Page 34 of Hellebore

“I’m fine now. Thank you.” I give her a soft, reassuring smile that feels paper-thin. She nods and leaves me to it.

I put my headphones in. Control by Halsey starts playing. I move with the music, letting the steady beat pull me back into myself as I start the dough. The rich scents of chocolate and caramel wrap around me. I sing along under my breath, trying to lose myself in the textures, the precise measurements, the control.

This is why I love this job. Creating something from nothing. Following the rules so everything falls perfectly into place.

I finish the cake layers, chill them, then prepare the buttercream, fluffy white with the tiniest hint of purple. I do a crumb coat, let it set, then smooth the final layer until it’s flawless. Tomorrow I’ll pipe the black hellebore flowers on top. And when the client comes to pick it up… I’ll face him. I’ll ask why he’s leaving these flowers. Why does he know my favorite cake? Why was he at my mother’s funeral?

I finish cleaning up, grab my things, and head to my car. The drive home is quick. No rain today, but the fog is already rolling in, thick and heavy.

I park and practically run inside the building, heart still racing. No flowers on the doorstep this time. For some twisted reason, I feel… disappointed.

Why the hell am I disappointed that some creepy asshole didn’t leave me a toxic plant? What if he’s a seventy-year-old man?

I gag a little at the thought and lock the door behind me.

A rush of cold air hits me from the bedroom.

Shit. I left the window open.

I hurry inside to close it and freeze.

A single black hellebore rests on the windowsill, a small piece of white paper underneath it.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I grab the flower with trembling fingers and set it gently on the bed. My hands shake as I pick up the note. The handwriting is elegant, almost beautiful:

“Close your windows.”

Was he inside my apartment?

I spin around, eyes darting into every corner, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. The room feels suddenly smaller, the shadows deeper. I snatch my runaway bag from the closet and bolt for the door.

“Hey girl.” Lucille answers on the first ring.

“He was inside my apartment.” I grit out, voice cracking.

“What? Hellebore flower guy?” The urgency in her voice mirrors my own panic.

“Yes. He left a flower and a note.” I’m already running down the stairs.

“I’m coming to get you!” She says immediately.

“No, I’m already leaving.” I unlock my car and slide in.

“You’re staying here!” She insists.

“Thank you.” I say, throat tight.

I hang up and start the engine. A new message lights up my phone.

“I can’t protect you if you’re with Lucille. Stay the fuck home, Briar.”

What the hell? No…this can’t be happening. How does he know who Lucille is?

My breathing is quicker now, hands shaking so much I can barely hold my phone.

I laugh through the tears blurring my vision—a shaky, broken sound.