Chapter 3

Thorn's POV

Rosella Summers. This unforgotten name had haunted me for the past years, and I never thought that a grim satisfaction was what I'd feel now that she was standing in front of me. In flesh, utterly shocked.

What in the hell was with those dated glasses? Annoying. But they couldn't hide the emotions on her face. The door clicked shut softly behind her.

Six years. She was finally out of any places to hide. What a fate!

I remained seated on my swivel chair, gently moving it from side to side while my eyes watched her intensely.

I could practically smell her fear, her shock. The stunned stillness in her expression was deeply satisfying.

Then my gaze drifted lower, to her throat, to her neck. My mark from last night should have been there. But it was gone... covered up.

"You... asked for me, sir?"

Her voice made my jaw clench. God, how I'd missed the way she once called my name.

I never forgot the day I woke up after the surgery—alive, stitched back together, and utterly alone. After everything we'd been through, I'd believed what we had was unbreakable. I'd expected to see her there, holding my hand, her eyes full of the same fierce love I felt for her.

Instead, she was gone. No note. No call. Just silence.

That betrayal cut deeper than any wound. In the weeks that followed, I lost count of how many times I dialed her number, only to hear the same automated message telling me the line was disconnected. I hired investigators, combed through every trace she might have left, chasing shadows of a woman who had erased herself from my world completely.

For six years, there was nothing. No word. No sign. Only a hollow space inside me, gnawing me into a monster no one else could understand.

For six years, she lived freely, while I was left drowning in hell.

Now, at last, I'd found her. And I would never allow her to disappear again.

She was going to be trapped in my world—until she paid for what she'd done to me.

"I need a concise overview of the company's current operations. I don't want opinions—I want clear, factual explanations." My voice was cold as I watched her approach and stop behind my desk. The initial shock on her face had vanished, replaced by a detached professionalism.

"Understood, sir. We maintain regular summaries. I can pull the relevant files immediately," she replied, her tone respectful yet distant.

Her composed posture and formal delivery irritated me more than I cared to admit.

'My sweet Rosie has grown claws over the years, hasn't she?'

"Pulling files is too slow," I said, lowering my voice with deliberate impatience. "Narrate it to me. Now."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, but she smoothed it over quickly. Straightening her posture, she began outlining the company's recent performance. But I wasn't listening—not to her words. All I could see was the movement of her lips, and all I could remember was the way she'd looked beneath me last night, falling apart under my touch.

My fist tightened against the polished surface of the desk. I stared into her eyes, searching for my own reflection as I once could—just as I had last night, when she'd surrendered to me completely. But those damned glasses made it impossible.

She never used to wear them.

"Why do you—" I began, clearing my throat roughly, but the door opened again. Two more assistants entered, and my frown deepened.

"Apologies, Mr. Rockwell. We were delayed." They positioned themselves beside Rosella, neither meeting my eyes directly. Only Rosella once had the courage.

I released my clenched fist slowly.

"I want a detailed breakdown of your current responsibilities. Time allocation. Response windows. Priorities," I said, leaning back in my chair with an air of disinterest.

They started listing their duties, but the only voice I truly heard was hers.

My gaze remained fixed on her. I didn't want to look away. Even through those unflattering frames, I wanted her eyes on mine. Yet she kept avoiding direct contact.

Still running, even now.

"If I were to eliminate one assistant position today," I asked, a faint, cold smile touching my lips, "whose workload could be absorbed without disrupting operations?"

Rosella's gaze finally locked with mine, unmistakable fear flashing through her face. But it lasted only a moment. Instinctively, she took a small step forward, shoulders squaring in a posture that was both defensive and defiant.

"Sir, with all due respect, you can't do that. These positions function independently within their defined scopes, and historical performance has proven the structure to be both viable and effective."

I tilted my head, watching her with icy detachment. How ironic. She could so easily stand up for those she believed in now—yet when I had needed her most, she hadn't even tried. She'd simply vanished, without a word.

"The past is irrelevant. This company is under my leadership now, and it will operate by my standards." I shifted my attention to the other two assistants, who stood stiffly beside her. "Why do I need more than one executive assistant?" I asked, my tone cutting.

They faltered, visibly uneasy. It was clear they were well-trained—but surviving under me required more than protocol. It required nerve.

"Because executive decision-making isn't linear," Rosella cut in again, voice firm. "Parallel processing prevents bottlenecks at your level. They report to me, and I report to you. The structure exists to facilitate efficiency in an organization of this scale."

Her eyes were wide, her breath slightly uneven from the force of her defense. That stubborn set of her jaw—it reminded me sharply of the girl I'd first met. Fiery. Unyielding. Defiant in a way that had mirrored my own rebellion back then.

She had been a surprising opponent, even then.

But so much had changed since.

I crossed one leg over the other, leaning back with a faint, unreadable smile. "Very well. Let's discuss these responsibilities further. Since you're the senior executive assistant, I assume you're fully versed in all operations." I glanced dismissively at the other two. "You're dismissed."

One of the women shot Rosella a look of sympathy as she turned to leave. But my thorny little rose only offered her a reassuring, almost tender smile in return. She could smile so easily for others. Yet she hadn't once smiled for me since stepping into this godforsaken room.

So confident she could handle me, was she?

It infuriated me.

When we were finally alone, I pulled myself up as Rosella began explaining what she clearly thought I needed to hear, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, her gaze fixed somewhere past my shoulder. Every word that came out of her lips was unclear to my ears. The sound seemed distant, but her voice was clear.

I saw her stiffen a little when I stopped in front of her and slowly seated myself on the edge of my desk. The distance between us was emphasized as she stood there like frozen meat.

Her eyes met mine. Glassy, shaken. But just as quickly, she regained her composure. The swiftness of it sent a flash of irritation through me.

"Now that we're alone," I interrupted, my tone dripping with sarcasm, "do you really plan to keep pretending we're strangers?"

She stared at me, lips slightly parted. And finally, a crack to her composure showed. There was a long pause between us as she struggled to find a word to say.

Her lips parted and closed several times before she finally swallowed hard and looked away.

"We're over years ago—"

"Six years ago," I cut in sharply, emphasizing every syllable. "Is it really that easy for you to discard what you no longer find useful?"

She inhaled sharply. "We're no longer on speaking terms."

No longer on speaking terms, huh? My jaw clenched, a humorless smile touching my lips.

"You can't even say my name, can you?"

Her eyes flicked back to mine. "I don't see the need. Besides, we're boss and employee now."

"Or is it your guilt that took away your courage to say my name?" My teeth gritted. The playful smirk on my lips slowly disappeared.

"W-Wha—"

"You probably never expected me to survive," I said, my voice low and relentless. "To wake up after you left me half-dead in that hospital bed. To stand in front of you again, alive and well."

Pain flashed in her eyes—deep, weathered, haunting. Behind those glasses, she looked fragile, but it stirred no pity in me. My rage was stronger than any mercy I could have for her right now.

"News flash, Rosella," I tilted my head as my teeth gritted again. "I'm alive. And I'm not going anywhere."

She shook her head slowly, but no words came.

Still no explanation, even now.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear..." I leaned in, my voice dropping to a near-whisper, my lips almost brushing her ear. The familiar scent of her—soft, lingering—threatened to unravel something in me, but I forced it to shut.

This reckless little flower no longer had the power to sway me.

"My coming here wasn't a coincidence. I came for one reason, and one reason only..." I paused, letting the silence thicken before finishing, "...to ruin you."

I drew back just enough to meet her eyes—eyes that still refused to look directly at me.

'You are mine, thorny little rose. Mine to break.'