Page 93 of Rose
Once she was clean, she stepped out, grabbing a towel and smoothing cocoa butter lotion across her soft skin. The scent was warm and familiar, one she used herself, but somehow it still surprised her that he had it. She found a brand-new toothbrush under the sink, washed her face as best she could without her usual skincare products, and moved through the sleek bathroom.
She couldn’t lie. This man’s house wasinsane.
Every detail screamedSavior Carter.It wasn’t trendy. It was curated, dark, rich, masculine. Modern. Intentional. The bathroom alone was all white marble with black accents, glowing with natural light that softened the sharp edges. The rest of hishome followed that same pattern. Deep greys, blacks, and shadows broken up with purposeful flashes of white or chrome. Cold and bold, but still home.
He was just like that.
Clean. Controlled. Dangerous. But something about him still felt warm. Still felt like… safety.
She made her way into his closet, lined in black and gray, filled with designer pieces and luxury simplicity. Savior was 6'7, 250 pounds of sculpted muscles. She was 5'7, 140, built mostly in the hips and thighs. His clothes would definitely swallow her whole.
She grabbed a pair of black Essentials sweatpants and slid them on. Baggy, but not too much, her ass still poked through a little. Then she pulled on a matching white tee over her black lace bra. Thankfully, she’d thrown her fuzzy black Balenciaga slides in her purse the night before when she ditched her heels. She slipped them on, twisted her slightly damp braids into a high bun, and let the curls cascade over the knot.
For the first time in a long time, when she looked in the mirror… she didn’t see exhaustion staring back at her.
No bags under her eyes. No shadowed grief etched into her features.
Just… her.
Softened. Rested. Beautiful.
Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the mattress that felt like it was flown in from some remote European village where sleep was holy.
Or maybe… just maybe…
It was him.
And that’s what scared her the most.
Ahzii spotted her dress from the night before, freshly folded and draped neatly across the chair in the corner of Savior’s room. Her underwear tucked in the folds, her heels placed carefully beside. Everything positioned like she was a guest who mattered. She grabbed them quickly, along with her purse and keys, and made her way toward the door, hoping to slide out unnoticed.
But the sound of a woman’s laughter from downstairs froze her in place.
Her chest tightened. Of course, they weren’t together. She had no claim on Savior. No strings, her words. But she still hadn’t expected to hear another woman’s laugh so soon.
Couldn’t he at least wait until I left?
Ahzii forced her feet to move, one slow step at a time, as the scent of bacon and butter teased her senses. The moment she reached the bottom step, Savior looked up, mid-conversation, and so did the woman beside him. Their eyes met hers.
The woman was stunning, caramel skin glowing under the kitchen lights, freckles dusting her cheeks and nose, brown eyes framed by long lashes. Her curls were slicked into a neat bun, and the badge clipped to her black slacks made it clear she was law enforcement. A diamond on her finger caught the light, loud and clear, married.
But Ahzii wasn’t in the mood to be seen. She tried veering toward the garage instead, holding her clothes tightly in her arm.
Still, it was too late. She was already in view.
“Allure, come here,” Savior called. She slowly walked to him.
“This is my wife, Allure,” Savior said, grinning. “Allure, this is my big-headed ass best friend, Olivia.”
Ahzii and Olivia both rolled their eyes in unison.
“This nigga,” Olivia laughed, then turned to Ahzii with a warm smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. You’re beautiful.”
“Same here,” Ahzii responded politely, managing a small smile. “And thank you, you as well. My name’s Ahzii, by the way. And I’mnotthis nigga’s wife.”
Savior stood behind her, hand at her waist like hehadto feel her if she was near. His touch was habitual now.
“I know,” Olivia replied, eyes narrowing curiously. “But the fact that he’s even calling you his wife says a lot. I’ve known this man since we were six years old, and I swear I never thought I’d hear the word ‘wife’ leave his mouth.”
