The Devil And His Rose

Seventeen years had gone by since Rose's birth. Rose had the kind of life every teenage creature dreamed of. Born into a family of wealth and influence, she lacked nothing.

When it came to her looks, she was nothing short of breathtaking. Her skin was as white as snow, smooth and soft, like rose petals kissed by morning dew.

Her long, flowing hair wasn't blonde like her siblings'—it was pure white, shimmering like spun silver under the sun.

Her icy blue eyes were mesmerizing, a hue so rare and piercing they seemed to freeze time itself.

Her lips, small and pink, curved into a smile that could both disarm and enchant. She had the kind of beauty that felt otherworldly, almost unreal.

The kind that left people staring, unsure if they were in awe or intimidated.

Her figure only added to the allure. Long, elegant legs carried her with effortless grace, her narrow waist accentuating her perfectly proportioned curves.

Her shoulders, hips, and rounded bottom were balanced in a way that seemed divinely crafted. She was flawless—a living work of art.

And yet, there was something about her that set her apart, even among her siblings.

Not just her physical features, though those were enough to draw attention, but something deeper, something harder to name.

Rose didn't just look different—she felt different. Her beauty wasn't just striking; it was unsettling in its perfection, as though she didn't belong entirely to this world.

Her icy blue eyes held a depth that seemed far beyond her years, and her movements carried an elegance that was almost unnatural.

She was uniquely different. Too perfect in a way that made people uneasy, as if there was more to her than anyone could see. Something hidden, waiting.

Today was Rose's 18th birthday. She stirred in her bed as the sound of her screaming siblings echoed through the house.

Her blue eyes fluttered open lazily, and she sat up, stretching her arms over her head with a sleepy yawn.

"These little..." she murmured, a tired smile tugging at her lips. But as the realization struck, her exhaustion vanished, replaced with sudden energy.

Her birthday. Today was her 18th birthday.

Rose jumped out of bed, her steps quick and light as she made her way to her door. She pushed it open and walked to the staircase overlook, leaning casually on the railing.

"Hello bitches and bitch-asses," she called out playfully, her voice carrying over the commotion below.

Her younger sister, Linda, who was around 16, turned to look up at her, a dramatic gasp escaping her lips. "Did you just cuss?"

Rose smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "Well, yes. I'll be 18 soon, and no one will be able to stop me from cussing anymore."

Her voice held an unmistakable pride, like she truly believed adulthood was all shimmer and shine.

"We'll see what Mom has to say about that," Isabella, her 15-year-old sister, shot back with a teasing grin before throwing her head back and screaming, "MOM! MOM! MOM!"

Rose's smile dropped instantly as she straightened her posture. Gosh, why was she cursed with such annoying siblings?

"Shush!" Rose hissed, pressing a finger to her lips. "Do you have no conscience? Mom and Dad are still asleep. Why are you so noisy?"

That, of course, was a lie. Rose couldn't care less about her parents' sleep. She just didn't want to get in trouble for "corrupting" her siblings.

"Since when did you care about your father and me getting our rest, Rose?" Becca's voice rang out from the kitchen.

Rose froze, then plastered on her sweetest smile as her mother walked into the room carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies.

Without missing a beat, Rose rushed down the stairs, arms spread wide, pulling her mother into a tight hug.

"Don't be like that, Mother. Of course, I care," Rose said, her cheeky grin widening as she stepped back slightly.

"Mama Rosa has been cussing around, trying to corrupt us," Isabella interrupted, smirking as Rose shot her a glare that could kill.

"Is that true, Rose?" Becca asked, feigning sternness as she raised an eyebrow.

Rose let out a dramatic gasp, clutching her chest as if she'd been gravely wronged. "Mama! Do you really believe her?" she said, gearing up for a full rant.

"She said she's allowed to curse now," Linda added casually, earning herself a death glare from Rose.

Becca's amusement was clear as she began walking toward the dining table, her tone light and teasing. "Oh? And why is that, exactly?"

Rose waved frantically at her sisters, silently begging them to keep quiet, but Isabella wasn't one to let an opportunity slip.

"She claims it's because her eighteenth birthday is today," Isabella said with a smirk, crossing her arms triumphantly.

"How satisfied are you now?" Rose muttered darkly, glaring at Isabella.

"Very," Isabella shot back smugly.

While the sisters were still bickering, they failed to notice their mother's sudden, rigid pause.

Becca's movements halted, the tray of cookies trembling in her hands before slipping from her grasp.

Her eighteenth birthday.

The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. He was arriving today.

Her heart seized in her chest, the room spinning around her as she stumbled backward, collapsing to the floor.

The cookies scattered around her, a few pieces rolling under the dining table.

Why was this hitting her so hard? She had been preparing for this day her entire life. She knew it was inevitable, yet it still felt like the first time she had learned the truth.

Becca's vision blurred, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her mind refused to process anything else.

Multiple hands shook her shoulders, voices calling out to her, but it was as if she were trapped in another world. She couldn't move, couldn't respond.

James, hearing the commotion from upstairs, rushed down.

His brows furrowed at the sight of his wife slumped on the floor, surrounded by their children and a few panicked workers.

"What happened?" he barked, his voice sharp as he knelt by Becca's side.

The girls moved aside to give him space while Linda, still stunned, stammered, "We were just talking about Rose's birthday. I don't know why—"

But James didn't need more explanation. His face darkened as the weight of the situation dawned on him.

Without another word, he scooped Becca into his arms effortlessly, cradling her in a bridal hold. His jaw was tight, his steps purposeful.

"Go stay with your brothers," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't even spare the girls a glance as he began ascending the stairs, his wife limp in his arms.

He turned to one of the workers, his voice sharp and commanding. "Call the doctor."

As he reached the first step, he paused, something crossing his mind. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing slightly as they found Rose.

"Rose, come with me," he said.

Rose froze, her stomach knotting with sudden anxiety. Her palms grew damp as she instinctively wiped them on her pajama pants.

"Did I do something wrong?" she muttered under her breath, her mind racing. She replayed the past few days in her head, trying to recall if she had done anything to anger her parents.

Her legs felt heavy as she hesitated at the base of the stairs. James's gaze didn't waver, the unspoken command in his eyes making it clear she had no choice.

"Now," he added, his tone soft but firm.

Rose swallowed hard and followed him, her feet dragging as though every step was taking her closer to something she wasn't ready to face.