When Roses Burn

By

Elowen

 

When Roses Burn

Dark Desires at Seaborn Summit

Sweet Mimosa, Bitter Proposa

Roses and Rebellion

 

 

Dark Desires at Seaborn Summit

Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains of Seaborn Summit, casting pale shadows across the cold marble floor. The mansion was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the fireplace in the master bedroom. In tapered navy trousers and a crisp, pearl-gray tee, Rafael Delgado stood by the window, perfectly at ease. He was watching the sea beneath the cliff on which the mansion stood. Elysia Hastings was sitting on the edge of their bed, staring at the ground. The twins, Faye and Grace, now three and a half years old , were off for two days at a "Young Explorers" minicamp just outside the city. It was filled with nature hikes, crafts, and science activities. Rafael had reviewed the program thoroughly, reassured by the director's personal welcome and detailed plans. The house was now strikingly quiet-no cartoons, no little footsteps, just a rare, peaceful calm it hadn't felt in a long time.

"Elysia," Rafael began, not turning to face her, his tone restrained but steely "It's been four years. When are you going to stop mourning him?"

She didn't respond at first, only tightened her grip on the quilt. Her silence wasn't new, but today, it felt heavier. Because today...well, today was no ordinary day. It was her anniversary with Jacob, her late husband, her high school sweetheart.

Rafael turned to face her then, his expression sharp with impatience. "You're my wife now."

Her almond-shaped, stormy blue eyes-slightly downturned at the edges-rose to meet his. They were cold and unyielding, like the frozen expanse of a winter sea: distant, uninviting, and impossible to read. "You think it's that simple, Rafael? That I can just forget him because you want me to?"

His jaw tightened. "I'm not asking you to forget him, but you're not with him anymore. You're with me. And I'm sick of you acting like I'm some afterthought in my marriage."

Elysia stood up abruptly, wrapping her robe tighter around her body, her entire body trembling with anger. "You don't understand," she hissed. "I didn't marry you because I love you. I married you because I needed someone to protect Faye and Grace from Jacob's family. That's all this is."

The truth struck. It hit him-Faye and Grace weren't his by blood, sure, but somewhere along the way, they'd become his in every other way that mattered. He'd come to love them with a fierce, protective devotion that defied logic or circumstance. In the turbulence of his marriage to Elysia, with all its sharp peaks of passion and quiet valleys of resentment, his daughters had become his anchors.

Though frustration simmered inside him, Rafael kept his demeanour calm, his temper controlled but edged. "You say that, but I've given you everything, Elysia. I've stood by you when all you could see was his shadow."

"And that's the problem," she replied, her voice trembling. "You're not him. You'll never be him." Her voice softened unexpectedly on the last word, as if even she were surprised by the gentleness there.

Rafael's expression darkened. Walking towards her, he grabbed her wrist, and pulled her close. He growled, "Today, you'll do as I ask. Is that too much to expect from a wife?"

Elysia tried to pull her arm free, but his grip only tightened, his strength overpowering hers. "Let go of me!" She glared at him. "I am not your property, Rafael!"

But he didn't let go. He looked unrelenting as he spoke, each word measured, calm, but with an undercurrent of steely authority. "You'll do as I say. All day. Every order I give, you will follow. Or I'll make you."

Her whole body tensed, breaths quick and sharp. "I won't," she shot back defiantly. "You can't make me."

"Oh, I can," Rafael murmured, his voice low and laced with confidence, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "And you'll find out just how far I'm willing to go to secure your obedience today." His hooded, deep brown eyes bore into hers with an intense and calculating gaze, holding her captive as though he already knew her answer- even before she spoke.

Anger twisted across Elysia's face as she tried to yank her arm back, harder this time. "I won't be controlled by you, Rafael. You can't keep doing this."

He finally released her wrist, stepping back, a silent challenge lingering between them. "Watch me," he said coldly, his voice like ice. "Now get dressed. We're having breakfast downstairs, and you will sit with me. I don't want to hear another word of protest."

