FIFTY-THREE

KIERA’S POV

“Are you sure you got the name right? It could be Kayla or Kieran or even Keish—”

“No, Miss, there were no misspellings,” the delivery man interjected, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

He handed me a slip of paper, and there it was—my name, clear as day.

“Did you get the person’s name?” I implored, curiosity bubbling up like a shaken soda.

“No, Miss,” he replied. “But he said he would call you soon,” he added.

The whole situation felt off-kilter, but I accepted the bouquet of flowers, their vibrancy overshadowing my swirling thoughts.

“Please sign this,” he said, holding out a receipt.

I scrawled my signature, the pen scratching on the paper feeling far more significant than it should have.

As the delivery guy hurried off, I cradled the flowers, inhaling their sweet fragrance.

Who could possibly want to send me flowers? My mind raced through the possibilities like a whirlwind. Damien? Could he really be the one behind this? I could almost picture him smirking