The first bouquet arrived at noon.
White lilies.
My stomach turned the moment I saw them.
Not because of the scent—though pregnancy had made me sensitive to everything—but because of the card tucked between the stems.
Some mistakes deserve second chances. – C
I didn’t need a signature.
Clara Whitmore.
Adrian’s former fiancée.
The woman he was supposed to marry before I walked back into his life like a ghost he had never buried.
I stared at the flowers sitting elegantly on the foyer table, their beauty almost mocking.
“Who signed for this?” I asked one of the staff.
“It was delivered directly by Ms. Whitmore, ma’am.”
Delivered.
Personally.
My chest tightened.
She hadn’t mailed it.
She had walked through the gates.
That meant security had let her in.
That meant she had requ
