The Case Of The Bizarre Bouquets นิยาย & เรื่องราว

“Get a little more rest. When I return, we will figure out what to do with the puffiness.” “Thank you.” I watch her leave, but I can not sleep. I need to get ready for the day. Maybe dancing will take my mind off things. Maggie said that Ansel was gone, so at least we won’t run into one another. As I walk over to the cabinet to retrieve my ballet pointers and costume, something catches my eye. Next to my ballet stuff is a snow-white porcelain vase with a bouquet inside. The bouquet is of a flowering plant whose sweet scent was said to be my own, with white bell-shaped flowers that are still covered in dew. It is a flower that much like me doesn’t belong, and yet we both are in the room.

I have been let down too many times to let myself get carried away by a simple gesture. I cannot bring myself to throw the bouquet away, so I open the door and step inside, clutching the flowers tightly in my hand. I drop them onto the small table near the entrance, their vibrant colors standing out against the dull, worn surface of the wood. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at them, as if they might suddenly explain themselves. But they do not. They just sit there, silent and mysterious, like a puzzle I cannot solve.

The bouquet arrived in the sterile light of dawn, a chilling harbinger of the psychological warfare to come. May, bleary-eyed and exhausted after another sleepless night spent poring over encrypted files and dodging board member maneuvers, found them propped against her office door. They were lilies, once symbols of purity and hope, now withered and decaying, their petals bruised and browning, their fragrance replaced by the faint, metallic scent of death. A small, unmarked card was tucked amongst the decaying blooms. May's hand trembled as she picked it up, a sense of dread washing over her. The message was simple, chillingly concise, written in elegant, flowing script:

But Amy rushed in, followed by several young men holding huge bouquets. “Miranda, this is from Mr. Jackson Parker. A total of ninety-nine bouquets, each with ninety-nine roses. Please sign for them.” The meeting room was filled with the sweet fragrance of roses. Everyone was stunned by the scene. Ninety-nine bouquets, that were nearly ten thousand roses… Women squealed with excitement, while men looked on in shock. This was quite a display. Miranda froze, unsure whether to sign or not. “Mr. Parker?” Adam, closest to her, chuckled. “Miranda, is Mr. Parker your boyfriend?”

Mu Zi didn't answer him immediately, and asked, "Any new progress in the Black Rose case?" "No, too much time has passed, many of the clues have already failed, unless the culprit commits the crime again, it's hard to continue investigating down the line." Yu Yang furrowed his brows, feeling that this call from Mu Zi came at a strange time, "What's the matter, do you have a clue on your side?" "Not sure it counts as a clue." Mu Zi sighed, "Someone anonymously sent me a bouquet of black roses, it's not a rare flower, I really can't think of any friend around me who would send me this kind of flower."

Nothing more. --- His thoughts shattered when a delivery man appeared at his desk, holding a massive bouquet of flowers. The bouquet was enormous, bright, exotic blooms that spilled out like a vibrant cascade of color. Crimson roses, white lilies, purple orchids, and delicate baby’s breath intertwined in a breathtaking arrangement that seemed almost too luxurious for Jace’s modest workspace. Colleagues glanced over, whispers rippling like a current through the office. Heads turned, eyes curious, some smirking as they nudged one another. Jace felt heat creep up his neck, he wasn’t used to this kind of attention.

The accompanying picture in the news was chosen very well, with a first-class artistic conception. The view of the Solomon family's courtyard was blurred, with Darwin tall and strong, holding a bouquet of flowers, and Hathaway elegant and charmingly smiling. Their gazes collided, and the sweet atmosphere between them was about to burst through the screen. However… Fiona took a bite of the misshapen apple from Burl. Why did the varieties of flowers in this bouquet look so familiar? Weren't they the ones she often bought daily? Does Darwin have no brain? Even when buying flowers as a gift, he had to copy her?

The second rose weighed heavily on my mind while I sat numbly in the cab home. As soon as I stepped inside my apartment, I placed it next to the bouquet from the previous morning. The fresh bloom stood out starkly against the older flowers, both beautiful and unsettling. Why did I bring it home with me? I wasn’t sure but somehow it felt like a puzzle itching to be solved, it felt like someone was baiting me, setting an obvious trap and hoping that I was stupid enough to fall.

I have survived too much to be shaken by some cryptic text. Still… I couldn’t help it. I blocked the number. It wouldn’t stop her if she was determined, but it made me feel better. Safer. If only for the night. I laid back down, staring at the ceiling. *** The first bouquet arrived the next morning. White lilies. My least favorite flower. At first, I thought it was a mistake. A client maybe. Or a misguided attempt by Adrian to crawl back into my good graces. But the card put among the petals told a different story.

Untop, say an enormous bouquet of white lilies, pristine and overwhelming, their scent strong enough to cut through the sterile smell of disinfectant. My stomach tightens. The courier offers a polite smile. “Delivery for Ms. Hailey Norway.” I stared at the flowers. White lilies. Flowers of mourning. Of funerals. Of endings. “Yes,” I said slowly. “That’s me.” He sets the bouquet on the table near the window and hands me a card. “Have a good evening.” The door closes behind him. The room feels colder. I approached the bouquet cautiously, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. The flowers are too expensive. Too deliberate. Whoever sent them wanted to make a point.