Elysia stood there, her heart pounding in her chest, trying to steady herself. She was furious, humiliated, and yet... deep inside, she felt the familiar pull between them. She hated it, hated the power he had over her, but it was undeniable.

"I'm not your puppet," she muttered, her words dripping with venom.

Rafael's smile didn't falter. "No, you're not. But you are my wife, and today, you'll act like it."

She clenched her fists, wanting to hit him, wanting to scream, but she knew it would only fuel his need for control. So she turned on her heel, walking toward the wardrobe with as much dignity as she could muster.

"I'll never give you what you want," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Rafael watched her, his heart heavy, filled with a mixture of anger and something deeper-something darker. "Let's see if you mean that."

 

Sweet Mimosa, Bitter Proposa

Elysia stepped out of the master bedroom at Seaborn Summit, their grand mansion perched on a rugged mountaintop overlooking the sea. Dressed in a pearl-gray cashmere sweater and tailored ivory trousers, the soft, flowing lines of her attire hinted at the graceful delicacy of her figure. Every movement she made was effortless, her quiet elegance drawing the eye with a poise that belied her slight frame. Normally alive with staff and the sounds of morning, that morning the house was eerily silent. Each step sent creaks down the hallway, the sound bouncing back at her like it was following her around. Elysia paused, unsettled, expecting someone to emerge and reassure her. But as she wandered through the cold marble corridors, Seaborn Summit felt haunted, as if the stillness itself carried a lingering sadness.

The mansion loomed above the restless ocean, perched precariously where the mountain's stoic silence met the sea's untamed fury. It seemed to embody their union-a fragile balance between Elysia's unyielding resolve, like the mountain's immovable cliffs, and Rafael's ceaseless determination, as relentless and consuming as the waves below.

As Elysia reached the sprawling living room of Seaborn Summit, the only sound was the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the steady rustle of papers from the far corner. There, seated in a plush armchair with a slight frown of concentration, Rafael was signing some documents.

Sensing her presence, "Prepare breakfast, Elysia," he said, not even glancing her way as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Let's start with Lobster Eggs Benedict. Use Maine lobster-nothing frozen-and make sure the eggs are soft-poached, almost translucent, on a toasted English muffin. Add a dollop of hollandaise, but not too much-it should be just shy of indulgent. And I want frisée salad with a whisper of champagne vinaigrette on the side. Follow that with toasted brioche, lightly buttered with honey, not too sweet." He paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "And a chilled mimosa. Perfectly chilled."

Elysia stood frozen, blinking in stunned silence as the words sunk in. "No," she finally replied, bristling. "Why me? Do you think I'm your chef?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Rafael's mouth as he closed the folder in front of him. "No, Elysia," he said, in a gentle but resolute way, "And thank God, you aren't my chef. But you are my wife."

She opened her mouth to argue but hesitated, her sharp, intense brows drawing together in a frown. Glancing around the huge living room, still empty and silent as a tomb, she and asked, "Where is everyone? Why is there no staff?"

Rafael's gaze wandered away, as if the furniture in the room held the answer. Then he shrugged. "Mhmm...since it's almost Christmas and New Year's," he explained, "everyone's taken time off to be with family. Even the agency stand-ins were booked weeks in advance. Everyone's enjoying the holiday."

Elysia folded her arms and looked at him. Rafael's expression was perfectly composed, almost innocently detached. She felt her annoyance flare up, her frustration finding no outlet as he calmly returned his focus to his documents. The empty rooms swallowed her protests, leaving only his voice lingering, filling the silence in a way that made her stomach tighten.

"Would you like the mimosa shaken with a mountain breeze too? Or perhaps infused with the scent of lavender at sunrise?", she said angrily.

Rafael looked at her, deadpan. "Actually, that would be delightful. Thank you for thinking ahead."

She closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and prayed for patience before turning towards the kitchen, padding her feet against the floor with each step. 

---

It took quite some time to prepare the elaborate breakfast Rafael had ordered-an hour longer than it would have taken the chef. After tying on a cream linen apron, Elysia moved through each step with forced precision, doing her best with a hollandaise that wasn't as smooth as she'd hoped and soft-poached eggs that were a bit too firm. The lobster came pre-cooked, but she had to reheat it carefully, praying it wouldn't turn rubbery.

