The Broken Ring

ISABELLA

Dingdong!

Dingdong!

I groaned and rolled over in bed when the doorbell rang annoyingly sharp early in the morning.

Reluctantly, I sat up, rubbing my eyes before glancing at the clock on my bedside.

4:30 a.am

Who on earth would be ringing at this hour?

Grabbing a shawl, I made my way to the main door. Instead of opening it immediately, I peeked through the peephole but saw no one outside.

I gently opened the door but kept the double lock in place, just in case someone tried to force their way in.

I looked outside, but there was no one there. Only the empty streets, swaying trees, and the dim glow of the streetlights greeted me.

I closed the door again and unhooked the double lock. Just as I was about to step outside, I felt something at my feet. Looking down, I saw a bouquet of flowers.

I picked it up and noticed a small card tucked inside.

Isabella Rossi.

That was my name, written on the card.

A shiver ran down to my spine as I felt someone watching me from afar. Instantly, I went inside. I shut the door quickly and hurried to lock it again.

Once again, I received a bouquet from an anonymous sender. I inspected the flowers but found nothing unusual, just like always only the flowers and a name card addressed to me.

At first, it started with a single black rose.

No note, no name. Just a flower, and its petals are darker than the night, waiting for me on my doorstep.

At first, I thought it was a mistake, a mis delivery, or a coincidence. But then, the second one came, so I threw it in the trash bin.

Then came the third delivery, but this time, it was different. There was a name on the card, directly addressed to me.

Everyday, I'd find it there lying in silence, as if it had always been meant for me. The address was unmistakable.

My name, printed on a plain white envelope, though there was never anything inside. Just the rose, always the black rose.

For the first time, I held the bouquet longer than I should have, feeling the softness of its petals, inhaling its faint, alluring scent.

Suddenly, something inside me recalled a certain someone. The one who never showed up on our anniversary dates yet always left red roses and gifts on the table

It has been one year since my divorce from Verio and a year since he last spoke to me. He handed me a pen to sign the papers without even sparing me a second glance.

Our two-year marriage had been a cold, loveless arrangement. A contract bound by duty rather than love. He had never once brought me flowers, let alone a black rose.

Verio wasn't the kind of man who left gifts.

He was the kind of man who left scars.

I should have felt free when he walked away. I should have celebrated the end of our marriage, finally escaping a life that had felt like torture.

Yet, every time I remember him, I can't seem to find myself truly happy.

I placed the flowers on the table, I stared at them for a minute and a sudden uneasy weight settled in my chest.

Now that Verio and I are divorced, I no longer have Romano protection. There's no one left to stand by my side or shield me from those who wish to harm me.

Suddenly, an eerie sensation slithered down my spine, sending a prickle across my skin.

This wasn't just a harmless gift, this flower has a hidden message.

A message I didn't yet understand.

I swallowed hard and turned away, retreating to my room in an attempt to push the suffocating thoughts aside.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the door handle, ready to shut myself away from the overwhelming silence of my apartment. But before I could react, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back.

A rough, calloused hand clamped over my mouth.

My heart stopped.

Then it slammed violently against my ribs, the sudden terror jolting every nerve in my body.

I thrashed, trying to break free, but the grip on me was unyielding, like steel wrapped in heat.

"Oh no, Bella," a deep voice murmured against my ear, the sound curling into my senses like smoke.

It was a rough yet familiar tone.

My breath hitched.

No.

It couldn't be.

How did he get in? Where had he come from?

I darted my gaze wildly around the dimly lit room, searching for anything that could help me escape.

Then my eyes landed on the open window, the curtains billowing in the wind.

My stomach dropped.

The realization sent a violent shudder through me. He had climbed through the window.

Had he been watching me this entire time? Had he stood in the darkness, waiting, before slipping inside like a shadow?

The grip on my waist tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to remind me he was in control.

"Don't scream," he warned, his voice a low, deliberate threat.

A fresh wave of fear crashed over me.

I fought harder, twisting in his grasp, but he didn't budge. He was too strong, and composed, completely unaffected by my struggle.

Tears welled in my eyes, hot and blinding.

If Verio were here, he would-

I froze.

Why was I thinking about him?

Why, in a moment like this, did my mind instinctively reach for the man who had spent two years treating me like a stranger?

The man who had walked away without a backward glance?

Because even after everything... When I was in danger, he always saved me.

My vision starts to blur because of my tears.

Until a single tear slipped down my cheek.

And then, the grip around me shifted.

The hand on my mouth loosened, then slowly moved away. The pressure on my waist eased, his hold turning softer now.

I inhaled sharply, my body coiled like a spring, ready to run away. But before I could take a step, he caught me again, this time pulling me into him.

My face bump against his wide, broad and solid warmth body.

I gasped when his firm arm curled around my back, holding me in place. But it wasn't rough anymore or even forceful.

Suddenly, I noticed his familiar touch.

My breath came in shallow as I felt my pulse beat.

I knew this embrace.

"Stop crying." His voice was gentle, as if soothing me. "Sorry for scaring you."

My heart stuttered.

I knew this voice.

I knew this presence.

I squeezed my eyes shut, another tear slipping free. My fingers trembled as they curled against the fabric of his dark shirt.

I don't need to look to know, or even have to speak to confirm it.

Because I already know who he is.

I swallowed hard and whispered through the ragged breaths, "Verio..."