Revenge In Bloom

Bound by Blood

Theo winces.

Rose was never supposed to have these doubts.

Never supposed to not believe in him.

He lifts her hand and kisses her fingers gently.

“I could never,” he murmurs, guilt softening every word. “I’ve always loved you. I was just too stupid to realize it.”

His heart crashes against the truth.

But Rose doesn’t look convinced.

“I don’t believe this love is strong enough to survive if the baby isn’t yours,” she says.

She’s guarded, so much more guarded than he expected.

Did she love me for that long?

How much did I hurt her before, with my silence, with the lies I told myse passed them to go to the garden. s helf were kindness?

The world is slipping. Theo feels it in the stillness between them.

I need to fix this.

Rose pulls her hand from his.

“It is mine,” he whispers. “Blood be damned.”

He swallows hard. “You’re mine. And so that baby should be… is mine.”

His voice breaks under the weight of it.

But it doesn’t work.

It’s not big enough to fill the cracks.

Not deep enough to reach the part of her that’s already drifting.

She stares at him.

Through him.

For what feels like forever.

It should be the final break. The last tear.

But he knows her.

This isn’t the last word.

She can’t say it yet.

Can’t face what it means.

Not until she remembers.

Rose.

Still fierce. Still fragile. Still holding on, just barely.

She’ll come around, he tells himself.

She has to.

“I pursued you very hard during the time you can’t remember,” he says, brushing his thumb along her knuckles.

“Our relationship finally evolved.”

A pause.

Heavier than any truth.

“If it wasn’t for that bastard,” he mutters, “I’d be sure who the father is. We only have to wait another month to verify.”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

He waits. For her to believe him.

He waits for himself to believe it.

He waits for a response.

Any response.

Theo pulls back.

The word lingers.

It hovers like a promise.

Rose drifts into thought, her eyes fixed on the sterile ceiling, the hum of fluorescent lights loud against the silence between heartbeats.

Something about all of this feels… off.

Theo was her childhood best friend. Her first love. The boy who once carried her backpack and defended her from cruel whispers in middle school. The one whose attention had once lit her up from the inside.

So why does she hesitate now?

Why does her chest tighten every time he speaks about them, about this relationship he swears evolved into something more?

She doesn’t have the answer. She should feel warmth, security.

Instead, all she finds is doubt.

Like something, someone, already claimed her.

And she just can’t remember.

“You know,” Theo says casually, settling more comfortably on the edge of the hospital bed, “with the way our relationship changed, this was the natural course of things. In fact…”, he turns toward her, resting his head beside hers on the pillow, “…we had already planned to move in together.”

Rose blinks. Her heart stutters before settling into a cautious rhythm.

She turns to look at him. “Theo… I remember the first few months of senior year. Graduation is next week. I know we’ve known each other forever, but moving in together?” Her brow tightens. “That feels… too fast. Doesn’t it?”

Theo chuckles, smooth as ever.

“Well, you’re right about the timing,” he says, brushing it off with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “But the job you took was in Europe. Remote location, remember? We both needed to be there. It took a little convincing, but you finally agreed to live with me.”

She tilts her head, studying him.

He seems a bit stiff now. Not emotionally, physically. Like the bed’s too narrow, the space too confining. Or maybe it’s something else.

He’s probably just tired, she tells herself.

“Ohh,” she murmurs. “I see…”

But she doesn’t. Not really.

Theo slides his arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple. It’s tender, almost instinctual.

But it doesn’t soothe her.

If anything, it makes her tense.

“The house is still there,” he says softly. “Waiting for us. Once you’re well enough, we can leave whenever you’re ready.”

He pauses. His voice lowers, anticipatory.

“Actually… I have another place nearby. A smaller house. Just the two of us. We could move in now.”

Rose blinks again, surprised by the weight of the offer. The finality in his voice makes it feel less like a choice and more like a plan already in motion.

His fingers skim her arm. His breath warms her skin.

“I also have something I want to give you,” he says, his lips brushing just beneath her cheekbone. “Something to prove that… I can keep you safe. Until I’m strong enough to protect you fully.”

His voice is reverent. Almost sacred.

But it makes her chest constrict.

She wants to think. To breathe. To remember.

But Theo’s lips are trailing soft, careful kisses down her jaw, scattering her thoughts like dandelion seeds on the wind.

Part of her wants to say yes. To let go. To believe.

