Page 29 of Rose
“So what’d y’all call this earlier… a private party?” Sarai grinned, raising her glass. “Let’s toast to a killer night.”
Franklin and Cynthia stared back at them like they were staring at the devil himself.
“I’m not drinking that shit,” Franklin spat, chest heaving.
Sarai smiled wider, tilting her head, mocking the same soft tone he’d used on her earlier. “I knew you were gonna say that, sweetheart.”
She set her drink down and pulled out her phone, turning it toward them.
On the screen, a live feed of their college-aged son sleeping in his dorm room—completely unaware. A masked man stood over him, silencer pointed at his head. The blood drained from Franklin’s face. Cynthia screamed, crumbling.
“Drink it, or your precious son dies in his sleep.” Sarai’s voice never wavered.
“Three seconds,” Savior said, taking a sip of his own champagne, wincing slightly. He never liked the taste of this rich-people shit, but it was the only thing decent in this house.
“Fuck you!” Franklin roared.
“Save it for the devil, nigga.” Savior’s voice was flat, unmoved.
“Two…” Sarai began to count, slow and cruel.
“Okay! Okay, we’ll do it!” Cynthia screamed, grabbing her glass with trembling hands.
She downed it in one breath, the poison hitting instantly. Her body convulsed, mouth foaming as she collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.
Before Franklin could grab his own glass, Savior pulled his gun and put one clean shot through his skull.
Silence fell over the room, thick and final.
The devils were dead.
Sarai and Savior moved fast, working in perfect sync to stage the scene. They planted the evidence they’d collected—documents, hard drives, encrypted files that detailed every dark corner of Franklin and Cynthia’s trafficking empire. Then they positioned the bodies, making the room look like a double suicide driven by guilt. The cocaine, the champagne, the carefully placed note Sincere drafted—all of it would point the story exactly where they wanted.
By morning, the media would tear this place apart. Headlines would scream of scandal, betrayal, and suicide. And in the mess, the truth of their crimes would finally surface.
That’s what Khaos did best. He didn’t just kill the wicked—he burned their legacies down with them.
They slipped out of the study, leaving the darkness behind as the mansion below remained alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and ignorant bliss.
All the security cameras had been wiped clean. Their faces, their movements—erased.
No one would ever know they were there. No one would ever suspect the destruction that unfolded just a floor above them.
The Ross estate sat against the ocean’s edge, moonlight bouncing off the water. They cut across the back gardens without a word, heading for the dock where Sincere waited, calm and collected behind the wheel of a sleek black speedboat.
Without hesitation, they boarded, slipping into the night without leaving a ripple behind.
Ghosts.
Just like they were trained to be.
“Make the call, Gold,” Savior said, voice low against the rushing wind.
Sarai pulled the untraceable phone from her clutch, fingers steady despite the adrenaline still burning through her veins. She dialed 911 and slipped effortlessly into character.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher answered, calm and routine.
Sarai let panic fill her voice, frantic and breathless. “Umm… I heard gunshots… and… and I don’t—”
