The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 196

The studio was officially moving forward.

For the next two weeks, Annelise was practically run off her feet.

The corporate gala order was executed flawlessly. The white and gold ranunculus arch became the most stunning centerpiece of the event, prompting the organizers to request a year-long partnership contract on the spot.

As for the vacant studio upstairs, Emma ran back and forth three times, negotiating the lease down to an incredibly favorable rate.

On the day Annelise signed the lease, Yves happened to walk by from next door.

"Looks like we're officially neighbors," he leaned against the doorframe, surveying the empty rooms waiting to be renovated. "If you need to borrow any tools, just come over to my place. I've got every piece of junk you can imagine."

"You call that junk?" Sophia chimed in. "Last time I looked, you had a set of imported German precision carving knives on your desk."

"Those are my babies," Yves replied completely deadpan. "The junk refers to my collection of half-drank coffee cups I keep forgetting about."

The entire room burst into laughter.

The studio preparations fell into a steady rhythm, filling Annelise's days to the brim.

That brief interlude in the rainy night, along with the man hauled away by the ambulance, had long been pushed to the back of her mind.

Until one ordinary afternoon, a new order popped up on the flower shop's online dashboard.

At the time, Sophia was out front with customers, Emma was upstairs overseeing the renovations, and Annelise was manning the counter alone.

She casually clicked open the new order.

The next second, the hand holding her coffee froze mid-air.

It was an obscenely massive private order.

The customer was requesting ninety-nine bouquets of white daisies, to be delivered one per day for ninety-nine days, to the exact same address in Oslo.

And that address was the front door of Daisy Flower.

There was a line of text in the order notes.

"Must be personally arranged by the owner of the shop."

Annelise's gaze swept over the words, her expression not shifting an inch.

Quietly, she clicked into the payment details.

The funds had been transferred through an international wire service.

And the originating account name for the transfer was a domestic bank account.

Annelise's eyes locked onto the name on the account.

It wasn't Hackett's name.

It was "Felix."

The Lehman family's longtime chauffeur and Hackett's personal right-hand man.

Annelise stared at that name for a full thirty seconds.

Then, she calmly set her coffee down.

Three years.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify