Unknown: Enjoying your new life?
Her skin prickled. Cold swept down her back like breath against the nape of her neck.
Her fingers hovered above the screen, torn between blocking the number or hurling the phone across the room.
Neither would change what she knew.
Her eyes flicked back to the rose.
Too perfect.
Too precise.
Too familiar.
This wasn’t coincidence. Not something wrapped in silk petals and shadows.
The fluorescent light above her flickered—brief, then steady—casting long, uncertain shadows beneath the lockers and along the baseboards.
The room sat too still. Silent. Watching.
Too quiet.
No coat out of place.
No forgotten coffee cup by the sink.
Nothing human enough to explain it.
But the feeling lingered. Slow. Creeping.
Her memory struck like a match.
The first rose. Then another. And another.
Petals blooming with slow, suffocating intent.
Until the night it stopped being flowers and became something else.
Her stomach turned.
Not again.
Her hand gripped the counter’s edge. Cold beneath her fingertips. Solid, when nothing else felt certain.
If she fell apart, she gave him power.
She reached for the rose. Velvet petals brushed her fingertips, soft as breath.
Deceptive.
She didn’t flinch.
She left it where it was.
If someone asked, she’d smirk, toss off a joke. Some guest thinks they’re charming.
Inside, her nerves pulled tight. Stretching thin. Straining for control.
