The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 103

Annelise returned to her seat at table two.

She sat down so lightly she didn't make a sound, settling into her chair as quietly as a falling feather.

The probing, pitying, and malicious stares from the surrounding guests pricked at her skin like invisible needles.

She acted as though she didn't feel a thing.

Picking up her fresh glass of orange juice, she offered a perfectly polite smile to the young woman next to her, who had just been prying into her relationship with Hackett.

"My apologies for stepping away, Mrs. Wallace."

Clearly not expecting her to initiate conversation, Mrs. Wallace blinked in surprise before hastily raising her wine glass.

"Oh, no worries at all, you're too polite, Annelise."

Annelise's gaze swept over the pristine, almost blinding sea of white florals she had arranged herself. Her tone was steady and completely authentic.

"The floral arrangements look stunning today. So pure and solemn—perfect for memorializing Elias."

The other women at the table chimed in.

"Absolutely, this scale is completely unmatched in Cresthaven."

"You did a wonderful job, Annelise."

Annelise smiled, her eyes drifting toward the stage. Clarissa was chatting intimately with Lizzie, practically glowing with happiness.

"It's the least I could do for family."

Her voice was as smooth as glass.

"The bride looks absolutely radiant today. Happiness really does bring out the best in people."

She paused, glancing at little Manuel, who was playing with a crystal glass in Clarissa's arms, and added with casual ease.

"You know, Manuel is looking more and more like Elias every day. Especially the eyes—they're practically identical."

She delivered the line with flawless naturality, her face painting a picture of nostalgic sorrow.

Everyone at the table assumed she was simply mourning the family's fallen hero.

No one knew that every single syllable spilling from her lips was a razor-sharp, venomous lie.

She was a masterclass actress performing a scene she had rehearsed a thousand times in her head. Every micro-expression, every word was meticulously calculated.

2:40 PM.

The remains of the lunch service had been swiftly cleared, and waiters were resetting the tables for the upcoming reception.

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