The first bouquet arrived at her office—a massive arrangement of white lilies and pink roses delivered right to her desk at Terania's creative division. It dwarfed her laptop and half her workspace, filling the air with a fragrance so rich it turned heads from down the hall.
"Uh, Miss Terania," the receptionist said, poking her head through the glass door, "there's… another one downstairs."
Mirabelle blinked. "Another—?"
By the time she made it to the lobby, there were three. And that was only Monday.
By Wednesday, the deliveries had evolved into a full-blown spectacle. Bouquets began appearing everywhere she went—at cafés she frequented, at the cozy plaza where she performed, and even at her parents' mansion, where her mother now teased her mercilessly.
Each new arrangement was more extravagant than the last: dahlias, orchids, tulips, roses, even rare blossoms imported from overseas. Every single one came with a tiny tag in neat handwriting that simply read, For Belle.
The deliverymen started recognizing her. One particularly nervous courier rubbed the back of his neck as he handed her yet another towering bouquet.
"Uh, Mr. Rolston said these are the day's bouquet," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed by the scale of it.
Mirabelle wanted to melt into the floor. "Is it daily bouquets now?" she muttered under her breath.
At first, she was mortified. Her coworkers gawked every morning as the lobby filled with flowers. By the end of the week, her colleagues had even started a betting pool on what color the next day's arrangement would be.
"Fifty on red roses."
"No way—he's going with white again. It matches her aesthetic."
"Watch it be black tulips just to mess with us."
Mirabelle buried her face in her hands as laughter echoed through the office. And yet, despite the chaos, she couldn't deny the warmth blooming in her chest.
One evening, after sending her staff home, she lingered at her desk, surrounded by the day's bouquets. Their fragrance filled the room—fresh, hopeful, and alive. She reached out to adjust a petal, and a memory surfaced before she could stop it.
A dim cell.
A wilted rose clutched in trembling hands.
Tears falling onto shriveled petals.
Back then, she had been desperate to hold onto something beautiful, even as everything around her crumbled. Now, she sat surrounded by hundreds of flowers—living, thriving and blooming.
Her chest tightened painfully. She shook her head, pushing the memory away. No more crying over the past. She smiled faintly, brushing her fingertips across a soft blossom. "You really didn't have to go this far, Noah," she whispered to no one.
By the end of the week, she decided to return the gesture—quietly, subtly, in her own way. Each night, she picked a few flowers from the day's deliveries and pressed them into small sheets of stationery. On each paper, she wrote cheerful little notes in her delicate handwriting:
Remember to eat today.
You're doing great.
Work hard, but don't overwork yourself.
I believe in you.
She tucked them into small envelopes with healthy snacks and had them delivered to EON's studio, addressed simply to Noah.
When Noah received the first package, he paused, staring at it like he wasn't sure it was meant for him. Inside was a neatly wrapped energy bar and a slip of pressed rose petals shaped into a heart, along with a note:
Don't skip meals again.
Something in his chest tightened.
Cassian leaned over his shoulder. "Who's it from?"
Noah smiled quietly. "Belle."
Theo let out a low whistle. "Man, that's adorable."
Jace laughed. "She's too good for you."
Luca elbowed Cassian, grinning. "We should meet her officially. I want to see the girl who made our fearless leader all shy like this."
Noah ignored their teasing, still staring down at the small note—his lips curving softly, almost reverently, like he was holding something too precious to let go.