Michaella, a gifted writer, finds herself haunted by the memories of a love that slipped through her fingers. As she pens down her heartache and cherished moments with Gabrielle, an architect whose charm and warmth once made her world brighter, she...
The morning sun streamed through Michaella's apartment, warming the space and casting long shadows. She had been restless all night, haunted by the dream she had of Damien. His touch, his voice—it all felt too real, too vivid. It left her unsettled, as if something in her heart had awakened that she wasn't ready to face.
Michaella stood in her kitchen, sipping her coffee when a sharp knock at the door broke her thoughts. Her heart leaped. For a fleeting second, she wondered if it could be him, Damien. But no, he wouldn't just show up like that, would he?
She opened the door cautiously, only to be met by a delivery man holding a grand bouquet of pink roses. The smell of the flowers hit her immediately, rich and intoxicating.
"For Michaella," the man said, handing her the bouquet with a smile.
"Thank you," she managed to say, accepting the flowers.
As the delivery man left, Michaella closed the door, staring at the bouquet, her pulse quickening. Tucked between the roses was a small white card. Her hands trembled as she opened it.
Don't worry. I dealt with the media. — Damien.
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Her breath caught in her throat. Damien. Of course, it was from him. He had a way of handling things without her asking—always stepping in, always taking control. The idea that he was watching out for her, managing situations on her behalf, sent a wave of warmth through her. But she hated it too. She hated that she couldn't shake him, that he was still in her life, still able to stir these emotions in her.
Before she could fully process the card or the flowers, her doorbell rang again. This time, she knew it wasn't Damien. She opened the door to find Elijah, her cousin, standing there with a mischievous grin, holding a bag of snacks.
"Ready to work on this script?" he asked, stepping inside with an easy going energy.
Michaella smiled despite herself. "Yeah, come on in. I made coffee."
Elijah glanced at the massive bouquet of roses sitting on the kitchen counter and raised an eyebrow. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Damien's still sending you flowers, huh?"
"Don't," Michaella warned, a hint of a smile on her lips as she turned away, trying to deflect. But even she could hear the tension in her own voice. "It's nothing."
"Nothing?" Elijah scoffed, taking a seat at the table. "Those are not 'nothing' flowers. Those are 'I want you and I'm not letting go' flowers."
Michaella sighed, grabbing two mugs and pouring the coffee. "It's complicated."
Elijah's smile faded. "You've got that look on your face. You want him, don't you?"
