The bell above the door chimed, a light, cheery sound that felt entirely out of place the moment the man stepped inside. The shop, usually bright and smelling of petrichor and lilies, suddenly felt much smaller. Caesar was a force of nature—super tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit that cost more than my entire inventory. He had an aura of cold, quiet power that commanded silence. He wasn’t just handsome; he was intoxicatingly dangerous, though most in the city only recognized him as a man with impeccable, high-end taste.

"Can I help you?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, putting down the shears I was using to trim stems.

He stopped at the counter, his dark eyes focused on you, his expression polite but intense.

Caesar: "I need two dozen of your finest deep-red roses, please," he said, his voice calm, smooth, and chillingly polite.

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I—I'm so sorry, sir," you managed, keeping your voice steady, professional, and looking him in the eye—something few dared to do. "I actually just sold the last of the deep reds. The supplier was late today."

His gaze dropped slightly, and the atmosphere in the shop shifted from tense to firmer, like he was always used to getting what he wanted right when he asked.

"However," you quickly added, stepping toward the back cooler before the silence became fatal. "I do have something better. They just came in." You pulled out a specialty vase, showing him a bouquet of intense, vibrant, scarlet-red flowers. They were breathtakingly beautiful, almost glowing in color, but the stems were thick, gnarled, and covered in small, sharp thorns. "Blood Flowers," you said softly, setting them on the counter.

"They aren't as soft as roses, but they last much longer. And... they require a firm hand to handle."

Caesar looked down at the bouquet, his expression unreadable, then back up at you. A slow, subtle smile spread across his lips—not a kind smile, but one of amusement. He brushed his long, scarred finger against one of the scarlet petals, seemingly unfazed by the thorns.

Caesar: "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice velvety. "They remind me of... a recent victory." He nodded once. "I'll take them. The thorns are a nice touch."

He said, as he grazed his index finger over the thorns of the blood flower; a bead of blood emerged from his finger which he only hummed light at; like he was completely unfazed.