Page 47 of Rose
But that memory… it was still warm on her skin.
Thailand. William. The beach. The kiss. The laughter. The baby.
That day had been one of the best days of her life. They were wrapped in sun and serenity, celebrating the little life they’d created in love. Her heart had been full. Her smile had been real. Her soul had felt safe.
She had been herself.
Now, those moments came like waves—soft at first, then suddenly crashing. She’d find herself drifting into them, living in them. Existing only in them. Because there, in those memories… her world was whole. Her family was alive. Her future felt untouched.
This—this was grief.
It wasn’t just sadness. It was the brutal act of digging herself into yesterday, clinging to the petals of who she used to be, just to bloom again in the shadow of a reality she never asked for.
And then wake up. Alone.
Because the woman she were when she felt loved? She didn’t survive.
Only the ghost remained.
After blowing up on Kyre and Sarai at Gold yesterday, Ahzii disappeared to the one place she knew Kyre wouldn’t think to look. Guilt clung to her like smoke, but so did the grief—the kind that lingers in your bones long after the fire dies. She hadn’t meant to lose it like that, not in front of Sarai, not at her restaurant. But when she saw the flowers, felt the sentiment behind them—it hit too fast, too hard.
Because only one man had ever loved her like that.
William.
The only one who ever made romance feel sacred and terrifying all at once. That love burned her from the inside out—and somehow, she still craved it. No one had come close since. Not even Kiyan.
Which was why she called him and lit into him without mercy. But the moment he told her he was still out of town for endorsement deals and hadn’t sent her anything…
Confusion strangled her anger.
If Kiyan didn’t do it… then who did?
He was the only one she was dealing with, and even that was shallow, surface-level, void of emotion. They didn’t do intimacy. They didn’t do love.
But that gesture…
It had screamed love.
Soft, intimate, full of care—the kind that wrapped itself around her pain and dared to comfort it. Just thinking about it felt like betrayal. Like she was cheating on a ghost.
Her gaze locked on the blank TV screen in front of her, where her own hollow reflection stared back.
“You sure you okay?”
Taylor’s voice broke gently into the silence, concern lacing every word. She was curled up on the other couch beneath a throw blanket, her tone soft but edged with worry.
The sun poured into the living room through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the day in a golden glow.
Ahzii didn’t remember talking much last night. She’d come in frantic. Taylor had made her food, told her to stay, and everything after that blurred—eating, a movie playing low in the background, and then blacking out on the couch.
“Yeah. What time is it?” Ahzii’s voice was flat again, stripped of the emotion she’d let slip just minutes ago.
“Just hit 9 a.m.” Taylor stood, concern deepening in her face. “I was about to ask if you wanted breakfast. I just woke up and saw you sitting there… staring at the screen, crying. You looked so far away. I wanted to hug you.”
She rambled when she was worried.
Her silk pajama set—a pale pink button-down and snug shorts—hugged her slender frame. Taylor was tall like Ahzii, all legs and soft beauty. Her long locs trailed down her back, tucked beneath a silk scarf, complementing her caramel skin and the freckles dancing across her cheeks. Hazel eyes locked onto Ahzii’s, visibly trying to read what she wouldn’t say.
