One Month Without Roses
Day 1: The Missing Rose
The first morning without a rose was hardly noticeable. Anastasia woke up as usual, her golden hair cascading over silk pillows, the early morning light casting a soft glow across her lavish bedroom. She sat up, stretching lazily, her mind already moving through the tasks of the day.
It was only when she walked past the grand double doors of her estate's entrance that she noticed it.
Or rather, the absence of it.
For months, a single rose had been waiting for her—sometimes wrapped in a silk ribbon, other times tucked into an envelope with nothing but her name elegantly scrawled on the front. It had arrived in different ways, sometimes delivered through her staff, sometimes appearing in places only someone with a disturbingly intimate knowledge of her movements could predict.
But today, there was nothing.
She didn't stop walking. She didn't react.
Instead, she kept moving, as if the lack of a flower was inconsequential, as if she hadn't even noticed.
It was just one day.
Nothing had changed.
Day 3: The Thought Creeps In
By the third day, a small, unwelcome thought crept into her mind.
Maybe he was late. Maybe the rose had been misplaced.
Maybe—
She crushed the thought before it could take root.
It didn't matter.
Vincent's little game of sending her roses had always been his choice, not hers. It wasn't as if she had ever responded. She had never acknowledged them, never accepted them with anything more than silent indifference.
So why was she waiting?
She wasn't.
She refused to be.
Day 7: The Realization
A full week had passed, and for the first time in years, Vincent Blackwood had vanished from her daily life.
Anastasia's mornings felt strangely empty. Not that she would ever admit it.
There was no flower waiting for her when she woke up. No silent reminder of his obsession, of his presence lingering in the background of her life like an unshakable shadow.
It was unnerving.
Not because she missed the roses. That would be ridiculous.
But because the certainty of them had been shattered.
Vincent had always chased after her. Always.
And now, he had stopped.
Day 10: The Silent War
By the tenth day, something strange began to happen.
Anastasia caught herself looking.
She would enter a room and instinctively scan the corners, as if expecting a single crimson petal to be left behind. Her fingers twitched when she saw a flower vendor on the street, her mind betraying her for a fraction of a second before she forced it away.
It was nothing.
It meant nothing.
And yet, late at night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, a single thought whispered through her mind:
Where is he?
Day 14: The Unspoken Irritation
It had been two weeks.
And the irritation had begun to grow.
Not that anyone could see it. Outwardly, Anastasia remained as composed and untouchable as ever—her beauty flawless, her demeanor as cold as ever. But beneath the surface, a quiet storm was brewing.
Vincent Blackwood was the most obsessive man she had ever known.
He had followed her like a shadow, watched her with those unreadable green eyes, devoted himself to a love she had never reciprocated.
And now, he had simply disappeared.
Why?
Was he testing her?
Trying to make her react?
Or… had he simply given up?
That last thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
It shouldn't matter.
It didn't.
And yet—
Why did it feel like he had won?
Day 20: The Irritation Turns to Unease
By the twentieth day, irritation had turned into something else.
An unsettling unease.
She didn't understand it.
Anastasia had always been logical. Cold, calculating, efficient. She made decisions based on facts, not emotions.
But this?
This was not logical.
She should have felt relieved. Shouldn't she?
She had spent years ignoring him. Years watching him chase after her, thinking of him as nothing more than an amusement—something to be dismissed.
She had won.
Then why did it feel like she had lost?
Day 25: The Lingering Question
By now, it was obvious.
Vincent was gone.
Not just the roses.
Him.
There were no lingering glances, no unspoken words hanging between them when they crossed paths at events. No silent presence watching from the edges of her world.
For the first time since she could remember, he was completely, utterly absent.
And that was when the thought finally took form—the thought she had been avoiding since the moment the first rose didn't arrive.
Had she miscalculated?
Had she pushed him too far?
Had she… lost him?
The idea made her laugh at first—because it was ridiculous. Vincent Blackwood didn't just move on.
He had always belonged to her.
Hadn't he?
Hadn't she always known that, deep down?
Hadn't she relied on it?
Day 30: The Quiet Realization
By the end of the month, Anastasia stood at the balcony of her estate, the night air cool against her skin. She stared out at the city, her blue eyes unreadable, her expression as cold and detached as ever.
And yet—
There was something missing.
Something she would never name.
Something she would never admit.
But the truth lingered, silent and undeniable, like a whisper at the back of her mind.
She had thought she was immune to him.
She had thought his obsession was one-sided.
She had thought she didn't care.
She had been wrong.