A Crown of Blood and Roses

I slid the last stack of documents through the window at the immigration office.

The staff member quickly flipped through them. "Everything is in order. You should receive a decision within a month by email."

I nodded. "Thank you."

I turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?!"

A sharp, accusatory voice cut through the hall.

I stopped and turned.

Alistair stood a few meters away, his face grim.

Kiera clung tightly to his arm. When she saw me, she shrank behind him as if startled.

But I caught the triumphant glint in her eyes.

I opened my mouth, but Alistair cut me off, his voice cold and impatient, as if my plans were his to command. "Good, saves me the trouble. There's a charity auction in Monaco at the end of the month. I'm taking Kiera."

He glanced at Kiera, his tone softening.

"She's a bit sheltered, so I'm taking her to see the world. You've been to plenty of those events; you must be tired of them. You're sitting this one out."

I was stunned.

Just a week ago, he had been holding me from behind in his study, his chin resting on my head as we flipped through the auction catalog. He had even pointed to a blood diamond and said, "This one suits you. I'll use it for the hundredth proposal."

He had forgotten so quickly.

I looked at his distant face, all the words I wanted to say catching in my throat.

I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

"Wait." Alistair's tone was husky, a command. "We're leaving together. The car is outside."

The familiar black, bulletproof Bentley was parked by the curb. I habitually reached for the passenger door.

Alistair’s movements faltered, and his brow furrowed.

"Alistair!" Kiera chirped, pointing to a shiny charm engraved with a 'K' hanging from the rearview mirror. "Look, it's still here!"

Her voice was sweet, with an undercurrent of gloating.

My hand froze mid-air. I stared at the childish charm, so out of place in the car's staid luxury. That charm had been mine. It felt like an icy grip had seized my heart. A hot rush surged to my eyes.

I had sat in that seat for nearly ten years.

Alistair glanced at me, a flicker of unease in his eyes, but his voice brooked no argument. "Kiera gets carsick and she doesn't like sitting in the back. You can ride back there for now."

Sit back there.

The words were a dull ache spreading through my chest.

I said nothing. I just nodded, retracted my hand, and opened the back door.

The interior was completely transformed.

Pink wool seat cushions. The air thick with a cloyingly sweet fragrance. The seat pockets stuffed with Kiera's snacks.

Every trace of me had been erased, replaced by another girl's garish, glaring taste.

The Bentley slid into the stream of traffic.

From the front, their quiet conversation drifted back.

"Is it hot in Monaco now?"

"Not too hot, not too cold. I brought that white velvet evening gown for you, it'll be perfect."

"You're the best! We have to stay in a suite with a sea view, then."

"Alright. Whatever you want."

Every word was a knife twisting deeper in my heart.

I turned my head, my eyes fixed on the streetscape gliding past the window, my nails digging into my palms.

Amid the heartache, the present blurred with the past.

Years ago, in this same car, the first time Alistair took me to Italy, he had pointed excitedly at the unfamiliar scenery. He held my hand tightly, stuffing the plane tickets, hotel information, and itinerary into my hands.

"From now on, wherever you want to go, we'll go together, side by side."

Back then, I was the only one in his world.

A screech of tires—then a deafening bang.

Several black SUVs slammed violently into our side.

The world spun. Gunshots and the shriek of tearing metal devoured everything.

The Bentley careened out of control, spinning, skidding, and then lurching to a stop.

I was trapped in the mangled back seat. A sharp pain tore through my body. I couldn't move, and every breath sent a fresh wave of agony through my chest. The thick, metallic smell of blood and gunpowder flooded my nose.

From the front came groans and panicked movements.

Then Alistair's voice, raw and trembling with fear.

"Kiera? Kiera! Answer me! Where are you? Don't be scared, don't be scared! Look at me, I'm here! Get the backup vehicle! Now!"

He had forgotten.

There was someone else in the back.

Aurelia Rossi.

Using what little strength I had left, I squeezed, inch by painful inch, through a gap in the mangled car door, fighting the tearing pain that wracked my body.

Blood blurred half my vision. Every movement brought me closer to fainting.

I finally broke free, collapsing onto the cold, rough pavement, gasping for air, my whole body trembling.

I forced myself to lift my head.

The glaring sun flooded my vision.

Alistair was carrying Kiera, moving with excruciating care as if she were the most precious, fragile thing in the world. He stumbled as he ran in a panic toward the backup bulletproof car that had just pulled up.

He didn't once look back at the car, now little more than a twisted wreck.

He didn't remember the person in the back seat.

I lay on the road, my face caked with blood and shards of glass. I watched as the door of the bulletproof car slammed shut, cutting off the two figures. The roar of engines and the crackle of gunfire filled the air as the motorcade sped away.

Warm blood trickled from my forehead, dripping onto the asphalt.