"Flowers for you, Mrs. Ravenstrong," Eloise announced cheerfully as she stepped into Sofia's office, placing a lavish bouquet of white lilies and pale pink roses on her desk.
Sofia didn't need to glance at the tag. For the past few days, flowers had become a ritual. Always white. Always perfect. Always from him—a performance scripted for the people watching.
She forced a polite smile. "Thank you, Eloise."
But she didn't reach for the petals like she used to. She didn't close her eyes to breathe in their scent the way she once did when the first bouquet arrived. Because now... she knew better.
The gifts weren't declarations of affection. They were a public display. A carefully calculated illusion.
"The doting husband," she thought bitterly, her gaze drifting to the bouquet as the door clicked shut behind Eloise.
Still, something tugged at her—something quiet and unwanted. A flicker of hope, curiosity, and need.
