The pendant rested in her hand like a secret.
A delicate pair of angel wings—small, silver, feathered with fine grooves that shimmered in the light. Rose let her fingers glide over the pendant's ridges, slowly, reverently. It tickled against her thumb, and for a brief second, the corners of her lips lifted. This was the gift she'd chosen for him. The boy. The one she'd loved for longer than she could remember.
It was his birthday today. Eighteen. Adult. Officially stepping into the world—and she wanted to be the one to give him something meaningful. Not expensive. Not grand. Just... heartfelt.
She held a modest cake in one hand, the other clutching the pendant, and walked with quiet footsteps toward his parents' room. From inside, she heard familiar voices—Mr. and Mrs. Romeo, chatting and laughing. Something about how fast their son had grown up, how proud they were.
She smiled. He deserved that love.
But her steps faltered.
A voice she recognized—sharp, mocking—cut across the hallway.
"Oh? Is that a cake or did your cat throw up on a plate?"
Rose froze. Hana.
Her laughter rang like wind chimes dipped in poison. Behind her, a chorus of cruel giggles followed—her pack of ever-loyal, ever-cruel friends. Rose turned slightly, hiding the cake behind her back like a child shielding a broken toy.
"Still playing house, Rose?" another girl smirked. "Didn't know you baked for people who don't even know you exist."
Rose swallowed hard.
She should have walked away.
But instead, before she could take another step, a hand clamped around her elbow. Hard.
"Ow—" she gasped softly, glancing down.
A tall guy, one of Hana's newer friends—smirking, bold, unkind—was holding her firmly.
"Come with us," Hana said sweetly, falsely.
Rose blinked, confused. "Why? What's going on?"
"We just want to talk," Hana answered, her voice oozing sugar and spite.
That's when the story began. A twisted, fabricated tale, spilling from Hana's lips like oil—about a girl dragged behind the school, about violence and shame, about Rose being seen with someone near the garage. About being thrown to the ground. About things she never did.
"Stop," Rose said, shaking her head. "That's not true. You know that's not true."
But they laughed louder. The redhead girl—Lina—glared at her with a strange mix of pity and malice.
"She really thinks she's innocent."
Then Hana smirked and said it. "I bet she won't even give him the cake. Too scared. She can't face him."
Something snapped.
Rose's hands trembled, but she stepped forward. "I will give it to him. Because he matters to me. You don't get to stop that."
For the first time, the group wavered. A flicker of surprise passed between them.
But Hana just shrugged, then turned, giving a small hand signal to the boy gripping Rose's arm.
He walked toward the cake. Slowly. Rose instinctively took a step back, but the grip on her elbow tightened again.
"No—wait, don't touch it—"
It was too late. He picked up the knife meant for cutting the cake. Held it over the soft frosting, and with one deliberate slice, ran the blade across the top. A thin red line of icing split it open like a wound.
They laughed.
It wasn't about the cake. It was about humiliation.
Still, Rose didn't break.
"I'm still giving it to him," she whispered, more to herself than them.
But Hana wasn't done. She leaned in. "You think love makes you brave?" she whispered. "Love just makes you pathetic."
Then the boy shoved Rose down to her knees.
She gasped in shock, the floor cold beneath her legs, her dress catching awkwardly beneath her. She tried to rise, but his grip held fast.
"Let me go," she hissed through clenched teeth. "This isn't funny anymore."
"Oh, it was never meant to be funny," Hana replied, walking forward now, a knife in her hand.
Not just any knife—the same one that had just sliced the cake. Its metal now warm from the candles, a faint trace of red icing still clinging to the edge. She knelt down slowly. "You wanted drama, didn't you? Here you go."
"Don't," Rose whispered.
But the blade touched her chest. Just gently. Just enough to burn.
Rose winced. A single tear rolled down her cheek. The pain was sharp, but it was the betrayal that hurt more.
Still—her voice didn't shake this time.
"You can do what you want to me, Hana. But you won't break me. Not today."
Her words lingered, hanging in the silence that followed. For a heartbeat, even Hana paused.
Then—
Ring ring.
The sharp chime of her phone sliced the air like a bell in a funeral. Everyone froze.
The boy holding her arm looked over his shoulder. Lina stepped back. Hana frowned.
Rose used the moment. She grabbed her phone, answering on reflex.
"Rose?" a voice asked. A familiar one.
"Brother?" she croaked. Her throat felt tight. "I—I'm near the bridge. I need—"
"I'm coming," he said. No hesitation.
The call ended. Rose looked up—just as the group scattered like shadows at sunrise. Their cruelty fled with the sound of a voice that promised protection.
But it came too late.
Her legs gave out. Her vision swam. And the world tilted sideways.
She collapsed.
The pendant, still clutched in her hand, glinted once as her fingers loosened. The cake sat ruined beside her. The mission she had started with so much hope now broken beneath the weight of cruelty.
But love—real love—doesn't break. It bends. It bruises. It endures.
And somewhere not far away, someone who loved her was coming.
Fast.