He starts sending white roses—never red.
Always one at a time. Always left where only she can find them.
At first, Anastasia thinks it's a coincidence. The white roses.
One appears on her desk in the morning, fresh, its petals unblemished, lying there as if it had been waiting just for her. She doesn't touch it. By the afternoon, it's gone—vanished as silently as it had come.
This time, on the windshield of her car.
No name. No message. Just the flower.
By the third day, it's waiting for her on her pillow. As if someone had entered her private space, left it there, and disappeared without a trace.
She doesn't have to ask who it is. She knows.
Vincent.
She tells herself it doesn't mean anything. He's playing games, just as he always does. She's seen him destroy people with nothing but a whisper, break hearts without even trying. And yet—
This is different.
He isn't pushing her. He isn't taunting her. He isn't even asking for a response.
He's simply waiting.
And that unsettles her more than anything else.
She starts throwing them away.
The first time, she crushes the rose in her fist and tosses it into the trash, expecting that to be the end of it.
But the next day, there's another.
Then another.
Then another.
She burns one. The ashes scatter into the night, carried away by the wind.
The following morning, a new one is placed on her windowsill.
She doesn't know how he's doing it. How he always seems to know exactly where she'll be, how he manages to place them so precisely in her path. It's like a ghost leaving traces in the dark.
It should frighten her.
it doesn't.
What terrifies her more is the way she catches herself reaching out before she can stop. The way, sometimes, she hesitates before discarding them. The way a part of her wants to keep one. Just one.
But she doesn't.
She refuses.
So the game continues. Silent. Unspoken.
She ignores him in public, turns away when their eyes meet, pretends as though she doesn't see him watching.
But he never says a word. He never approaches.
He only waits.
And in that waiting—he is winning.