But something tugs at her.

A memory she can’t name.

A face she can’t place.

A promise that doesn’t belong to Theo.

Still, she stays quiet.

And lets him kiss her like she’s already his.

Meanwhile Victoria’s voice cut through the marble halls of Blackwood Manor like a blade.

“She isn’t even in a relationship!” she screamed, the chandelier overhead trembling in its delicate chains. “So what does it matter if she knows the father? Unless he marries her, it’s meaningless!”

In the parlor, Marcus kept his tone calm, but his jaw was tight. “She’s not promiscuous, Vicky. You know that. Rose may have her flaws, but that isn’t one of them.”

“She lost her memory, Marcus!” Victoria snapped, pacing in front of the fireplace, arms folded like a queen awaiting judgment. “She conveniently forgot who the father is. How does that help her now?”

“It’s not convenient. It’s trauma.” Marcus stood his ground, voice low but edged. “And trauma doesn’t need your scorn on top of it.”

“I don’t need a lecture,” she hissed, whirling on him. “I need a solution!”

Upstairs, Alexander stood frozen outside the door, fingers curled around the railing, listening.

They didn’t know he was there.

But he heard everything.

He knew Rose. Better than anyone. She wouldn’t want them digging through her things, especially not now. If Victoria was fuming, it was only a matter of time before she stormed upstairs and started ripping through her daughter's room, hunting for proof, for shame, for something she could use as leverage.

Alexander turned on his heel.

He slipped into Rose’s room silently. The air still smelled faintly of her perfume, something floral, something calm. Her notebooks were stacked neatly by the bed, and her laptop sat tucked under a pillow. He grabbed them all without hesitation and stuffed them into his backpack.

She didn’t have many safe spaces left.

But she’d have this one.

Back in his room, he buried the bag deep in his closet behind boxes of unused shoes and forgotten clothes.

Just in case.

Needing some time to think while he waits for Rose’s call Alex heads to their garden. Passing the sitting room it smelled like lemon polish and expensive disinterest. Velvet chairs positioned just so, sunlight pouring in through the tall windows, like even the day itself was trying to make the Blackwood daughters look softer than they were.

“Honestly,” Violet sighed, crossing her legs with practiced elegance, “if Rose had any sense, this wouldn’t have turned into such a disaster.”

Iris didn’t look up from her manicure. “She’s never had much sense. That’s half the problem.”

“And the other half is her weight,” Dahlia muttered, lifting her teacup like it was something she might throw. “She just looks vulnerable. Like someone who doesn’t belong in our family.”

“She doesn’t,” Violet said flatly.

“She almost destroyed our reputation,” Iris added, snapping her gum. “Do you know how many of our partners reached out to reconsider their association with us?”

“And why would’t we still do business with them,” Violet said bitterly. “It’s not like it was the entire family that attacked her.”

“We looked for the attacker!” Dahlia snapped, eyes flashing. “Because she couldn’t even remember what happened, we now look bad. Because she didn’t have the presence of mind to scream or fight or—”

“You mean because she had a head injury?” Iris cut in lazily, finally glancing up. “That’s a thing that happens when you’re assaulted, D.”

There was a pause. Dahlia rolled her eyes.

“Well, I’m just saying… if she were smart—”

“She’s not,” Violet interrupted. “That’s the point.”

“Exactly,” Dahlia agreed, setting down her tea with a little too much force. “It’s not even the incident. It’s her. The way she is.”

“And now she’s pregnant,” Violet added with disdain, folding her arms. “A perfect cherry on top of her ongoing campaign to humiliate us all.”

“It’s not like she had a brand deal fall through because of it,” Iris muttered.

“No, she just had the luxury of disappearing into a hospital bed while we handled the press, the clients, the Board, ”

“She won’t even be useful to the family now,” Dahlia said with finality. “She can’t be married off properly. She’s done.”

They sat in silence for a moment, letting that sink in.

The only thing missing was someone to agree out loud.

Eventually, Violet sighed, leaning back in her chair like it took effort to keep being right.

“She’ll just end up clinging to Theo. And he’s soft enough to let her.”

Iris hummed. “And dumb enough to think that’s noble.”

“Let him take her,” Dahlia said, grabbing her phone. “She’ll ruin his future next.”

“Well since none of you asked, Rose is doing great.” Alexander said coolly as he passed them to go to the garden.