When the food was ready, she carried it to the formal dining room, setting everything down with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. Rafael entered a few moments later, his gaze sweeping over each dish. His expression softened. He took his seat quietly, nodding at the empty chair across from him.

She sat across from him, her back straight and her expression guarded, though she felt the blush of indignation in her cheeks. She watched him as he lifted his fork, spearing a bite of the lobster and eggs with a hint of a smirk, savouring the food she had reluctantly put her effort into. When he finally spoke, his tone was laced with unmistakable amusement.

"You know," he said, "I think I might like this better than if the chef had made it." There was a playful glint in his eye. "It has...character."

Elysia let out an exasperated sigh. "Is that your way of saying it's a little rough around the edges?"

He chuckled, picking up the mimosa and swirling it lightly before taking a sip. "Mmm," he admitted, his gaze steady on hers. "I think the secret ingredient here is a sprinkle of passive aggression."

She rolled her eyes, fighting a smile

"But somehow, the imperfections make it better.", Rafael added.

"I'm glad you can appreciate my 'secret ingredient,' then," she said, "Next time, let's see you poach eggs without a sous chef hovering nearby."

"You look particularly striking when you're upset," he remarked, a hint of amusement colouring his tone. "Like a little bird, all fluffed up and indignant."

"Maybe that's because I am upset," she snapped, her words dripping with annoyance. "How convenient that the staff all happen to be gone right when you need breakfast. Almost as if you planned it."

Rafael raised an eyebrow, his smile deepening as he took a sip of the mimosa. "I'd never waste a plan on something as simple as breakfast," he replied smoothly. "But it's refreshing to see you handle things personally."

She glared, gripping her fork tightly, refusing to respond as she took a pointedly small bite of the frisée salad. Every part of her wanted to throw a biting remark back at him, something to shatter that amused, all-knowing expression. But he only watched her, perfectly at ease, as if they had played out this exact scene a hundred times before.

As they finished the meal in tense silence, he finally leaned back, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin. "Come to my study," he murmured, as if the breakfast had merely been an opening act.

"What? But, why?"

But Rafael rose from his chair without giving a response, the faintest smile playing on his lips as he walked away, leaving her to stare after him in a mix of disbelief and irritation.

Elysia remained in her seat, watching his retreating figure, wondering just what he had in store next.

 

Roses and Rebellion

Within an hour, Elysia was standing in Rafael's study. The late morning sun filtered through the tall windows, its warmth barely touching the cold marble beneath her feet. The quiet of the house had grown heavier, broken only by the faint sound of a clock ticking in the distance, marking the minutes of an uneasy peace. Her shoulders tense and her chin lifted with a quiet defiance. Rafael, with a deliberate motion, set his pen down, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he assessed her defiance. "Elysia," he began, each word calm and measured, "I want you to inspect the gardens and decide on the seasonal plantings for the grounds."

"No," she replied, edged with defiance. "I'm not doing anything just because you say so." The idea itself wasn't offensive-in fact, part of her was intrigued by the thought of arranging the gardens-but it was the way he'd spoken, the expectation woven seamlessly into his tone, which grated on her. She would not simply obey.

She watched as Rafael's smile broadened, clearly unfazed by her rebellion, a trace of amusement mingling with something deeper, something that hinted at an understanding beyond words. He rose from his chair, moving around the desk with calm purpose. Every step filled the room with a quiet authority that set her pulse racing despite herself. He stopped mere inches from her, leaning in close so that the warmth of his presence brushed against her, his deep brown eyes fixed intently upon her.

"Is that so?" His words were barely above a murmur, yet the threat within them was unmistakable. "You know, Elysia, I have more than enough ways to make you obey."

Elysia swallowed, she looked away, but she held her ground, refusing to back down. "No," she repeated, though a slight tremor slipped into her words. She wouldn't bend-not this easily.

