Marry Me, Mr. Sanders!

ROSES

KNOXX

"Sir, someone delivered something earlier. I don't know where it's from, but maybe the sender is indicated there." Sandy, my secretary for the past five years, said. I like her; she's not flirtatious. That's probably why she's stayed with me for so long. She may not be particularly beautiful, but her professional demeanor and the way she dresses reflect her competence. She knows all about my history with Camille because she's the one I usually send to deliver flowers to her. It's strange that this time I'm the one receiving flowers.

"Sir, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but in the five years I've worked for you, this is the first time I've seen someone send you flowers—and these are no ordinary flowers." She added.

My eyes narrowed suddenly. A bouquet of black roses in a box, and they looked imported. There are no such roses in the Philippines. Black roses are endemic only in Turkey.

From the shadows, I came
Not a word, not a name

I frowned at the message. No sender was listed. I handed it to Sandy to read, and she too was puzzled by the message. "Sir, is there anyone you can think of who might send you something like this? Black roses are kind of creepy," she suddenly remarked. "And black roses symbolize death, sorrow, and pain, but they also signify rebirth and rejuvenation," she added.

"How do you know so much about these things?" I asked.

"Well, sir, remember when you used to send me to deliver flowers to Ma'am Camille? I did some research on the meanings of different flowers." My secretary has always been somewhat of a hopeless romantic. She's often heartbroken but still believes in forever. She's also a fan of K-dramas and love teams, something I know well because she talks a lot. But when Camille and the baby we were expecting died, Sandy was one of those who grieved. Even now, she still brings up my late fiancée.

I met Camille three years ago at a charity event where I was one of the sponsors. I can say she changed my life from the moment she became my girlfriend. I had a reputation with women—I never settled for just one. At first, she wasn't interested in me, knowing my history with other women, but that changed, partly thanks to Sandy's help. Sandy was a big fan of my relationship with Camille. I changed completely, especially when I found out she was pregnant with my child. I was so happy then. I proposed right away, and we had planned to get married after she gave birth.

My world collapsed when I learned she had been in an accident, caused by Samantha Nathalia Portman. Camille had come from an event she organized, and Portman, who had been drinking, drove that night. According to reports, after crashing into Camille's car, she hit a barrier and was taken to the hospital. They tried to save my unborn child, but since the baby wasn't fully developed, they couldn't survive.

"Enough of this. Give me the final contract I told you to finish," I ordered Sandy.

"Yes, sir."

I read the message on the paper again, then looked at the flowers. Who could have sent me these? Death? Sorrow? Pain? Rebirth? Rejuvenation? I thought again of Sandy's earlier words.

"Oh shit, Portman?" It had been a month since I last heard anything about her. Though she hadn't left my mind, her absence had been quiet. The news about her had also been overshadowed by other headlines. "Is she coming back?" I couldn't understand what had been happening to me lately. I thought of her often. I hated her and wanted to destroy her, but when I remembered Camille, I felt pity for her situation. Camille wouldn't have wanted me to be like this.

Portman thought I was behind her near-death experience. I had her captured to teach her a lesson, not to kill her, but the situation got out of hand. My men told me they had left her, thinking someone was coming to expose them. When they went back, she was gone, probably rescued by someone. After the incident, there was a rumor that Portman Tech's heiress was missing. I searched for her but couldn't find her, hoping she was still alive. Then, her name resurfaced a month ago when she returned.

DAYS after I received black roses from an unknown sender, I received another bouquet—this time, red roses.

"Sir, this is the second time. Do you have any idea who the sender is now, sir?" Sandy asked as she handed me the flower box. It was three in the afternoon when I received the flowers.

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none...

"Just like before, no sender is listed," I said as I handed her the card.

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none. "This sender is so mysterious, sir." She paused for a moment, thinking. "Red roses symbolize love, passion, and sacrifice. Could it be you have a stalker, sir, who's very fond of you? But then again, who wouldn't like you, sir?" She smiled, her eyes gleaming playfully.

"Stop it, Sandy. Coffee, please." I changed the subject.

"Right away, sir!" She giggled as she left.

While waiting for the coffee, Carl suddenly entered my office.

"Wooowoooowww. What's this, bro?" He pointed to the flowers.

"I don't know. It's my second time receiving flowers," I said, glancing at the black roses I had placed in the corner.

"What? You've been getting gifts like this, and you didn't tell me? What's the deal, bro? Is there a new girl?"

"No, and I have no idea who's sending these." He read the card, as well as the one that came with the black roses.

"It seems like these flowers are trying to send a message, bro. You really have no clue about this?" I just shook my head.

"Why don't you trace the sender? Next time they send flowers, have it investigated. Maybe next time, they'll send you a bomb," he joked.

"I'll do that."

"But wait, have you heard anything from Jenner?"

"Who's Jenner?" I asked.

"Bro, your fiancée. Have you forgotten?"

"Shut up. She's not my fiancée, and I haven't heard anything about her. Maybe she ran away, afraid of what I might do to her," I replied.

"Do you think she's the one sending these?"

"How could she be? She's not in the Philippines. And why would she do that? To scare me? What's her motive?" I asked Carl. "Oh, c'mon, Carl, let's not talk about her. She's probably busy whoring around somewhere."