The flowers had become a problem.
Not because they were particularly large or dramatic. The arrangement was tasteful, elegant, and frustratingly difficult to ignore. Alessia had placed them in a vase the previous evening after bringing them inside, fully intending to move them somewhere less noticeable afterward. She never did.
Now they occupied the center of her kitchen counter as though they had always belonged there.
Every time she crossed the apartment, whether it was to refill her coffee, grab her laptop charger, or simply pace while thinking through a problem, her eyes found them again. The white roses had opened slightly since yesterday, their petals softer beneath the natural daylight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Cream-colored blooms were woven between them, a
