Rose
The words left my lips before I could stop them. My heart slammed against my ribs, my stomach flipped, and I wanted to choke on air. I didn't mean it like that. Or maybe I did. Maybe I meant exactly that. But there's no way I will admit that.
Heat spread through me like fire, burning my ears, my cheeks, my neck. My fists clenched in the fabric of his shirt—the shirt I was drowning in, his shirt, the one that smelled like him. I felt exposed, ridiculous, desperate.
He froze in place, hand still on the door, back stiff.
The silence pressed heavy. My breathing grew shallow. Say something, I screamed inside, anything. Laugh. Tease. Call me crazy. Just don't ignore me.
But he didn't move. He just stood there, shoulders tense, the storm of his presence filling the whole damn room.
I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. My mind spiraled, rapid, merciless. Why the hell did I say that? What was I thinking? He's going to think I'm weak. He's going to think I'm begging. He's going to—
I cut myself off, swallowing the panic.
No. I wasn't weak. I wasn't begging. If he wanted to think that, let him. I'd still rather choke on the words than let him walk away.
My chest rose and fell, hard, fast. I met his eyes again, daring him, challenging him not to look away this time.
"Don't go," I whispered again, softer this time, but it felt louder than anything else I'd ever said.
Asher was surprised that I said those words, his face was filled with shock, and something else I couldn't quite name. His composure cracked for the first time tonight, and that alone sent a tremor through my chest.
"Stop biting your lip."
I hadn't even realized I was doing it, not until he moved—so fast, so quiet—and suddenly he was standing right in front of me. His hand brushed against my mouth, fingers grazing over my lower lip like he owned it. Like he had every right.
Heat spread through me in a rush, traitorous and wild, pooling low in my stomach. It took everything in me—every ounce of my will, every shred of my control—not to take those fingers into my mouth and suck on them. His hands were long, slender, strong… sexy in a way that should've been illegal.
Wait.
My eyes dropped and caught something else. A bruise. His knuckles were dark, swollen, split at one place like he had driven them into something harder than skin.
I grabbed his hand before he could pull it away, holding it tight between mine. My voice came out soft, laced with a pain I didn't bother to hide. "You're hurt."
I didn't want him to get hurt. Not unless it was me causing it. And even then, not like this.
"How did you—" I started, but he cut me off.
"I hit my hand on the wall before coming here."
A lie. I knew it the moment the words left his mouth. I had punched walls before. I'd split skin, bruised bone, bled frustration into bricks because I couldn't kill Adrian when I wanted to. I knew the kind of mark walls left, and this wasn't it. No. This was from punching someone. Over and over.
But who?
I didn't ask. He wouldn't answer.
"Do you have a medical kit to treat this?" I asked instead, still staring at the bruises like I could erase them by glaring hard enough.
"Bathroom. Third drawer to the left."
His voice was steady, calm, but his eyes… his eyes followed me when I turned away, like he was watching, like he couldn't let me out of his sight even for a second. My pulse thrummed in my ears.
I walked into the bathroom, flicked on the light, and found the kit where he said it would be. My reflection in the mirror caught me for half a second. I looked like a woman possessed. Barefoot, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes burning. A viper lost in her own venom.
I came back into the room, medical kit in hand, ready to force him to sit still while I cleaned his wounds. But I froze.
He was on the bed. Shirtless.
God.
I knew the man was a package, but this? This was torture. Broad shoulders that looked carved from stone. A chest dusted lightly with hair, sculpted with lean muscle, abs cut so sharp they looked like they'd been drawn by a god. And the V-line. That dangerous, sinful V that pointed straight to temptation.
He was the definition of beautiful sin.
And he caught me staring. Of course he did.
That damned smirk curved his lips, slow and deliberate, a tease that set my blood on fire.
Hot. Too hot.
I forced myself to move, walking up to him with as much dignity as I could fake, and sat beside him. My thighs brushed the edge of the mattress, and I cursed inwardly at how close he was.
"Hand." My voice came out firmer than I felt.
He gave me his hand without hesitation, his gaze never leaving my face for even a second. His eyes were a weight, heavy and unrelenting, stripping me bare in ways no one else ever had.
"Why?" he asked.
That single word hit me like a bullet. Why? There were so many whys.
"Why what?" I forced out.
"Why aren't I dead, Rose?"
I froze, my chest tightening.
"This isn't like you, Rose."
No. It wasn't. The old me would've slit his throat by now. I would've cut his head off and mounted it on a stake outside the gates as a warning to anyone who dared cross me. That was the kind of woman I was. That was the kind of queen I had built myself into.
But I didn't want that. Not with him.
All I wanted was to find whoever he had punched, whoever had dared to stain his hands, and kill them myself. To make them bleed for touching what was mine.
Crazy, right? Yeah. I knew. It runs in the family.
"You're supposed to hate me," he said quietly, like he was reminding me.
Yes. I was supposed to. He betrayed me. He stood with Adrian, the cousin who wanted to see me broken, ruined, kneeling. He'd chosen his side in front of everyone. That should've been enough to burn whatever I felt for him into ash.
But it didn't.
And I was so damn tired of lying to myself.
"I don't hate you, Asher."
My words shocked him. His eyes widened, just barely, but I caught it.
"Done." I snapped the kit shut, more harshly than I meant, and dropped it to the side. My hands were shaking, but I held his gaze.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Is he stupid?
"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" I snapped, frustration cutting through the fear in my chest.
"Yes, Rose… I'm serious."
And he was. His voice was low, steady, dead serious.
This was it. The moment. The one I had never wanted, never prepared for. I had never made the first move in my life. Never confessed feelings I didn't believe I could even have. I wasn't that girl. I wasn't the one who blushed, or stammered, or confessed. I was Rose Viper, nightmare in heels, queen of venom, and yet… here I was.
Having all my firsts with him.
Like a stupid little girl with her first crush.
Here we go.
"I know this may sound crazy and all—I mean, you just sided with my crazy cousin, and here I am with you…" I locked my eyes on his, refusing to look away, refusing to break. His blue eyes burned into me, steady, endless, like ice that could drown me.
"I love you."
The words left me, raw and dangerous, but also soft, honest. They cut through the air between us like a blade, sharp enough to wound us both.
Silence fell.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of it.