The last few days felt like I was living in a fog.
Aaron had been silent—no calls, no texts, not even a message through someone else. I was starting to question everything about us. Was he truly who I thought he was? Sure, the trips were extravagant, the passion magnetic, the chemistry undeniable. But could I really live in a world of chaos and uncertainty, where love felt like a gamble I never quite won?
I'd spent most of my life fearing I'd never be enough—never smart enough, never bold enough, never enough. But with Aaron, I thought I'd finally broken that cycle. I thought I'd found something real.
Now, I wasn't so sure.
I was curled up on my couch, aimlessly scrolling through streaming apps I had no intention of watching, when a knock echoed at my door. I froze, not ready to deal with anyone. But then came a voice:
"Delivery for Alaina Jackson!"
With a sigh, I stood up and padded toward the door, shoulders tight and heart already exhausted. When I opened it, I was met by a middle-aged woman holding a long glass cylinder cradled in both hands and an envelope resting on top.
"Good morning, Miss Jackson," she said gently. "I have a special delivery from Mr. Simmons."
She handed me the cylinder first, then the envelope. "The jar is permanently sealed to preserve the flower."
I blinked, confused—until I looked closer.
Inside the glass rested a Kadupul flower. The Queen of the Night. One of the rarest flowers in the world, so delicate it dies within hours of blooming, and can't be sold because it never survives transport. But there it was—preserved in time, stunning and impossible.
My heart caught in my throat.
I barely remembered to thank the woman as I stepped back inside, carefully placing the flower on my coffee table like it was a sacred object. My hands trembled as I opened the envelope.
The note was handwritten in neat, elegant script.
**I could apologize in person, but I know you need time.
I let you down that night, and I regret it every single day that I wake up and don't have the luxury of having you beside me.
We've only known each other for a year. Only three months in, everything got… complicated. But I don't regret
I never meant to make you feel like anything less than the most important part of my life. I made a mistake. And I see that now.
I'm only a phone call away when you're ready.
Let this flower be a symbol of how rare you are, and how—even in the darkest moments—you still manage to bloom.**
I sat back down, reading the note again. And again. My chest ached in a way I hadn't let myself feel in days. The words felt like him—raw, careful, restrained. A man too proud to beg, but humble enough to try.
Still, I didn't know if I could trust it. Not yet. Words were easy. Forgiveness wasn't.
Then I noticed something else.
At the very bottom of the card, etched in delicate gold cursive, barely visible in the light, were six small words:
My breath caught.
I was moved—but I couldn't let myself be swept away by sentiment alone. I didn't know if this was just another one of Aaron's grand gestures, or if he truly understood what he'd done.
I needed time. And I needed action. Not just poetry and rare flowers.
But deep down… I already knew I was going to the ball.
I had tried to bury the longing. Tried to stay cold and rational. But the truth? The truth was, no one had ever made me feel like I the way Aaron did. And no one had ever disappointed me quite so deeply either.
So I made a decision: I wouldn't speak to him until the night of the ball. Let him wonder. Let him it.
Monday came, and the office was thick with unspoken tension. We both worked like nothing had happened. His door stayed open. Mine stayed closed. We passed each other in hallways without a word.
Still, I felt his eyes on me.
And every time I looked up, my heart betrayed me, aching in ways it shouldn't. I missed him—his warmth, his teasing, his quiet protectiveness. The way he kissed my forehead like it meant something. Like meant something.
But I stayed focused, burying myself in reports and busywork.
Then came Nate.
Again.
Cupcake in one hand, coffee in the other, grinning like he didn't know I was slowly unraveling.
"Busy on the floor today?" he asked as he sat across from me.
"Not really," I said, barely looking up. "Just paperwork. Intern life, right?"
He laughed and started his usual monologue, but I wasn't listening. I couldn't.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Aaron rise from his chair, briefcase in hand. He paused by the door.
And then—he looked at me.
A soft smile. Gentle. Brief. But it hit me like a memory I couldn't shake.
I held my breath.
He walked out.
And my chest throbbed with the truth: I missed him. .
Nate followed my gaze and went silent. His eyes narrowed, and without another word, he stood and left, the cupcake untouched.
I let out a breath and rubbed my forehead, the weight of it all pressing down. My desk felt too full. My body too tired. My heart too unsure.
Then I saw it—an email from my tailor.
The dress was ready.
Gold, feathered at the shoulders. Regal, dramatic, unforgettable. I'd spent a fortune on it, and even more on the matching jewelry. I hadn't known what I was dressing for before, but now? I did.
I didn't know what the ball would bring.
But I knew one thing for sure.