Semua Bab My Enemy Is My Lover : Bab 71 - Bab 80

Rosa’s povThe usual flow of customers rummaging through racks, and the low rumble of my staff coordinating delivery off in the corner were always common signs of a busy morning at Rosa’s Boutique; another ordinary day. I had just finished serving the last customer of the morning on their way out as I remembered to take a breath, straighten my skirt and flick what hair I could back behind an ear.That was when I noticed it, a small brown box on the counter next to the register.“Who delivered this?” I asked, glancing around.Hannah, my operations manager, shrugged her shoulders. “No idea. That was only there this morning when I went in. No note, no return address.”Furrowing my brow, I grabbed the box and held it up in front of me. When she unwrapped it, it almost looked like a small package covered in brown paper, held together with twine and surprisingly heavy for its size. It felt... intentional, like a lot of care had been put into this.“Should I open it?” Not really expecting ot

Rosa’s povJames, this can't be ignored," I said firmly. A fire lit in my heart, smoldering eradicated any uncertainty I had carried with me for the past few days. The enigma of the gifts had grown to loom over our lives—an unsolved riddle and an incomplete puzzle, eagerly waiting for all its fragments to be joined over blurry lines.James, who was sitting across from me at the dining room table looked up at me. His look was just as firm, his gray eyes slitting at me and giving a brief nod. “Agreed. Let’s investigate.”We started with what seemed to be the most logical first step: tracking where the packages had come from. So James was in charge of this little task, due to his network of contacts and expertise at booking things. He called the courier companies that had delivered the packages, but each lead ended in a cul-de-sac. However the trail grew cold before it even started, as not one of their records matched the descriptions for the packages and there was no return address.One

Rosa’s povThe enticing whiff of lavender and freshly pressed linens welcomed James and me back to the boutique from the tranquil evening we shared. It was the familiar soft hum of the overhead lights, and the gentle clink of a bell at the entrance that had everything about this space a little lost in time but there was something foreign to this serenity tonight. It was like one of those eased moments that hangs over you before a storm goes off in the room.We slipped further into the heart of boutique, where the dangling chandeliers glinted against glass cases and dimmed an almost skeletal glow around us. That was when it caught my eye — a pristine package, neatly wrapped in paper, on the counter. The bow was crisp and elegant; it sparkled in the light, and the brown paper that surrounded it looked far too neat to actually be real.I had spoken, while all my hair stood on end and eyes went wide, with my mouth only letting me say the word "James," as I pointed toward that package.He

James’s povWhen Rosa walked out of the door to go meet The Patron at the Grand Hotel, a ball of anxiety lodged itself in my heart and twisted. I stood at the counter of the boutique and stared at a row of necklaces stacked beneath glass. All the logical reassurances I told myself—public place, quick meeting, Rosa could take care of herself—did nothing to quell the nagging fear clawing at my brain.The whole thing had been odd from the beginning. The strange gifts, the vague texts, the request for discretion—all of that felt like obfuscation, like something more deliberate. But I just couldn't get rid of the thought that Rosa was stepping into a trap.I started pacing back and forth, the gentle whir of the lighting system in the boutique mixing with the low hum of street noise, muffled but not inaudible. I saw the blood going from my body and I heard worst-case scenarios.What if The Patron was not all they said? What if this was a long con to control Rosa, an attempted exploitation o

Rosa’s povThe boutique had surpassed my expectations. It was not only the sales, or how people were reviewing my designs generously and demanding for more of them, it was a fulfilment that I have manifested what I had visualised. Each item in the boutique was a curated tale, and customers met it with excitement and dedication.Fluff James as my wingman and The Patron behind the scenes in his quiet authoritative way, my boutique was a household name. Fashion insiders complimented me and influencers wanted to work with me, while the industry started inviting me out as a rising star.But success, I discovered rather quickly, was a careful balancing act.The signs were subtle at first. Avoided stares, whispers at industry functions. Other designers who once greeted me with a smile barely offered curt nods.At the time, I shook it off as a lack of self confidence on their end. James shrugged, confident: “People are always talking.And then the rumors began in an avalanche.(Rolls eyes) as