Love doesn't lock people in towers."
His breath hitched. "But it keeps them safe."
She rose suddenly, backing away toward the opposite wall. "Safe? You don't even let people near me! You don't let anyone speak to me—touch me!"
"Because no one should," he snapped, losing control for a second. "No one gets to breathe your air. No one gets to see you the way I do."
She froze.
His voice softened again. "You're mine, Noor. Not because I took you—but because I saw you."
"You saw a fantasy," she whispered. "Not me."
He looked like she'd stabbed him.
Then, without another word, he left.
Later that day...
Luca stood by the garden wall, arms folded, waiting for his boss.
When Theodore finally emerged, his face was unreadable.
"She hates me," he said simply.
"You kidn*pped her, Theo. She has every reason."
He exhaled. "I don't want to break her. I want her to stay because she chooses me."
Luca nodded. "Then maybe stop holding her with chains. Give her something real."
"Like what?"
"Like the truth."
Theodore looked away.
"Tell her about your past," Luca continued. "About your mother. Your father. The reason you think love has to hurt."
His hands curled into fists. "She doesn't need that darkness."
"But she's living in it now. Wouldn't you rather give her a map out than let her drown in the fog?"
That night, Noor heard a knock.
Not on her door.
On the wall.
A soft tap. Once. Then twice.
She frowned, walking over to it. On closer inspection, she noticed a thin groove in the panel.
A secret door.
It creaked open slowly—and standing on the other side was Theodore. Drenched from the rain, holding a single red rose.
"There's a hidden passage between our rooms," he said quietly. "I didn't want to scare you. I just... wanted to be close."
She stared at him. "Why the rose?"
He held it out. "Because even roses have thorns. But people still love them. I'm not asking you to love me yet. Just... see me."
She didn't take the rose.
But she didn't close the door either.
And for now, that was enough.
She dreamed of fire that night.
Of being chased through a forest of thorns, barefoot and bleeding, with a shadow that whispered her name with reverence and need. When she woke up drenched in sweat, she found the rose lying on her pillow, the petals dewed from his fingertips.
The secret door had been shut.
But her pulse hadn't settled.
She rose quietly and went to the large armoire at the edge of the room. When she opened it, she found more than clothing—sketches, journals, books in languages she didn't know. But one caught her attention.
It was hers.
A tattered, red-covered notebook. Her poetry journal. The one she thought she'd lost months ago.
Inside were pages filled with her handwriting—verses about monsoons in India, about longing and loneliness. But there were also notes in another script.
His.
He'd read it.
Every word.
Beside one poem she wrote about drowning without water, his neat scrawl read:
If you are drowning, Noor... I will become the ocean to keep you afloat.
Her fingers trembled.
She backed away, the weight of his obsession sinking deeper.
But so did something else.
Something she didn't want to name.
Not yet.
In his study, Theodore stood at the fireplace, staring into the flames.
His father's old ring rested in his palm.
"She touched the journal," Luca said from the doorway.
Theodore didn't turn.
"And?"
"She didn't throw it. She didn't scream."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"She's starting to see me."
He slipped the ring on.
"And that's all I need—for now."
To be continued...
- Writer
