Chapter 11
360 Words
Gracie didn’t notice the small box on her doorstep until she almost tripped over it.
She stopped, frowning down at it. Plain black, tied with a thin crimson ribbon. No address. No name. Just sitting there as if it belonged.
Her brows pinched together as she bent and picked it up. It was light—too light. The kind of light that made her stomach twist because gifts without explanation never meant anything good.
She carried it inside, setting her bag down before pulling the ribbon loose.
The lid lifted.
Inside lay a single rose. Blood red. Perfect. Its petals velvety, its stem long and full of thorns. Deliberately left on.
Gracie’s breath caught.it was beautiful.
Her eyes darted back to the box. Attached to the ribbon she’d untied was a folded slip of paper, the handwriting sharp and elegant, every curve deliberate.
She read it aloud in a whisper:
"A rose full of thorns. Perfect description of you."
Her pulse spiked. "What the hell...?" she muttered, scanning the note again as if it might somehow reveal who sent it.
The rose trembled slightly in her hand as she lifted it from the box. It smelled faintly sweet, the head heavy, rich. Too intimate.
Her mind raced through possibilities—an old fling trying to crawl back into her life? Some bitter ex she’d rejected? A creep who’d seen her at the café? Panic gnawed at her as a hundred names and faces flickered in her head, none of them fitting neatly enough to ease the fear crawling up her spine.
Her instinct screamed to toss it. To throw the whole thing in the trash and lock every door in the house.
But instead… she held , it observing it. Careful of the prickly thorns.
She sat down on her couch, the ribbon note still clutched between her fingers.
Outside, across the street, a pair of eyes watched from the shadow of a parked car.
Jeremiah leaned back against the leather seat, cigarette smoldering between his fingers, and allowed the smallest smile to tug at his mouth as he saw the rose in her hand.
She hadn’t thrown it away.
- Writer
