CURIOSITY HAD always gotten the better of her.
Iyana knew that.
As a child, she'd solved board games, asked endless questions, and read voraciously, always trying to understand why things worked. Now, she had to know who was sending her tulips.
Maybe it was a prank.
Maybe it wasn't even safe to find out.
Yet it bothered her.
And that was reason enough.
The taxi stopped in front of a sleek mahogany slab engraved with two words: Magnolia Ridge that sat atop large rocks. It looked like an altar, framed by neat turfs of grass and daisies.
She and Lyron entered through the iron gates.
A guard greeted them politely.
Inside was a wide view of a cloudless sky. In the distance stood magnolias, their branches swaying in the breeze like puffy clouds on earth. Sometimes, they looked like giant lollipops. Everywhere, magnolias bloomed. On the hills farther away, their petals deepened into richer shades of pink.
To the other side of the road was a low wooden rail that fenced a field where a few horses grazed. Beyond lay smooth, sloping hills of green.
"Gosuico owns half of the Ridge," Lyron said as they walked. "Some shares belong to other families. Like the Tucsons, the Arsenios. That's all I know."
Iyana's eyes lingered on the horses.
An old man approached them at the fence, rope in hand, leading a horse. "Master Gosuico," the man greeted with a smile.
"Willy Naguo, the stable manager," Lyron introduced.
Willy gave Iyana a fatherly grin.
"So the you brought a friend who knows how to ride?"
"Yes," Lyron said. Then, chuckling, he added, "I tried with horses as a kid. They hated me. My pony once pooped on me while I was napping under a tree."
Everyone laughed.
"Master was naughty to horses," Willy said, shaking his head.
Then he turned to Iyana.
"And a woman this beautiful knows how to ride them, hm?"
Iyana sighed softly.
She rose horses as a child, before and after school. Horses were their only transport, especially through shallow rivers. To the people in the Capital, horses were entertainment. To her poor province, they were life itself.
"It takes patience to ride a horse," Willy said.
Iyana smiled. "Not recklessness, uncle?"
"A horse rider is always reckless." He laughed.
She smiled warmly.
Then her eyes drifted to the horse before her: a rich mahogany coat, mane deep as burgundy. She reached out, and it licked her palm.
"Orange likes you already," Lyron said.
"Why Orange?" she asked.
Willy laughed.
"They love fruity names around here."
Lyron watched her, then he blinked. She wore only a plain white shirt and fitted denim. "Iyana, aren't you going to change? We have an attire for—"
But she was already mounting the horse. She tilted her head, pulling her hair back into a low ponytail. Her gaze lowered. Then she chuckled, giving Lyron a faint, teasing smirk.
"Talk like that after you've had your first real ride."
Lyron exhaled, placing his hands on his waist.
"Yes, point taken."
Willy laughed again. "Miss, you need a cap."
She shook her head.
"Uncle, where I'm from, we don't wear caps."
Her hair trailed down as she leaned into the horse, one hand stroking its sleek mane. Then Orange began to move. It was slow, steady at first. Then faster. She rode across the dirt road, through meadows, between mahoganies and acacias, until she reached a path lined with mango trees.
When she returned minutes later, the horse slowed near the fence. Then, finally, she untied her ponytail, her long brown waves flying loose as the wind rushed through.
"You're good!" Lyron shouted, grinning.
She beamed, stroking the horse's mane.
She took another round.
From the nearby country villa, a curtain shifted on the third floor. Behind the glass, a tall figure stood in the shadows, ebony eyes looking at the woman riding.
...
THE GARDEN spread around her different colors: tulips, orchids, carnations, roses. But Iyana stood before a staircase of red tulips in pots, arranged neatly on beige wooden slabs.
Her fingers brushed the vivid red petals.
The texture was the same.
The bloom too.
Even the sweet scent.
These were the same tulips sent to her.
But she frowned.
This man had chosen tulips for her. Red tulips. The color of the heart. But it felt too romantic for something so secretive. For a very rich man, it couldn't be that simple, right?
Why?
The question spun in her mind.
Did he know her before?
But all her student life had been confined to Mizuri.
How could anyone outside know so much?
Then her gaze flicked to Lyron, who stood at a distance, arms crossed, glancing around with indifference.
"Lyron," she called softly.
He came closer.
"Who exactly are the Tucsons?" she asked.
"ATC Shipping Lines," he replied. "Largest one."
Her eyes narrowed.
ATC.
She'd heard that name before.
"The current head is Nate Tucson," Lyron continued. "He's only four years older than us. His father died of a heart attack months ago. I don't like him. And... the devil's here."
Iyana followd hiw gaze.
A tall, good-looking man entered the garden. He wore a fitted polo, dark pants, broad shoulders, and a boyish smile.
"Ah, there you are, Lyron Matthias," Nate said, sparing her a quick glance before grinning at Lyron. "Enjoying Sunday too?"
Lyron's frown deepened.
"I thought this place was booked for me."
Nate chuckled. "Except for the villa. We were there earlier. Jeron, Rick, others you know." His eyes shifted back to Iyana. "And you must be Miss Jiran?"
"Before, yes," she answered calmly. "Iyana Marisse Jiran."
His smile widened knowingly. "Nathaniel Ivrit Tucson. Call me Nate. Actually, you're the only girl Lyron's brought here. Even his fiancée's never—"
"Nate."
Lyron's sharp voice cut him off.
But Nate carried on, ignoring him.
"What do you think of the garden?" Nate asked her.
Iyana glanced around, lips curving faintly. "Pretty. Well tended. Even the trees are ornaments."
Nate laughed. "We're obsessed with flowers. We even give ourselves nicknames after them."
She arched a brow.
"So who's called Monkey Face Orchid?"
He burst out laughing.
"Very sharp. No wonder Lyron can't let go of you."
"Why are you here?" Lyron hissed.
"The Carreon daughters are arriving soon," Nate replied casually. "Didn't you know?"
Lyron flinched. "Why would they come here?"
Nate only shrugged. "Don't ask me. But I'm not hosting. I'm leaving. Miss Jiran—" his gaze lingered on her "—see you soon."
He turned and walked away.
"I don't even ride horses," Lyron shouted. "What does this have to do with me?"
"Take care of Veronika," Nate called back, waving as he left.
Lyron's jaw clenched. "He makes me sick."
He sighed, then turned to her.
"Iyana… I swear I don't know."
She smiled.
"It's fine. We've been here long enough anyway."
Her purpose was fulfilled.
The tulips came from here.
Magnolia Ridge.
"Your friend knows about me," she said, recalling Nate calling her Miss Jiran.
"Nate?" Lyron frowned. "Yeah, he knows your name."
She sighed.
This is getting strange.
"I have to go," she said softly.
Lyron nodded reluctantly.
"I'll have someone take you back to Mizuri."
"Alright."
He watched her get into the car, his jaw tight. Everything had gone according to plan, until one moment, Nate ruined it all.
*