"The best place to find a helping hand is at the end of your own arm." Swedish Proverb

Saint

The drive back to the hotel was a stark contrast to the exhilaration of the gala. Veronica, still buzzing from the evening, hummed along to a song on the radio, a soft smile playing on her lips. The music, a catchy pop tune, seemed to perfectly capture her mood. She even swayed her head a little, her eyes sparkling with leftover joy. It was a welcome change after the tension of the past week. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax, to bask in the afterglow of her happiness. It was a reminder of what I was fighting for, what I was determined to protect.

"That was a great party," she said, her voice light and airy. "Hayley really knows how to throw a bash."

"She does," I agreed, my gaze flickering to her. She looked beautiful, even more so now that the worry lines had smoothed from her face. The night had done her good.

"And thank you, Saint," she added, her smile widening. "For everything. For making me dance, for… "well, for just being there."

My heart did a little flip at her words. "You're welcome, Veronica," I replied, my voice a little husky. "You deserve a night out, a chance to just be yourself."

The music changed to a slower, more romantic song, and Veronica's humming softened. She closed her eyes for a moment as if savoring the memory of the evening. I watched her, my mind replaying the moments we'd shared, the laughter, the stolen kisses, the feeling of her in my arms. It was a night I wouldn't forget anytime soon.

But as we neared the hotel, the feeling of unease returned, creeping back into my consciousness like a shadow. I knew it wouldn't last, this brief respite from the reality of the situation. Someone was watching her, someone was threatening her, and I couldn't shake the feeling that we were running out of time.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

We pulled into the hotel parking garage, and I parked the car in our usual spot. As we walked through the lobby, I kept my eyes peeled, scanning the faces around us, searching for anything out of place.

We reached Veronica's room, and I unlocked the door for her. She stepped inside, and I followed my senses on high alert. The room was dark. Veronica reached for the light switch, and as she flicked it on, the room was bathed in a soft glow. And then we saw it.

The room was filled with the overwhelming scent of roses. A cascade of them, in every imaginable color, covered her bed. Red, white, yellow, pink, and even a few rare blue ones. It was a breathtaking display, a floral explosion that seemed to mock the sense of unease that filled the room. And in the center of the bed, nestled amongst the roses, was a pink dress. A delicate, elegant gown that looked like it belonged on a princess.

My blood ran cold. This wasn't just creepy; it was a deliberate message, a twisted display of obsession. Someone had been in her room and had arranged this macabre tableau. And they'd left a note.

It was a small, white envelope, placed carefully on top of the dress. My hand didn't tremble as I reached for it. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that whatever was inside that envelope would change everything. I quickly pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves from my pocket before carefully picking up the envelope.

I opened it carefully, unfolding the crisp paper inside. The message was short, chillingly so.

*“Roses are red, violets are blue, I’ll have you, Veronica, no matter what you do.”*

My grip tightened on the note, but my hand remained steady. This wasn't just some random stalker. This was personal. This was someone who knew her, who was playing a twisted game. And they were getting closer.

I looked at Veronica. Her face was pale, and the joy from earlier completely vanished, replaced by a look of dawning horror. She took a step back as if recoiling from the floral invasion.

"What does it mean?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

I didn't answer immediately. I was still trying to process what I'd just read, the chilling message, the blatant violation of her privacy. This had crossed a line. This was no longer just about protecting her; it was about stopping someone who was clearly obsessed, someone who was willing to invade her space, to send her these terrifying messages.

Finally, I met her gaze. "It means," I said, my voice low and dangerous, "that we're going to find out who's behind this, Veronica. And I'm going to stop them." I turned to her, my expression hardening. "We're leaving. Now. Pack a bag."

"Leaving? Where are we going?" she asked, her voice still trembling.

"To a safe place," I replied. "Somewhere they won't find you. I'm calling Marcus. We're going to his place."

She nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and trust. Without another word, she moved to her suitcase, her movements quick and efficient. I pulled out my phone and dialed Marcus's number. He answered on the second ring.

"Marcus, we have a problem," I said, my voice grim. I quickly explained the situation, the roses, the dress, and the note.

"Damn it," Marcus cursed. "I'll get the guest room ready. You guys get over here as fast as you can. And Saint… be careful."

"Always am," I replied. I hung up the phone and turned back to Veronica. "Let's go," I said, my voice firm. "We're not staying here another minute."