Where the Flowers Go

I had poured my heart into planning the perfect wedding—for my female client.

Then I turned a corner and saw her kissing my boyfriend at the stairwell.

He chuckled softly. "No wonder you're my wife. You're stunning."

She let out a soft laugh. "Your little secret girlfriend still does not know you're marrying me. She actually wished me happiness—can you believe it? So… when are you planning to tell her?"

He tilted her chin and said, "Didn't we agree? Once we're married, we each live our own lives. Teresa is the love of my life. I hope you'll keep your mouth shut."

She gave a snort of laughter and yanked playfully on his tie. "Relax, babe. As long as you keep treating me right, I won't stir up trouble."

I felt like I had plunged into an ice bath. Face pale, hands trembling, I picked up my phone and texted my mentor:

[I'm ready to take the transfer to Luminous City.]

The reply came not long after:

[Three days from now. We'll go together.]

My phone buzzed with a new message from the mentor, and I glanced down.

Susanna Jackson's flirty voice played in my head again.

"Come on, no more kisses. You'll be in hot water if your girlfriend walks in on this.

"Oh, that's right, she's clueless. You slipped me her wedding draft. I'm asking for a carbon copy of her dream day, and she's over the moon thinking we're on the same wavelength. It's almost cute how naive she is."

My face drained of color, a sour ache spreading from deep within.

Frank Carter and I had been together for five years—a staple in his social circles.

Everyone knew I was not after his money or the limelight. I just wanted his path to be clear and bright.

He promised me a future of a lavish wedding. I was overjoyed, obsessing over every detail of our wedding, refining it until it was perfect.

However, the manuscript had vanished recently, and despite my frantic search, it remained missing.

Frank had wrapped me in a guilty embrace, "Maybe it got tossed out with the trash by mistake. I'm sorry, Teresa."

I had poured my heart into that proposal, revising it tirelessly. Losing it stung, but I reassured him, ready to start anew.

The harsh truth hit me then. My labor of love had not been trashed—it had been regifted to his bride-to-be.

I could not bear to listen anymore and escaped to the restroom.

Then, my phone pinged with a text from Susanna.

[Ms. Scott, when will you be back? You missed my husband—he came and went.]

[I wish you could've met him.]

Staring at my tear-streaked reflection, I splashed water on my face and stepped back out.

Susanna was singing softly to herself, but her eyes locked onto mine with a loaded gaze as I approached.

"Ms. Scott, what took you so long? Did you run into my husband? He's quite the looker, right?" she asked with a