chapter twenty: petals and silence

Lily’s POV

The first flower appeared on a Tuesday morning.

I didn’t notice it at first — my head was pounding from lack of sleep, my hands clutching coffee like it was oxygen. But when I sat at my desk, there it was: a single white rose, resting against my keyboard. No tag. No note. Just perfect white petals, soft as silk, wrapped in a black ribbon.

I blinked at it for a full minute.

“Girl,” Jenna said from the next cubicle, peering over the divider, “are you seriously getting flowers at eight a.m.? Who’s the mystery man?”

I gave a small laugh that didn’t reach my eyes. “I don’t know. Probably a mistake.”

“Please,” she rolled her eyes. “That rose screams romantic. You sure it’s not an admirer?”

“Admirer?” I choked on my coffee.

Jenna giggled and disappeared back behind her monitor. But I couldn’t stop staring at the rose. Something about it felt… intentional.

When I brushed my thumb across the petal, I noticed the faint scent of jasmine — expensive, rare, not the kind of thing you picked up at a local florist. My stomach twisted.

It wasn’t the flower itself that scared me — it was the thought of why someone had left it.

By noon, I’d convinced myself it was nothing. A random act. A prank. Something harmless.

Until the next day.

---

Wednesday morning, another rose.

This time, it was crimson. Deep, blood-red. A note was attached with black ink in looping cursive:

> “youre beautiful when you smile”

My pulse skipped.

I hadn’t smiled much lately — not at work, not since everything with Ryan, not since my life started spiraling between chaos and coffee cups. But someone had seen me smile. Someone who was close enough to notice.

“Another one?” Jenna gasped when she saw it. “Okay, this is getting serious. What’s next, chocolates and a proposal?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know who it’s from,” I said, my tone more defensive than I meant.

She grinned, leaning closer. “You sure it’s not Mr. Tall, Dark and CEO? The way he looks at you sometimes—”

“He looks at everyone like that,” I interrupted, though even as I said it, something inside me twisted.

Because I had caught Andrew staring lately.

Quick glances. Lingering ones. The kind that burned.

But that was ridiculous. Andrew Sterling didn’t send flowers. He barely sent emotions.

---

By Thursday, the deliveries had become routine. A new color every morning, each with a short message.

> “You have a light that shouldn’t be dimmed.”

“The world looks better when you’re in it.”

“Don’t hide your fire.”

Each note was written in the same elegant hand. No name. No clue. Just admiration, hidden in ink and petals.

And each time, I felt Andrew’s eyes flicker toward my desk when the courier arrived. He never said a word, but his jaw would tighten slightly, his pen halting mid-signature.

By the fourth delivery, his restraint broke.

It was Friday morning when another bouquet arrived — this one a mix of white lilies and red roses. Jenna was squealing like a teenager.

“Girl, whoever this is, marry him already!”

Before I could stop her, she plucked the note and read aloud, “For the one who doesn’t realize how captivating she is. Oh my God, I’m dying.”

I snatched it back, my cheeks burning. “Jenna, stop.”

That was when I felt it — a shadow at my side.

“Miss Hart,” Andrew’s voice was low, smooth, and somehow colder than usual. “If you’re done turning the office into a flower shop perhaps we can return to work?”

I froze. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

He arched an eyebrow, gaze flicking to the bouquet. “I hope not. Sterling Enterprises doesn’t sell flowers.”

Then he turned and walked away, his back stiff, the air around him sharp.

I exhaled slowly. For some reason, his reaction stung more than it should have.

Jenna whispered behind me, “He’s totally jealous.”

“He’s totally impossible,” I muttered back — though deep down, I wasn’t sure if she was wrong.

---

That afternoon, during a team meeting, my phone buzzed on the table. Another delivery alert.

Andrew’s gaze lifted immediately. His icy blue eyes met mine for a fraction of a second — long enough for my stomach to flip.

I pressed the phone face-down, pretending not to notice. But his attention lingered.

When the meeting ended, he dismissed everyone with a curt nod, but as I passed his chair, his voice stopped me.

“Miss Hart.”

I turned. “Yes, sir?”

He leaned back, arms folded. “Your… admirer seems rather persistent. I hope you’re not encouraging it during work hours.”

“I’m not,” I said quickly. “I don’t even know who it is.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face. For what, I didn’t know. “Then perhaps you should find out before it becomes a problem.”

I swallowed. “Are you implying it already is one?”

He didn’t answer, only said, “Sterling Enterprises values focus, not distraction,” before turning back to his laptop.

I walked out before I said something I’d regret.

Because for the first time, I realized something strange — Andrew Sterling, my cold, infuriating boss… looked jealous.

And for reasons I couldn’t explain, that sent a strange thrill through me.

---

That night, I stayed late, clearing files and catching up on reports. The office was quiet, the hum of the AC and the city lights my only company.

When I finally stood to leave, I noticed an envelope on my desk. No courier this time — just ivory paper, sealed with a wax emblem of a black rose.

My heartbeat quickened as I broke the seal.

Inside was a single card, written in that same graceful handwriting:

> Now come see the truth beneath.

— The Obsidian Club.”

Beneath it, a time and an address. Saturday, midnight.

My breath caught.

The Obsidian Club.

The place was infamous: exclusive, dangerous, whispered about. A world of masks and money and things people didn’t talk about in daylight.

Why would they invite me?

My first instinct was to throw it away. I’d had enough of mysteries. Enough of men who spoke in riddles.

But as I stood there staring at the black wax seal, something tugged at me. Curiosity. Fear. Excitement.

Maybe I just wanted answers. Maybe I wanted to know who was behind the flowers.

Maybe I just wanted to stop feeling like a puppet in someone else’s game.

Either way, I found myself whispering, “Midnight it is.”

---

Saturday came too fast.

Sophia called me that evening, begging me to come out for drinks. I made some excuse about being tired. How could I explain that I was dressing up to go and meet a stranger?“

The closer the clock ticked to midnight, the more nervous I became.

When I finally stood in front of the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize myself. A black dress hugged my frame, soft waves framed my face, and my red lipstick made my lips look fuller — braver.

I grabbed the invitation, slipped it into my purse, and whispered a silent prayer to whatever guardian angel still tolerated me.

The night air was cool as the cab pulled up to the address. The building was hidden behind high black walls and silver gates that shimmered under dim lights. No signboard, no name — just mystery.

I hesitated, hand on the door.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I was walking into something I couldn’t handle.

But then I remembered the flowers. The notes. The feeling of being watched, admired, studied.

If this was the source, I needed to see it for myself.

I stepped out of the cab and walked to the gate.

The guard took one look at my invitation and opened the door without a word.

***