Roses and Chains
1149 Words
Charlie’s POV
“Argh….”
The scream tore out of my throat the moment the burning water touched my foot, the pain spread through my nerves as I watched my blood oozing out.
I jerked violently, trying to pull away from the basin, but the maid holding it panicked and nearly spilled the rest.
“Careful!” someone hissed.
“i***t….move!”
Voices overlapped inside my bedroom.
Servants.
Maids.
One of the house doctors kneeling beside the bed.
My injured foot throbbed angrily where the hot compress had just been pressed against it.
Before anyone else could speak again, the doors opened.
“Charlie…”
My mother’s voice floated into the room.
Soft.
Too soft.
She rushed toward the bed, silk skirts brushing across the marble floor.
“Oh, Charl… mia figlia,” she murmured fluently in Italian. “What were you doing running around in the garden like a child?”
Her fingers reached for my ankle.
I pulled my leg back instantly.
Her hand froze mid-air….best she didn't touch me, not like she cared.
The room fell silent.
Then…
THUD.
A heavy sound echoed across the floor, accompanied with sharp footsteps.
Every servant stiffened with my father's presence.
Vincenzo Benedetti stepped into the room, the tip of his silver-headed cane striking the marble with each step.
By now most of my siblings had gathered in the doorway.
Watching.
Always watching.
Father’s cold eyes swept across the room before settling on me.
“So,” he said quietly.
“You attempted to run away, broke your legs and probably made it an excuse not to go to the banquet tonight, are you?”
No greeting.
No concern.
Just accusation.
My jaw tightened.
“You embarrassed this family,” he continued coldly. “Do you have any idea what damage that could have caused to our reputation if you were caught by the media?”
I laughed.
The sound came out sharp and bitter.
“I wouldn’t have needed to run away,” I replied slowly, “if you hadn’t locked my entire childhood inside this mansion.”
One of my sisters shifted.
Another one raised her brows.
Father’s grip tightened around his cane.
“You were protected,” he said.
“I was imprisoned.”
His voice rose.
“I wouldn’t have done that if you weren’t curse…..”
He stopped.
But the words had already slipped out.
Gasps filled the room.
The servants froze.
My siblings exchanged shocked looks.
For a moment, even Father looked like he regretted speaking, but that….that isn't in my position to care.
“If I weren’t a cursed child…. isn't it, great.” I muttered.
His gaze dropped slightly.
“…Charlie,” he muttered stiffly. “That was not…” before he could finish his words I hurriedly limped to the door and slammed it hard against everyone there.
Not a single word
I reached my room, stepped inside…
and slammed the door harder than I had done with the first one.
BANG.
The sound echoed through the hallway.
For a long time, I didn’t move.
I just sat there like a statue I wish I was.
Staring at the flower vase on the table across the room.
White porcelain.
Filled with fresh roses.
Perfect.
Just like everything in this cursed house.
My fingers slowly curled.
Then suddenly….
I stood up.
Grabbed the vase.
And hurled it across the room.
For one brief second, I waited to hear it shatter.
But the sound never came.
My brows furrowed.
I turned around.
The vase was still in the air.
No.
Not in the air.
Caught.
My new bodyguard stood near the door, holding the vase easily in one hand.
Like it weighed nothing.
My eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing in my room?”
His voice was calm.
“As your assigned bodyguard, Lady Charlie, your father instructed me to remain by your side.”
I scoffed.
“stupid.” I muttered…he'd die soon, poor handsomeness.
He didn’t react.
“Every bodyguard assigned to me dies,” I continued coldly. “You should run while you still can, there's no need wasting your handsomeness.”
He simply placed the vase back on the table.
Unbothered.
Arrogant.
Infuriating.
I rolled my eyes and threw myself onto the bed.
Stupid man.
A few seconds passed.
Then a memory slipped into my mind.
The moment outside the fence.
The way he had lifted me so easily.
Like I weighed nothing.
His arms had been warm.
Strong.
And his scent…. Roses, mint and faint scent of fresh tobacco.
Even covered in sweat, he smelled strangely…
pleasant.
My face heated slightly.
Annoyed, I turned away.
That’s when his voice cut through my thoughts.
“Your garment for tonight’s banquet.”
I looked up.
A black gown hung from his hand.
Perfect.
Elegant.
Prison uniform number two.
Fuck it.
Later that evening.
I stood in front of the mirror, struggling with the zipper behind my back.
“Damn it…”
The dress refused to close.
I twisted awkwardly, trying to reach it.
Suddenly…
A hand gently caught my wrist, I wasn't sure if his hands were warm or my body just suddenly increased in temperature.
I froze.
Another hand pulled the zipper up smoothly.
The dress closed.
I slowly looked up at the mirror.
The bodyguard stood behind me.
Close.
Too close.
My heart jumped slightly.
But then I noticed something.
Those eyes of his….
Dark.
Sharp.
Strangely familiar.
For a moment, I almost thought they looked like….
No….
Impossible.
“What’s your name?” I asked quietly.
“Matteo Rinaldi.”
His voice was calm.
Professional.
His hand suddenly brushed lightly against my waist.
I flinched….worst, I felt a sudden spark through my spine.
“What are you doing?” I whispered sharply.
Without answering, he lifted a small thread between his fingers.
“A loose thread,” he said.
Then I stepped back.
As if nothing had happened…..fuck what was I thinking.
★★★
The banquet hall glittered with gold lights and crystal chandeliers.
Italy’s most powerful families had gathered.
Politicians.
Businessmen.
Underworld figures.
Their wives dressed in diamonds and silk.
The moment I stepped inside, the usual reaction began.
People moved away….. sadly I couldn't be quick with my steps since I had my ankle sprained.
Even without trying, I knew my place.
Away from everyone.
I walked carefully along the edge of the hall.
Until suddenly….
My heel caught the hem of my gown.
“Oh…..!”
I stumbled forward.
Before I could hit the floor, strong arms caught me.
My body slammed lightly against a firm chest.
A deep breath filled my lungs.
The scent hit instantly.
Warm.
Sharp.
Completely unfamiliar.
Not roses.
Not mint.
Not tobacco.
Definitely not my bodyguard.
Slowly, I lifted my head.
And froze.
Because the man holding me… was not Matteo.
“Attenta, signorina. ( Careful young lady)”
- Writer
