The city awoke in a haze of gold and steel, yet atop the forty-third floor of Rose Global Enterprises, the sunlight seemed hesitant. Marble floors gleamed underfoot, reflecting glass-walled offices where ambition breathed, and power whispered in hushed tones. Here, every movement mattered; every word, every glance, every second had weight. And at the center of it sat Death Rose.
She did not rise for the world. She did not offer warmth, reassurance, or charm. Her black suit clung to her like armor, sharp lines cutting across her figure. Hair fell like liquid shadow over one shoulder, eyes storm-dark and piercing. To those who dared cross her, her calm was a warning. To those who dared look too closely, she was untouchable.
Today, a disturbance entered her carefully constructed world.
"Ma'am," her assistant called, voice hesitant, "the new employee has arrived… Ms. Aisha Lee."
The name lingered like a knife in her mind. Memories flashed sharply: Aisha's laughter echoing through classrooms, the stolen awards, her smooth takeover of achievements that should have belonged to Iris, the casual cruelty with which she had taken the one person who had trusted her most. And then… Evan. Her boyfriend. That stolen kiss in the rain. The memory was not bitter. It was fuel.
Death Rose did not flinch. She did not allow nostalgia, pain, or anger to soften her edges. Instead, she said, calm and deliberate:
"Send her in."
---
The door opened, and Aisha Lee entered, every step measured, polished, poised. Her beige blouse was immaculate, her hair flawless, her makeup softening the tension in her eyes. Confidence radiated from her posture—but it was fragile. A tremor in her movements, a hesitation in her breath betrayed her.
Death Rose did not rise. She did not smile. She did not acknowledge her past. She studied, predatorily, cataloging every detail. Every twitch, every blink, every micro-expression was noted. Every arrogance, every concealed insecurity, every lie she believed she hid—recorded.
"Ms. Lee," Death Rose said, voice calm, precise, icy, "welcome to Rose Global Enterprises. I trust you understand the expectations here."
"Yes… ma'am," Aisha replied, bowing slightly. Her voice was measured, professional, smooth—but Death Rose's eyes saw through the facade. Beneath the politeness, beneath the false respect, there lingered the arrogance of a girl who once thought she could steal another's life without consequence.
"Good," Death Rose said, lips curving faintly, deliberately. A smile sharp enough to cut. "Here, precision is rewarded. Mistakes are remembered. And betrayal…" She let the word hang in the air, heavy, lethal. "…is punished."
Aisha's throat tightened. She nodded, swallowing, forcing the words out. "Of course… ma'am."
Death Rose said nothing further. She watched Aisha leave, heels clicking softly down the marble corridor. Every step, every breath cataloged. Every move anticipated.
---
Once alone, Death Rose rose from her chair and approached the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city stretched below, a glittering map of ambition and power. Every light, every building, every empire lay under her scrutiny.
She did not breathe nostalgia. She did not allow anger or sorrow to touch her. There was only calculation, strategy, and inevitability.
Aisha Lee was not a threat yet. She was a target—a flaw waiting to be exploited, a weakness waiting to be tested. Death Rose did not feel satisfaction. She felt anticipation, patience, and the quiet thrill of inevitability.
Her fingers brushed the edge of her desk as she picked up her phone. "Miss Choi," she said, voice flat, precise, untouchable, "prepare a full dossier on Ms. Aisha Lee. Personal, professional, financial—everything. Compile every weakness, every connection, every habit. I want it complete. And keep it quiet—she must not suspect a thing."
Her assistant swallowed, hesitation flaring, but Death Rose's icy glare silenced any doubt. "Yes, ma'am," came the reply.
---
Death Rose returned to her desk. The reflection in the polished surface was perfect: sharp, flawless, untouchable. She allowed herself a faint smirk, cold as ice. The past had returned—not to haunt, not to wound—but to serve as fuel for the future.
Aisha had believed she had escaped justice. She had believed the girl she had destroyed would never return. She was wrong.
"You wanted a new life, Aisha Lee…" Death Rose whispered, voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the office. "But some debts cannot be ignored. Some flowers only bloom for vengeance."
---
Beyond the window, storm clouds gathered, heavy and deliberate. Lightning flashed across the skyline, illuminating the city for a brief heartbeat—as if acknowledging the storm that had already begun within the walls of Rose Global Enterprises.
Death Rose's eyes lingered on her reflection. She did not tremble. She did not falter. She did not feel. The girl who had been Iris was long gone, buried beneath years of calculated control, power, and preparation.
Patience was her weapon. Silence was her ally. And vengeance… her masterpiece.
---
Her thoughts drifted briefly—not in sentiment, but in strategy:
The files to prepare.
The connections to trace.
The subtle manipulations, small tests, and calculated humiliations she would employ to expose Aisha's arrogance and vulnerabilities.
She would not rush. She would not act openly. Every step was measured. Every action deliberate.
The petals of Aisha's arrogance had been plucked carelessly, but now… they would fall one by one.
---
The office remained still, immaculate, a sanctuary of power and control. Death Rose did not allow herself the luxury of emotion. There was only anticipation, calculation, and the quiet thrill of inevitability.
Outside, the city pulsed with life, ambition, and ignorance. Inside, the storm was already taking shape.
Death Rose turned back to her desk, placing her hands flat on the smooth surface. A whisper escaped her lips, cold, detached, and final:
"Soon… everything you stole will be returned. In ashes."
The world knew her as Death Rose—untouchable, brilliant, feared.
And soon, Aisha would discover the cost of arrogance, betrayal, and misplaced confidence.
Her revenge had only just begun.