[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":10},["ShallowReactive",2],{"viewer-data-2603220ECDF1-613":3},{"id":4,"number":5,"name":6,"content":7,"isLocked":8,"price":9,"hasRead":8},613,55,"Chapter 55: The Scent of White Roses and Poor Decisions","\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Back home, Violette Ellis was still fixated on that face. Where had she seen it before?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It wasn't a generic face, yet something about it nagged at her. This residential complex housed everyone from high-profile business moguls to D-list celebrities and elite professionals. It was easy to get lost in the sea of faces, and often people would approach her with the same tired line: \"Miss Ellis, you look so familiar.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She was used to it. Being a news anchor in Deepwater meant her face was a staple in local living rooms every evening. But under the heavy studio makeup and professional lighting, she looked different—polished, curated, and distant. In real life, she was just Violette. And \"you look so familiar\" was just the default setting for strangers who couldn't quite place the feeling.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She shook the thought away and turned her attention to the steak. The raw, cool flesh was unpleasantly slick against her skin. Every time a stray piece of fat stuck to her finger, she shuddered, wiped it off, and headed for the faucet. Scrub, dry, repeat. She washed her hands at least five times just prepping the meat—scoring the fibers, seasoning with a dusting of salt, trying to handle the raw texture without retching.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She realized then that some people were simply never meant for the kitchen. She certainly wasn't one of those women who thrived in it. She wasn't \"domestic\" in the slightest.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She followed the recipe like a soldier, hitting one snag after another: the oil hissed and popped, the meat charred, the skillet was punishingly hot, and the hand soap disappeared at an alarming rate. After a chaotic scramble, she managed to plate two steaks just as the front door clicked open.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman Griffin walked in and stopped dead. A faint, acrid smell of burnt beef hung in the air.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He suspected the house cleaner had left a burner on, but as he stepped into the kitchen, his pace slowed. Two plates of \"gourmet\" steak sat on the table, their charred edges mocking him.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He didn't blink. He loosened his tie, unclasped his watch, and sat down, already calculating how to choke down every bite without making a face. He checked his phone. What day was it? His thumb hovered over the screen. Then, he opened a group chat with his inner circle.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman: Is a hundred-day anniversary a thing?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley: ?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley: If I recall correctly, you’re the only married man in this chat. Asking a group of single guys for marriage advice? A little rich, don't you think?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman: Forget I asked.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley: Can I ask a question instead?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley: So, what did you get her?\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman: ...\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Dax: Not having a gift isn't the problem, Roman. The real nightmare is you showing up empty-handed while she’s clearly put in the effort. That’s a death sentence. (Smile.jpg)\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman glanced at the steaks again and rubbed his temples.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Bradley: Don't panic. The day's not over. Order 99 white roses, express delivery. Flower shop's closing in twenty minutes. Go.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">A flurry of links to high-end florists hit his screen. Bradley was a menace, but he was a useful one. Roman followed the advice, ordering a massive bouquet of white roses. They’d be here in thirty minutes.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He finished just as Violette emerged from the bedroom. She had changed into a square-neck knit dress that hugged her frame, the hem hitting just below her knees with a daring slit that offered a glimpse of skin every time she moved. It was standard attire for an evening out, but at home, it felt like a statement.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman was certain now: she was celebrating the milestone. Even if it was just the hundredth day.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Their cat, Sunny, scampered after her, swiping playfully at the swaying hem of her dress. Before the cat could land a second pounce, Roman swooped in, lifting the feline by the scruff. He locked eyes with the cat, who blinked back with wide, innocent eyes.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Go play somewhere else,\" Roman murmured, depositing the cat in the guest room. A peace offering of a wet food can silenced its protests.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">When he returned to the dining room, Violette had already lit the scented candles. The lighting was low and intimate. She was hunched over, smoothing out the tablecloth. Hearing his footsteps, she didn't look back.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Well?\" she called out, her voice playful. \"One hundred days of marriage. I think I’ve earned a gold star, don’t you?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">The way the dress clung to her waist was maddening. Roman closed the distance, his hand settling firmly on the small of her back. \"You remembered?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Of course.\" She stood up, turning into his reach. \"There’s this countdown app. It’s a lifesaver for birthdays and anniversaries. It popped up this morning. I didn't know if we were the type to celebrate, but since the notification went off, I figured—\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She stopped, her back bumping into his chest. His presence was sudden, overwhelming, and hungry.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She looked up, catching the line of his jaw. Roman’s lips were pressed into a thin, tight line; his throat moved as he swallowed, his entire body radiating a tense, simmering heat. She knew that look. It felt like being submerged in water—heavy, soft, and drowning.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Not yet,\" she whispered, touching her burning cheek. \"I worked way too hard on those steaks.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She meant to sound professional, but it came out as a soft, breathless plea. Roman felt his resolve crumble. He leaned down, pressing his lips against her ear.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Understood.\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He took over the rest of the evening, pouring a bottle of the sparkling wine she’d loved back at the White Peaks. The atmosphere was thick, intoxicating, and suffocating in the best way possible. They’d just finished dinner, her stomach still pleasantly tight from the meal, when the doorbell rang.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Roman wanted to ignore it, but his phone buzzed at the same time. The delivery.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">He leaned in, kissing her sweat-dampened forehead. She sat on the edge of the dining table, one slipper dangling from her toe, looking at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"I have to get the door,\" he said, straightening his shirt.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Seen from behind, he looked like the embodiment of disciplined restraint—crisp shirt, tailored trousers, every hair in place. No one would ever guess what had been happening seconds ago. Violette shook her head, trying to settle the electric hum vibrating under her skin.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">She heard the brief exchange through the intercom. Moments later, Roman returned, holding a massive bouquet of white roses. He stood a few feet away, looking slightly sheepish.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Is it too late for a gift?\"\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">It was almost identical to the bouquet he’d sent to the studio when they first met. Violette stared at him for a long, silent minute. She took in every detail of his face—more intently than she looked at the flowers.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">Finally, she spoke.\u003C/p>\u003Cp class=\"chapter-paragraph\">\"Roman... did you forget that you’re allergic to pollen?\"\u003C/p>",false,0,1774272918961]