đź‘‘ ROSE đź‘‘
"What happened to you that day?" Charles asked, his tone casual, but his eyes scanning me too closely.
I pushed my chair back slightly. "I have to go, thanks for this," I said, rising to leave, but before I could fully stand, his hand reached out and stopped me.
Gentle, but firm.
"Take this," he said, handing me a matte black nylon bag.
I opened it.
Drugs.
My fingers tightened on the nylon. "How did you even..."
"Back at the company, I noticed you rubbing your temple a few times, blinking against the light, pressing your fingers to your forehead like you were trying to hold your head together," he said.
I didn't deny it.
"You looked pale. Your usual sharp edges were softened, like you were fighting something no one else could see."
"You didn't buy these," I said, eyes narrowing.
He shrugged. "So I sent my assistant to pick them up. Figured you might need them."
My fingers clenched around the nylon. "I'm not your responsibility."
He shifted in his seat, eyes darkening. "You can't keep pretending you're fine."
The TV in the corner suddenly caught everyone's attention.
The screen flashed with breaking news:
"Shane Williams and Tyla Jackson have officially announced their engagement, set for the 12th of this month, with their wedding planned for June 20th at the Grand Marquis Ballroom. After months of public drama, the couple says they are ready to start a new chapter together. Both families have expressed their happiness over the union, calling it a celebration of love. A powerful partnership between two of Valemont's most prominent social circles."
The announcement barely finished before whispers flooded the café.
Phones lit up, people scrolling furiously, sending texts and screenshots. Voices murmured.
Charles stared at his phone, eyes wide, as if he'd just seen a ghost.
"The 20th of next month? That soon?" He let out a loud laugh. "Man, Shane really went from zero to husband real quick."
I raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.
Charles smirked. "Remember how he couldn't even handle a spilled drink four months ago? Now he's about to walk down the aisle. What a joke."
I stood up. "Let go."
We pushed through the noisy café, where whispers turned into barely disguised gossip, fingers swiping phones faster than people blinked.
Outside, the cool evening air was a relief.
Our cars were already waiting, engines humming quietly, as if they'd been expecting us.
I walked toward mine, and Charles opened the door for me. I slid inside without a word.
"Rose," he said softly, "take care of yourself, alright?"
I didn't answer.
He shut the door, and my chauffeur drove off.
đź‘‘ ISABELLA đź‘‘
I stormed into the house, raging, my hands trembling with fury as I threw myself onto the living room sofa. I kicked off my shoes and draped one leg over the side, scrolling through my phone mindlessly.
"How dare she..." I muttered. "Charles is mine. He's always been mine."
I couldn't shake the image of him with her—laughing, eating, being kind to her. How could he look at Rose that way? I had never seen him like that with me.
At first, the scrolling was just a distraction.
Then the headline hit me like a slap:
"BREAKING: Tyla Jackson and Shane Williams Announce Engagement—Wedding Set for June 20th."
My thumb froze mid-scroll. My breath caught.
What the actual hell?
The photo was obnoxiously perfect; Tyla in a champagne silk dress, her hand strategically placed to flaunt the massive ring, Shane smiling smugly like he owned the world. The caption beneath read: "Valemont's golden couple ready to tie the knot."
I sat up slowly, eyes locked on the screen. My blood boiled. Not because I wanted Shane anymore but because she won. Again. She always did.
She humiliated him once, and somehow still landed the damn fairytale ending. Meanwhile, I was still background noise.
I exhaled sharply and tossed my phone aside, pretending it didn't bother me. But it vibrated immediately.
Another notification.
I snatched it back.
There it was:
"BREAKING: Charles Earl & Rose Hiddleson. Valemont's Secret New Romance?"
Attached was a photo of Charles pushing open the café door, the same outfit from earlier.
And the comments?
"They're adorable together."
"Awwwnnn "
"I just saw Tyla and Shane's announcement—now this?!"
"Where? Tag me pls!"
"First Claudia, now Rose… my golden trio is getting taken!"
"Wait, isn't Charles Shane's best friend?"
"Bestie with bestie!"
I stared at the image, my mouth dry.
No caption. No explanation. None was needed.
The internet had already exploded.
Everyone saw it. And now, so had I.
My heartbeat roared louder than the maids cleaning nearby.
With one violent sweep, I swiped everything off the coffee table: vases, trays, magazines
all crashing to the floor in a glorious shatter.
The maids jumped back.
I grabbed the throw pillows and hurled them across the room, kicking over the footstool as I screamed, "HE IS MINE!"
Tears threatened to spill, but I blinked them back. My hands shook, my chest tight.
He looked at her like she was delicate. Precious. Like she mattered.
He never looked at me that way.
Never.
"First Tyla took Shane from me, and now Rose..."
I raked both hands through my hair, tugging at the roots, then flopped back onto the couch, glaring at the phone. I zoomed in on the image, his eyes.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!
"Bella!" My mother rushed in from the hallway. "What's happening? What is all this noise?"
I barely glanced at her. "He was with her," I spat. "At a café. Opening the door for her like a fucking gentleman."
"Who?" she asked, stepping carefully around the wreckage.
"Charles," I said, my voice splintering. "With Rose. They looked so… close."
My mother's face darkened.
"And that's not all," I continued, shoving the phone at her. "Look at the headline."
She studied the image, silent and thoughtful.
Before I could spiral further, Dad walked in, briefcase in hand, freezing mid-step at the chaos.
"What's going on here?" he barked.
"She saw something upsetting," Mom said evenly.
Dad turned to me. "What did you see?"
I shoved the phone at him. "This. Rose with Charles. She's trying to take him from me."
His expression shifted as he examined the photo. After a long pause, he looked up.
"Where is she now?"
Before I could answer, the front door creaked open.
Rose.
Wearing that same damn outfit. The same tired expression. Stepping into the house like she hadn't just detonated my world.
And before logic could catch up with my rage.
I slapped her.