BACK IN the dorm, Solen was already asleep. The room was dim, with only the yellow lamp on her desk cast a soft glow. Iyana showered, letting her mind drift blank as the hot water streamed over her skin.
After a while, she patted her damp hair with a towel and left it draped over her shoulder. She switched on her lamp just as her phone buzzed lying beside the laptop.
She picked it up.
Lyron had messaged:
I'm very sorry. You okay?
She replied:
Much fine. Thanks for the ride. Good night.
She put down the phone, slowly sat, her narrowed eyes wandering. She sighed. Whoever had been sending her tulips had to be someone Lyron already knew. Someone with control over that place.
She typed at her laptop, eyes on the white screen. ATC was worth thirty billion dollars, founded over sixty years ago. Of course, it was a member of the Chamber. Every prominent business was.
Ha!
These people are insane.
She typed more, but just sighed after a few minutes.
Magnolia Ridge was harder to look up, because it was privately owned. Gosuico. Arsenio. And Tucson held part of it.
But the way Nate Tecson had looked at her...
As if he had known who she was.
Is it him?
He asked her about the garden earlier.
Slowly, her hands hovered over the keys before lowering, as though surrendering to another thought that had just swelled within her.
That stranger from the café.
And yet she couldn't quite call him that. They had talked about nothing yet everything, and now here he was in her mind.
She shook her head with a soft sigh.
She'd been a fool tonight.
...
BACK in Magnolia Ridge, Lyron stood outside the portico of the rest house, his eyes fixed on his phone.
He typed. Erased. Typed again.
Still awake?
Erase.
Good night.
Erase.
With tight lips, he slid the phone into his pocket.
It was past eight. A flicker of relief washed over him as he watched the Carreon sisters being ushered into a Rolls-Royce, his face stayed blank.
He'd been told the Carreons were also scheduled to be here today, which he found laughable—he was supposed to have booked the Ridge for himself.
The cold breeze passed, carrying the smell of wet trees. He looked at the city lights shimmering in the distance, framed by the dark silhouettes of trees in the Ridge. Earlier today, Iyana had been there, riding a horse through those shadowed paths.
"They should put post lights beside the mahoganies," he muttered.
Hearing the soft rumble of the car rolling away, he turned back toward the house—only to catch sight of a white Cadillac pulling up.
Lyron smiled.
It was Drew Anthony Ardal.
Seven years older but always like a big brother to him. Drew shut the driver's door with a click, his head lifting.
"Lyron?"
"Yeah."
Drew's eyes moved up toward the house.
"No one's inside. I was here with the Carreons," Lyron said.
Drew chuckled as he came closer, his knuckles resting against his mouth. "Poor you. You're just twenty and already thinking about a future wife.
Lyron snorted. "I won't marry Veronika."
"Oh? Does your brother know that?"
"I'll find a way to convince him," Lyron said, hands in his pockets. "It's the elders who want it more than he does."
Drew laughed. "Well, I can only wish you well."
"Where have you been?"
"Just had a date."
Lyron chuckled. "You're still the same."
"Anyway, did Nate or Jeron come back this afternoon?"
"I only saw Nate. They left before I knew it."
Drew raised a brow.
"I was here with Clyde. Did you see him again?"
Lyron's jaw moved slightly. "No. I got too busy with the Carreons. I wonder why they're suddenly here—of all days," he said with a sharp sigh.
Drew sighed, a puff of air leaving him. "Bad luck. Anyway, Nate's looking for talents at Mizuri tomorrow. He invited me to come. But I've got something else to do now."
Lyron's ears sharpened at that.
Drew explained that ATC was seeking engineers for an underwater restaurant and cabins.
Lyron scratched his arm.
Nate going to Mizuri...
And his behavior this afternoon...
Lyron was sure now Nate had already noticed Iyana. He held that knowing smile. Probably his people read her research paper.
He frowned, looking straight.
...
When Drew finally left, Lyron stepped back into the rest house. He had thought of returning to Gosuico's residence—his mother had been pestering him to go home—but ultimately decided to head back to the dorm. It was nine, and he wondered if Iyana had already fallen asleep.
Just then, he caught a maid placing a bouquet of tulips on the coffee table in the sitting room. He flinched, heart pounding wildly, and strode toward it.
The same Kraft paper.
The same look.
"Hey," he said, turning to the maid, who froze at his presence. "These orchids... are they from the garden?"
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"Who ordered this?"
She shook her head. "No one knows, sir. We've just been told to send them to Mizuri."
"Ha," Lyron muttered. "Impossible. Someone on the staff must know who."
The manager appeared then, phone still in hand, voice clipped as he ended his call. "Master, your car is ready outside."
"Who ordered this bouquet? And where exactly is it going?" Lyron asked sharply.
The manager winced. "Mizuri. As for who sent it, we don't know, sir. The bouquet was already prepared. We were only told to deliver."
Lyron frowned.
"But I'm sure one of the masters prepared these flowers themselves," the manager continued. "The gardeners have never been allowed to pick the flowers in that garden."
Lyron stared at the bouquet.
Very few people had access to the garden.
His heart pounded.
Don't tell me the person sending her flowers came from here—one of them? Who?
He ran through everyone in his mind, but no connection appeared. At least Nate—he had a motive.
Was that why Nate mocked me? Because he's been courting her?
Or was it something else? Hiring her, maybe?
Yes. That must be it.
Iyana, after all, was Mizuri's number one engineering student.
But later as he sat inside the car, another thought crept in. Too ridiculous to even consider. And yet it was there—a possibility.
His heart tightened.
No. It must be Nate...
And tomorrow, he was going to Mizuri.
He wouldn't ever allow anyone to make Iyana a pawn in these clan wars—especially not with the Chamber. He sneered. He knew the Chamber's secrets and its true purpose: brainwashing talented people for its own interests. Like a cult that rotted one's mind.
His jaw tightened.
*