Blood Roses & Broken Vows

Aisha worked at a little flower shop near the docks. Her world was simple — petals, perfume, and prayers. She believed every wound healed with time, every heart rebuilt with love.

Then he walked in — drenched in rain, knuckles bleeding, eyes carrying storms. Rayan Khan. The name that echoed in fear across the underworld.

But to her… he was just a man buying white roses.

“White?” she smiled softly. “That’s for peace.”

He looked at her like peace was something he forgot existed.

“For forgiveness,” he whispered.

She wrapped the flowers. He watched her hands like they were sacred.

And that’s how heaven met hell.

🌹 Chaos Loves Innocence

Days turned to nights, and he returned again. And again.

Not for the roses.

For her laughter.

Her softness.

Her world untouched by blood and bullets.

Aisha didn’t know who he was.

Not truly.

She only knew the way his shoulders relaxed when she spoke,

how he traced petals as if fragile things scared him.

And he was falling — hard — for the only thing he could never keep.

🩸 A Heart Marked by Violence

One night, she followed him.

She shouldn’t have.

She saw it —

guns flashing, men kneeling, blood spilling like dark prayers.

Rayan, standing over them.

Cold. Ruthless. Quiet death in human form.

Her breath broke.

Her world shattered.

He turned and saw her—

the one soul he never wanted tainted by his truth.

“Aisha… I told you not to follow me.”

Tears rolled down her face like surrender.

“You kill people.”

“I protect what’s mine.”

“I am not yours!” she cried.

His jaw clenched.

Pain — real pain — flickered in his eyes.

“You were the only thing I wanted to protect from this life.”

💔 A Love That Cannot Live💔

She tried to leave.

He grabbed her wrist — not rough, just desperate.

“Aisha, stay. I’ll change.”

“Rayan… violence isn’t a habit. It’s who you are.”

He fell silent.

For the first time, the mafia king looked powerless.

“Love should save us,” she whispered.

“Some hearts,” he answered, voice breaking,

“were born in fire. They burn whatever they touch.”

She pressed a trembling kiss to his hand.

“I pray someone heals you one day. But that someone isn’t me.”

And she walked away.

Leaving him standing in rain and ruin,

with roses wilting in his fist like the life he could never live.

Aftermath

They say he never looked at another woman again.

Power grew. Violence thickened.

But every night, he left one white rose by the sea.

For forgiveness.

For innocence.

For the girl who could’ve saved him — if fate was kinder.

And sometimes, in the whisper of the tide,

he heard her voice…

“Love doesn’t always save us.

Sometimes it only shows us what we could’ve been.”

And he remained what he was born to be:

A king with blood on his throne

and a graveyard in his heart.