Cornelia's POV
The moment I spotted the rose lying beside my door, one name echoed through my mind like a prayer.
"David," I breathed, crouching down to retrieve both the delicate flower and the mysterious box. I pressed the rose to my nose, inhaling deeply as his voice drifted through my memory like smoke.
"A rose for my Cornelia."
My throat tightened painfully. The ache in my chest was unbearable. I craved his playful humor and those ridiculous comments that always made my skin flush with heat. I yearned for the way his eyes used to drink me in, the way his hands would map every curve of my body with reverent care.
God, how I missed him. But that warm, teasing man had been nowhere to be found when I stared into his cold eyes the night before.
I carried the box inside, my curiosity burning as I settled onto the couch despite the sharp protest from my bruised ribs.
The note inside made my heart sink like a stone.