Rafael's response was swift and unrelenting; he bent her over the desk and before she could process what was happening, his hand came down in a single, sharp spank over her butt. It wasn't harsh, just enough to remind her of his control, enough to make her cheeks flush with the sudden, undeniable realization of his authority. The moment stretched between them, charged with energy.

Without another word, he lifted her up, letting the silence between them settle. Her body was still humming from the sharp reminder, a slow warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach, though she kept her gaze fixed on him, not letting her expression falter.

But the resistance had softened, ever so slightly. She could sense that he knew it, could feel his satisfaction in the small, almost imperceptible lift of his smile. With an air of quiet acceptance, Elysia turned on her heel, walking out of the study to the garden as if it had been her idea all along, her butt still tingling from the lingering reminder of his touch.

---

As she stepped outside, the fresh air filled her lungs, calming the remnants of their exchange.

Elysia moved through the gardens, her steps deliberate as she looked across the landscape. Despite her initial resistance to Rafael's demand, the beauty of Seaborn Summit's garden captivated her as it always did. Early morning mist clung to the silver-leafed artemisia, their leaves glistening under the faint sunlight that struggled to pierce the clouds. She paused, letting the familiar scent of flowers wash over her as a soft wind carried it along with the salt from the sea.

Her hand reached out to touch the tender petals of a hellebore-its deep red bloom stood out boldly against the silvery greens, like a hidden heartbeat among the muted hues. These 'winter roses' were hardy, persistent, blooming stubbornly in early spring despite the cold. She admired their quiet strength, noting to herself that perhaps the hellebores should be planted nearer to the lavender, where their colours could softly intermingle. Above her, the sky was a patchwork of pale blue and gathering clouds. The breeze carried the faint tang of sea salt, sharper now, as if the ocean itself was warning of the storm to come.
Elysia found herself tracing the petals of a winter rose, its stubborn bloom reminiscent of the resilience she often admired in her patients. Five years had passed since Jacob's death, but her work as an internal medicine consultant had given her little space to fully process her loss. Each case, each life saved or lost, had added another layer of distraction-or perhaps denial.

The midday sun cast harsh light over the frost-kissed garden, but the stillness lingered, as though the world was waiting for something to break. It was as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the first crack of thunder to shatter the fragile calm.

She hadn't noticed Rafael's approach until a shadow flickered across her line of sight. She turned, startled, seeing him from the path a few steps behind her. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, his stance relaxed, yet there was a certain intensity in the way he watched her, as if she herself were part of the landscape he was quietly appraising.

"What do you think?" she asked, her voice steady but her gaze still wary. She gestured toward the rows of delicate sea thrift lining the stone walkway, their pink blossoms adding a soft, unassuming charm.

But Rafael's focus remained on her, ignoring the flowers entirely. "I think you've never looked more at home," he murmured, quiet amusement threading through his tone.

Her serene expression shifted, hardening with irritation. "Just because I'm doing this doesn't mean I'll play your obedient, little wife." She turned back to the garden, determined not to let him see the faint warmth rising in her cheeks.

Rafael closed the distance between them, his movements smooth and deliberate. Before she could pull back, his hand slid to the nape of her neck, his fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her throat, his thumb resting just below her jaw. His touch was confident, proprietary, a reminder of the authority he'd established in the study earlier.

"You may say 'no' as many times as you like," he murmured, his words a quiet, almost teasing threat. "But you'll end up here all the same." His fingers tightened just enough to make her heart skip a beat.

She lifted her chin, defiant and unyielding. But as much as she wished to deny it, the weight of his hand and the intensity of his presence sent a shiver through her, betraying her resolve. "Don't irritate me," she managed, her voice tight yet losing none of its fierceness.

"Irritate? Maybe." He released her, his fingers grazing her neck as he pulled his hand away, a knowing smirk flickering across his face. "I expect the gardens will be exactly how I envisioned."

He took one last look at her, his gaze lingering just a moment too long, before turning and stepping away. She inhaled deeply, the faint sweetness of flowers mingling with the salt in the air. She adjusted the collar of her jacket as if to brush off the remnants of his touch. But as she continued her task, selecting plants and envisioning their future bloom, she found herself running a hand over the back of her neck, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself.