I stare at the message, the card trembling slightly in my hands.
"Poppy? You've gone white." Sandra moves closer, concern evident in her voice. "What is it?"
I tuck the card back into its envelope. "Nothing. Just... family stuff."
I don't elaborate, and Sandra doesn't push. It's one of the things I appreciate most about her—she respects boundaries without taking offense.
The morning passes in a blur of arrangements and consultations. By noon, the black SUV has disappeared, but my unease lingers. During a break, I call the security company thatmonitors the shop and request a review of the weekend footage. They promise to send it over by end of day.
At two, I deliver the arrangements to Morgan Enterprises personally, determined to get a glimpse of this mysterious client. Harbor Tower is intimidating—sixty floors of gleaming glass and steel, security guards checking IDs at every entrance, elevators that require key cards for access to the upper floors.
"Delivery for Morgan Enterprises," I tell the guard at the desk. "Executive floor."
The guard studies me for a moment, then picks up a phone. "Flower delivery for Morgan Enterprises," he says, then waits, listening. "Yes, sir. Right away."
He hangs up and gestures to a side elevator. "They'll meet you on fifty-eight."
The executive elevator is lined with mirrors, offering me endless reflections of my own tension. The arrangements in my arms look almost funereal—black dahlias and calla lilies set against deep purple anemones and trailing vines. Beautiful, but with an unmistakable darkness.
When the doors open on fifty-eight, a man waits. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a military bearing despite his tailored suit.
"Miss Everett," he says, the name an unmistakable choice rather than a mistake that makes me swallow hard. "Thank you for delivering these personally. I'm Victor, Mr. Blackwood's head of security."
Blackwood. Not Morgan. My pulse skips.
"I was under the impression the account was for Morgan Enterprises," I say, keeping my voice even.
Victor doesn’t miss a beat. "Morgan Enterprises is a subsidiary. Mr. Blackwood prefers to handle some acquisitions discreetly. He asked me to extend his personal thanks for your exceptional work."
He lifts the arrangements from my arms with smooth efficiency, like this is any ordinary business exchange.
“These will be placed in the conference room for this afternoon’s meeting.”
A pin on his lapel catches the light—a stylized black bird of prey. I follow his movement and notice the same emblem etched discreetly into the wall behind him, just below the words *Morgan Enterprises* in brushed steel.
Of course. A shell. A mask. One I’ve been decorating with dahlias and calla lilies.
"Then please thank Mr. Blackwood for his continued patronage," I say, injecting polite detachment into my voice. "We appreciate loyal clients."
Victor nods, already turning toward a sleek hallway that likely leads to the private offices. "There is a car waiting to take you back to your shop."
I manage a tight smile. "That's not necessary. I'll walk." The thought of getting into a car chosen by these people makes my skin crawl.
"As you wish." Victor presses the elevator button. "Have a pleasant afternoon, Miss Everett."
The doors close, and I lean against the wall, heart hammering. Not a coincidence. None of this is coincidence.
When I return to Wildflower, the black SUV is back, parked in exactly the same spot. A message, clearly meant to be seen.
Sandra looks up from the counter. "Everything okay with the delivery?"
"Fine," I lie. "Just the usual corporate client."
I retreat to my office, closing the door behind me. My hand shakes slightly as I pull out my phone. I need answers, and I can only think of one person who might have them.
I call my sister.
Violet answers on the third ring. "Poppy? Is something wrong?" She sounds genuinely surprised.
