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
