Bloody Roses

I hate this place.

That was my first thought as I slammed the door to my rusted ass locker. The hallway ceiling had a busted pipe somewhere and unfortunately my locker seemed to be the only one affected by it. But that was just how lady luck treated almost everything in my life. I just had to learn how to roll with the many, many punches. It was the last day of high school and nothing brought me greater joy than knowing how close i was to leaving behind these high class walls of false self importance forever. I had gotten down on my hand and knees, something i was definitely accustomed to (wink, wink) and begged my mother to let me skip today all together. But like a true dominatrix of all things pain and torture, she turned me down stating that she thought it would be a great opportunity to say goodbye to my "friends". Friends... Yeah right.. The singular problem with that thought was that I didn't have any friends.

The few kids who bothered to show up today were the jocks and cheerleaders, clinging to their fading reigns of power, desperate to distract themselves from the fact that they were broken goods with absentee parents. Everyone else was already off at summer homes or sneaking into vacation parties in other countries. The scholarship kids decided the last day was beneath them, and the nerds—of course—came, because missing school might end the world. And then there was me. Too rich to be an outcast, too strange to belong. Harvard-level grades didn't mean much when you had the social skills of a rock.

I was an only child, practically raised by my nanny after my father's accident left him in a coma and eventually took him. My mother, Senator Sheila Dean, built her empire while leaving me behind in the ruins. We were strangers who shared a house. She bought me everything I could ever need, but Elizabeth Mahoning—my nanny—gave me what money couldn't. She taught me how to dress, read, cook, survive heartbreak. She was the calm to my storm. Sheila made sure I could buy the country if I wanted; Eliza made sure I knew what love felt like.

AP World History was my last class, and my least favorite. The room always smelled faintly of decaying hyacinths, and Mrs. Julia was a whirlwind of eccentric chaos. She once replaced every desk with beanbags the size of small cars, and today, the room still looked like a toddler's play pit. Two seats left. Both next to Arianna Danvil and Brittany Joseph—the school's twin tyrants. They lounged on their plush loveseat, bought specifically for them after they refused to sit in beanbags like the rest of us. Donor families bought power, and they wielded it like knives.

I sank into the beanbag farthest from them, head down.

"What's up, orphan Kala?" Arianna's venom slithered across the room. "Going to see your parents this summer?"

I froze.

"Oh wait—you don't have any!"

Her laughter was the match on gasoline. I swiveled, met her smug face, and smiled sweetly—my infamous death glare beneath it. "Ari darling, remember when your mother got caught in that delicious affair with the gardener? Sixteen years, wasn't it? Until just last year. You're seventeen now, right?"

The room went silent. Every student stared, waiting for me to say the thing they all whispered but never dared speak.

"Tell me, Arianna—are you sure Mr. Danvil is your real dad? Because I don't think he would've fled the state otherwise."

Her face drained of color, and I turned back to my beanbag with a satisfied smirk.

Mrs. Julia clapped her hands, pretending nothing had happened.

"Settle down class. There will be no work for you guys today. Instead we are going to have a treasure hunt right here in class! Exciting right?" She looked around the room enthusiastically before handing out sheets of paper to everyone in the front of the class to pass down. Right in that moment I felt something wet hit the back of my neck and slide down my spine. " Oh sorry Kala , it just slipped." I heard the twin tyrants laugh. I jumped out of my seat and looked down at the red juice dripping onto the floor from the back of my chair. My eyes lifted up to see the shocked look on Brittany's face but I knew better. I didn't even bother asking for permission to leave as I snatched my things from the table and ran toward the door. I glanced back right before exiting and rolled my eyes as Arianna winked at me.

Frustrated and completely over it , I stepped into the girls bathroom across the hall. I immediately pulled my juice stained shirt off and took a moment to admire myself in the mirror. Standing at about 5'4 , I was slim and curvy in all the right places. I glanced at the tight sandy brown curls resting just below my shoulders and roamed down the length of my body. I was beautiful with long dark lashes rimming my hazel eyes, giving them a dreamy bedroom vixen look. My lips were full and pink , shimmering with the limited addition Coco Chanel lip-gloss I'd paid a pretty penny for. The only thing marring my honey gold complexion was a spattering of freckles across my cheeks and over the bridge of my nose.

I wasn't shallow but I knew how to use my looks to get what I wanted. I received a lot of attention and it was one of the reasons why I was so hated by the girls I went to school with. Don't get me wrong though , most of the girls at my private school were so beautiful it inspired jealousy in other rival schools. But it seemed like there was just something about me. They thought I was competition. They never bothered to notice I had no interest in any of their boyfriends. None of them lit that fire in me.

I sighed, pulled on a clean cashmere button-up, and tossed the ruined shirt. Enough of this place.

Freedom tasted sweet as my cherry red Corvette roared to life. Diploma could come in the mail for all I cared. Sirens Strip Club, here I come. But first—I remembered Eliza's list for graduation dinner.

