Even Roses Have Thorns

6. That Room, That Night

The room was too quiet.

Too still.

It pressed down around her like velvet, like fog — soft, suffocating. The low hum of bass from downstairs barely made it through the floorboards, now just a distant pulse, like a heartbeat she couldn’t sync with.

Alina lay sprawled on the edge of the bed, shoes kicked off, her breath shallow. Her eyes struggled to stay open. Everything felt… detached. Like she’d slipped out of her body and was floating somewhere just above the room.

She blinked once.

Then again.

The ceiling above her swayed slightly, not enough to be real, just enough to remind her that something was wrong.

The vanilla-sweet scent of the pillow made her stomach turn. Or maybe it was the drink. Or the room. Or… something.

Her thoughts came in pieces now, scattered and jumbled like her papers in the hallway that day.

I shouldn’t have come upstairs.

She didn’t remember how long ago that was. Minutes? An hour?

Where’s Elias?

Her lips parted, but no words came. Just a breath, thin and unsteady.

She tried to sit up — the motion slow, like moving through honey. Her limbs refused to cooperate.

Her head dropped back against the pillow with a soft thud. The ceiling light shimmered at the edges of her vision.

There were voices somewhere beyond the door.

Or maybe she imagined them.

Then—

Footsteps.

Soft, steady, drawing closer.

Her body tensed instinctively, but it was like her muscles weren’t fully hers anymore. Like her nerves were dialed down just enough to register danger, but not enough to do anything about it.

The door creaked.

Alina blinked, head rolling slightly toward the sound.

A figure stepped into the room.

Tall.

Sharp silhouette.

Shadowed features.

And yet—

Her vision blurred, lines softening, face unrecognizable in the dim lamplight. But her heart leapt in confused hope.

Elias?

She couldn’t see clearly. Couldn’t think clearly. But something in her tried to reach toward that familiar shape in the fog.

Her lips moved.

“I didn’t think you’d come…”

The figure stepped closer.

The room tilted slightly around him.

Alina’s lashes fluttered. Her breath slowed. And the last thing she saw before darkness pulled at the edges of her mind… was the shape of someone leaning in.

Arms.

Hands.

Warmth.

And silence.

⸻

Kael didn’t know what he expected.

A confrontation, maybe. A sob s********e wide-eyed attempt to frame innocence through breathless excuses and glassy smiles.

But what he walked into was worse.

She was already on the bed.

The girl who had stared him down days ago, unshaken by his reputation, untouched by his name. The girl who hadn’t begged or flirted or even looked back when she walked away.

Now she lay there, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded, skin flushed from something that didn’t look like fear.

Her dress was slightly askew, her shoes tossed to the side.

And she looked at him like he belonged there.

Like she was expecting him.

Of course.

Of course this was a setup.

The perfect girl playing fragile just long enough to land a king.

The air was too warm. The scent of something artificial clung to the room — vanilla, sweet, and cloying. It reminded him of a lie dressed in perfume.

His temples pulsed. The drink from earlier still clouded his focus, but not enough to dull the sharp twist in his gut. He shouldn’t be here. He knew that.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

“Elias…?” she murmured, voice a breathy echo. Her eyes tried to focus, tried to pull his name out of the fog.

Kael froze.

She thinks I’m him.

His chest clenched.

That single misstep — that one name — doused the last of his hesitation in gasoline.

So this was the angle. The seduction act wasn’t for him, not directly. It was the illusion. The story she could tell later. She thought he was her boyfriend. She’d cry about it. Pretend confusion. Say it was a mistake.

Maybe even accuse him.

Maybe this was all part of something bigger.

Maybe she’s already recorded something.

Maybe she’s waiting to ruin me.

Maybe this was never about Elias at all.

She reached up — slow, sluggish — and touched his jaw.

Her fingers trembled.

Her eyes held no malice.

But he didn’t see the girl from the hallway anymore.

He saw every false accusation he’d ever buried.

Every betrayal whispered under champagne breath.

Every perfect-smiled manipulator who used softness like a blade.

And here she was, velvet-voiced and sugar-sweet, murmuring things she didn’t mean with lips that had already lied once.

This wasn’t an accident.

She planned this.

She’ll regret it.

His throat felt dry. His vision blurred.

“You’ll regret this,” he said aloud, voice low and rough.

He didn’t know if he meant it as a warning.

Or a promise.

But her arms pulled him closer.

And in that moment — broken, drugged, angry, and confused — he let the trap close.

⸻

They moved like shadows across a mirror — unfocused, quiet, not fully present.

Alina’s hands trembled as they rose to his shoulders, her eyes slipping shut like it was the only way to stop the spinning. His breath ghosted her cheek, hot and uneven, and she leaned into it as if seeking something familiar. Something safe.

In her mind, he was Elias.

Warm. Steady. The boy she trusted. The boy who said he loved her in whispers and handwritten notes.

She wanted to believe it was him.

She needed it to be him.

His hands found her waist, uncertain at first — rougher than she expected — but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t register the difference.

