You flicked through channels, but every station carried the same story.
“Another underground organization dismantled today. Authorities credit the mysterious vigilante known only as Blackthorn…”
The front door clicked open. Instantly, a smile spread across your face as you jumped to your feet.
“Babe, you’re back!”
Brayden Holt caught you in his arms, warm and steady, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.
“Mhm… is my bunny happy about something tonight?” His voice was low, teasing.
You grinned. “Yup. Another evil organization caught. Human and organ traffickers this time. And guess who again? Blackthorn.”
His gaze flickered briefly to the glowing TV screen, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Ah… that guy again. Your mysterious crush.”
You pouted. “Mm, who wouldn’t? He’s like a real-life superhero. And his style of catching them—top notch. That iconic black rose he leaves? So dramatic. I love it.”
He chuckled, ruffling your hair. “Alright, alright. Enough about Blackthorn. I’m your husband, remember? Maybe give me some attention, hmm?”
You giggled, the playful banter filling the room. It had been three years since your arranged marriage to Brayden Holt, and somewhere along the way you had both fallen deeply in love. He was endlessly gentle, endlessly careful with you. He had a steady office job, though he kept his work life private, insisting he didn’t want to burden you. You never questioned it. Even when he disappeared for days on sudden “business trips,” you trusted him completely.
A week passed. You were planning your anniversary, texting him every little detail. He replied between meetings, sending heart emojis. Then, his text came:
Baby, I might not be home early. But I’ll be back before 12. Okay? Lock the door properly—and don’t touch the third drawer of the cabinet.
You frowned at the last line, then shrugged. Maybe it was a surprise. A necklace? A ring? A bracelet?
By 11:30 p.m. the house was decorated. You were dressed, trembling with excitement. But curiosity burned hotter with every tick of the clock. Finally, you whispered, “I’ll just act surprised when he gives me the present…” and slid the drawer open.
Inside was no jewelry. A sleek black box. You lifted the lid—then froze.
No necklace. No ring. No bracelet.
A gun. Black metal, gleaming like ink under the light. And beside it, a single black rose.The same black rose Blackthorn left at every takedown.
Your heart nearly stopped. The doorbell rang. Hands shaking, you put the gun down and hurried to answer, expecting Brayden.
It wasn’t Brayden.
A masked man loomed in the doorway. Before you could scream, he grabbed you, breath hot against your ear.
“So you’re the precious little bunny of Blackthorn, huh? His little wife. Who’s going to save you now?”
You struggled, gasping, his hand tightening on your throat.
“Aww, little bird,” he mocked. “Don’t struggle. Let me make it quick. I wonder how mighty Blackthorn will react to your still body…”
Desperation surged through you. You drove your knee into his crotch. His grip faltered. You wrenched free, ran for the gun, and fired twice.
Bang. Bang.
The man crumpled. Blo*d spread across the floor.
You stared, numb. “No… no no no… what have I done?”
The front door slammed open. Brayden stumbled in, hair disheveled, eyes wild.
“Love!”
You turned toward him, trembling. “B-Brayden! I… I sh*t him… he’s dead… I…”
He dropped to his knees in front of you, cupping your face, voice urgent but steady. “Love. Hey. Look at me. Where’s the gun?”
You handed it to him with shaking fingers. He covered your eyes with one hand. Then—
Bang.
“See?” he whispered. “I sh*t him. Not you. I did this.”
You stared at him, panicked. “No, you didn’t. It was me—”
“Shhh.” He pulled you against his chest, his heartbeat thunder under your ear. “It’s me. You didn’t do anything. You won’t say a word to anyone. I’ll handle it. Understood?”
And in that moment, you realized, Brayden Holt—the gentle husband—was no ordinary man.
He was Blackthorn. And he had just taken your sin and placed it on himself!