The roses arrived before dawn.
A thousand crimson petals spread across Elena’s bedroom floor, glistening like drops of blood beneath the soft morning light. Each one carried the scent of luxury—and warning. The bouquet on her nightstand was tied with a black ribbon. A note dangled from it, written in Damian’s unmistakable handwriting.
“You are mine, Elena. Always.”
Her heart quickened. The words were both a promise and a prison.
She touched the petals, their edges soft but almost sharp beneath her fingertips. Damian’s love was the same—beautiful, intoxicating, and suffocating. Every gift he sent lately seemed larger, heavier, harder to refuse. Expensive dresses. Jewelry that sparkled like the stars. But all she could see were invisible chains beneath the shine.
When the doorbell rang,