Her thoughts floated just above her body, disconnected from the softness of touch, from the heat building between them. It didn’t feel wrong, but it didn’t feel right either.

It just was.

A blurred haze of limbs and breath and half-spoken names lost in the space between them.

Kael’s mind roared.

Every inch of him screamed to pull away — but the weight of her hands, the press of her lips, the way she whispered what he wanted to believe crushed his sense of reason.

She’s lying.

But she’s good at it.

Too good.

And yet… he couldn’t stop.

His movements were driven not by desire, but by the need to reclaim something he didn’t understand. Control. Retribution. Power. Something primal and poisoned by betrayal.

He told himself it was her fault.

He told himself she deserved this.

Even as his hands shook.

Even as her voice grew softer and softer until it was nothing but a breath against his throat.

Even as she murmured his name — not his real one — and smiled through a dream she didn’t know was a lie.

For Alina, the moment slipped through her fingers like water. The scent of his skin wasn’t quite right. His touch felt unfamiliar — too possessive. His words were different.

But she couldn’t think.

She couldn’t feel enough to understand.

So she surrendered.

To warmth.

To weight.

To sleep.

And then—

Darkness.

⸻

The first thing Kael registered was silence.

The kind that didn’t feel peaceful — just… wrong.

He lay on his back, arm draped over his eyes, breath thick with the residue of something chemical and too-sweet. The scent of vanilla clung to his skin like perfume that didn’t belong to him.

The air in the room was warm. Still. He could hear faint voices somewhere far below — laughter? music? Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Then the ache in his skull pulsed, sharp and rhythmic, like someone knocking against the inside of his temples.

He opened his eyes.

It took him too long to process the scene — the unfamiliar bed, the soft gold lamplight, the scattering of clothing across the floor.

Her silhouette lay still beside him, the curve of her shoulder rising gently with each breath.

Alina Everhart.

For a moment, his mind didn’t move. It just stared.

And then—

Everything came rushing back. Not as memories, not clearly — but in flashes.

The message.

The room.

The drink.

Her hands.

Her voice.

The way she touched him like she knew him. Like he belonged to her.

His jaw clenched.

Kael sat up slowly, blood rushing back to his limbs in a nauseating wave. He reached for his shirt, pulling it on without fully processing the motion. His phone buzzed somewhere nearby, but he didn’t check it yet.

Instead, he looked at her.

Alina was still asleep. Her face relaxed. No makeup. No performance.

Too peaceful.

Too convenient.

She planned this.

She drugged you. Waited for you. Played you.

And when the world finds out, she’ll cry. She’ll deny it. She’ll say she thought you were someone else.

He stood.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for his watch on the nightstand — only to find her phone beside it.

It lit up as he touched it.

Elias Monroe — 12 missed calls.

Elias: Where are you?

Elias: Are you okay?

Elias: Alina, please pick up.

Kael stared at the screen.

Then laughed — once, dry and bitter.

Of course. Of course she let him think she was missing. Let him chase her, while she ran straight into someone richer. Someone dumber.

His hands curled into fists.

He wasn’t sure what was worse — that she’d done it so cleanly, or that he hadn’t seen it coming.

She shifted slightly in her sleep, her hand brushing the edge of the sheet where he’d just been lying.

Like she was reaching for him.

Like she had any right.

She played you. And you let her.

You walked into the trap with your eyes wide open.

But if she thinks you’ll stay quiet—

No.

She’d regret it.

Whatever her plan was — scandal, blackmail, emotional leverage — she picked the wrong man.

Kael pulled on his jacket, ignoring the nausea still swirling in his stomach.

He didn’t look at her again as he walked to the door.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t hesitate.

The door clicked softly shut behind him.

And the cold that followed him into the hallway had nothing to do with the temperature.

⸻

Sierra stood at the top of the stairwell, where no one noticed her.

She liked it here — just between floors, where she could hear the thrum of rooftop music below and feel the soft whisper of silence behind the guest room door above.

She waited.

Waited with the ease of someone who already knew how the night would end.

And when she heard the quiet click of the guest room door open — then close — she didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Kael Thorne.

He didn’t slam the door. Didn’t stomp away. He left like a man who didn’t need to speak his rage out loud.

Good.

She leaned against the railing, scrolling her phone one-handed, tapping twice to reopen the draft she’d been refining all night.

@thequeenspoison

Scandalous silence at Max Rudd’s rooftop bash. Who was seen slipping away from the spotlight… and into Thorne’s bed? More soon.

No names. Not yet.

No faces. Not yet.

Just smoke — and enough of it to let the fire light itself.

She tucked her phone back into her clutch and made her way down the stairs, pausing once to glance down the hall Kael had vanished into.

He was gone.

And Alina? Still asleep in a stranger’s bed, wrapped in a lie she didn’t even know she was part of.

Sierra smiled.

You should’ve shared, Alina.

But you wanted it all — the boy, the grades, the spotlight. The love.

And now? You’ll have something else instead.

Pity.

She stepped onto the rooftop, where students were dancing and laughing and posting pictures with glowing captions. Max waved at her. Mia was already drunk. Naveen was retelling a story too loudly.