The farmer's market was blessedly cool, the air like cold silk against my overheated skin. I grabbed a basket and turned down the bread aisle—only to freeze. She was standing there.

Tall. Lean. Predatory grace under smooth skin the color of honey butter. Black silk taper-cut hair, a few curls escaping her bun. Tattoos curled around her collarbone like secrets. And her eyes—blue, deep, impossible—locked onto mine. The world seemed to tilt. My pulse quickened, and for a heartbeat, everything else in the store fell away. Even the air felt different—thicker, charged, like it was holding its breath with me.

She was beautiful in the kind of way that made it hard to breathe. A living work of art wrapped in quiet danger, and for a moment all I could do was stare. My knees felt weak, heat pooled low in my stomach, and the thought that someone like her could exist at all left me dizzy with awe.

Something fluttered low in my gut, half danger, half desire, and I couldn't look away—until little hands tugged at my leg. A girl—couldn't be older than five—with enormous green eyes shining with tears stood there. She was pointing to a rack with multiple different candies. "Amaya! Get back here this instant." A harried blonde woman rushed up, grabbed the child's hand, and shot me an apologetic look. "Sorry if she bothered you—she doesn't know how to sit still."

I opened my mouth to say it was fine, but she was already halfway down the aisle. I shook my head and glanced back to my right. The spell had broken though and the beautiful woman was gone.

I stared at the candy rack where Amaya had pointed, hesitated, then grabbed four chocolate bars and finished collecting the ingredients I needed.

Outside, heat rolled off the asphalt. I spotted the blonde loading groceries into her trunk and walked over, pulling two candy bars from my bag. "Can your daughter have these? I grabbed too many. I really don't need all this chocolate." It was a lie, but she looked like the type to bristle at charity.

A small hand slipped into mine. Amaya's face lit up like sunrise. Her mother hesitated, then nodded. "I don't like her taking things from strangers, but... just this once."

Amaya squealed, snatched the candy, and hugged me around the waist. "Thank you so much, ma'am!"

"You're welcome," I said, smiling as she climbed into the back seat.

My grin faded the second I turned toward my car. Someone was leaning against the driver's side door like they'd been waiting for me all along.

Her.

For a moment, I couldn't move. Seeing her again so soon after the grocery store sent a jolt through me, like the universe had just doubled down on a cruel joke. Sunlight spilled across her figure, tracing the ink that curled faintly beneath her collarbone, setting fire to the edges of her tapered hair. She looked unreal—like she'd stepped out of a dream I hadn't wanted to wake from. The same awe that had stolen my breath in the aisle slammed back into me, stronger this time, and I felt heat pool low in my belly.

I tried for confidence, offered her a handshake. She glanced at it in confusion, and my cheeks burned.

I crossed my arms in an attempt to hide how embarrassed i felt. " What's your name? I would call you 'girl-with-the-eye-problem' but that would be as rude as ignoring a friendly handshake." I thought I saw her mouth twitch into a smile but it was gone so quickly that i must've imagined it. She actually looked bored. BORED.... can you imagine it? I couldn't have rolled my eyes harder than I did at that moment.

"Well, as delightful as this one-sided conversation has been, I need to get going." I moved toward the driver's side door, intent on sliding into the safety of my car, but she didn't budge. The space was hers now, and I suddenly felt like the intruder.

She leaned back against the glossy red paint as if she had all the time in the world, eyes dragging over me with a slow, deliberate hunger that made my pulse stutter. I froze, heat flaring low in my stomach under the weight of her gaze. It wasn't casual. It wasn't polite. She was looking at me like I was her favorite meal, something she intended to savor.

The intensity of it made no sense—especially after she'd treated my handshake like it was something foul. Confusion warred with the heat spreading through me. My body reacted as if it knew her, wanted her, even while my brain scrambled to make sense of why.

"You remind me of someone," she said finally, her voice smooth as smoke. "Forgive me. My name is Rose."

The name echoed inside me, tugging at a memory I couldn't reach. Something in her tone—low, rich, threaded with danger—made my knees want to give.

She brushed a strand of my hair back behind my ear, and I swore the world tilted again. Her touch carried that same charged weight as her gaze, filling me with the kind of awe you only feel once in a lifetime—the kind that burns, the kind that promises something you aren't sure you can survive.

"It was nice meeting you, beautiful. Maybe I'll see you around. I'm new in Castle Creek."

I nodded, barely breathing, watching her turn and walk away. Desperation clawed at me, and before I could stop myself I called out, "Kala Dean!"

She paused, tilted her head in a gesture impossibly adorable for someone radiating that much danger. "Who is that?"

"That's me," I said, breathless.

She winked, and then she was gone—leaving me in awe all over again, pulse racing like she'd stolen something from me I hadn't realized was hers to take.