My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 36 Roses And Tulips

Nova POV

The following morning, I woke up to a knock. Groggy, I shuffled to the door, hair a mess, brain still fogged with fragments of last night. When I opened it, my vision cleared and instantly regretted it.

A tsunami of flowers blocked the entire hallway. Bouquets stacked on bouquets, roses and tulips spilling over in impossible colors, lilies standing like sentries, orchids draping down in delicate cascades. The whole thing looked like a wedding had vomited on my doorstep.

Dead center was a massive card, his name sprawled across in arrogant ink:

LUCA.

So he wanted the entire building to know who was claiming me.

The maid lingered nearby with a polite smile frozen as if waiting for me to squeal like a lovestruck princess and start twirling in petals. Instead, my stomach twisted.

Luca wasn’t wooing me. He was branding me.

He is a good example of a muddy puddle disguised as a glass of wine, that’s what he was. Seemingly harmless, but you fall in, and it swallows you whole.

I pinched my nose, inhaling the cloying perfume of roses. "Throw them away."

The maid blinked. "All of them, miss?"

"Yes. All of them."

I shut my door before she could argue. My chest heaved. I didn’t even open the card, because I knew what I’d find: beautiful words dripping with venom, the same honey-laced poison he texted before I blocked his number the same night he texted me.

Snake.

That’s what he was. Beautiful, smooth, calculating. Always slithering closer and carefully choosing the right time to strike.

By lunch break, he proved it.

Lucy, Grant’s new secretary, waltzed toward me with a smile so wide it should be illegal. She was Sandy’s opposite in every way; very friendly, nosy, bubbling with life. And currently, I wanted to strangle her.

"Guess what?" She sing-songed.

I forced a weak grin. "You finally decided to elope with the mailman?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "No, silly. You’ve got an admirer."

My stomach sank. I already know who it was.

With a flourish, she revealed another bouquet; smaller, but blood-red roses this time and a sleek box tied with a white Hermès ribbon. My throat went dry.

When I peeled the wrapping back, my worst fears materialized.

Inside lay a crocodile-skin Hermès Birkin. Limited release. Rare vintage. The kind of bag my friends drooled over in magazines while calculating how many organs they’d need to sell to afford it despite being from wealthy families.

Lucy gasped so loudly the entire floor probably heard. She clutched her chest.

"Nova. Do you know what this is? This is one of the holy grails. One of three! Do you know how insane this is? Girl, if you don’t marry this man immediately, I will."

Attached to the handle, a note in elegant script: no With all my love. Luca.

Love? My ass.

I shoved the bag toward her. "Take it."

Lucy blinked. "Keep it... for you? Until later?"

"No, take it for yourself."

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me? Nova, this bag costs more than my salary. More than my apartment. Probably more than my entire life. You’re rejecting it?"

"Yes."

She leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "Are you... okay? Like... mentally?"

I almost laughed. If she knew the chaos in my head, the psycho secretary with knives, the murder accusations, the Dom who punished me for existing; she’d know "okay" had long been evicted from my vocabulary.

"Take it, Lucy," I repeated, sharper this time.

Mouthing a shocked "wow," she hugged the bag to her chest like it was her newborn and flounced out. I didn’t need a crystal ball to know the entire office would hear about this by the hour. Lucy was many things, but discreet wasn’t one of them.

Luca’s shadow had officially infiltrated my workplace and I don’t even want to think about what Grant would do if he finds this out.

The rest of the day dragged like I was walking through wet cement. My hands typed, my eyes stared at screens, but my brain wouldn’t stop buzzing.

So when my phone lit up with a new message, I nearly ignored it.

Then I saw the words:

Unknown Number: I know who killed your parents. Meet me at Table 2, Numbers Tour. 6 P.M. Come alone. Don’t tell anyone.

My entire body froze.

It had been years since I let myself think about it, about them. About blood splattered across linoleum, about the way grief gutted me so clean I thought I’d never breathe again. The official story was an accident. A robbery gone wrong; Something tragic, simple and over just like that.

But I’d never believed it. Not deep down.

And now someone was claiming to know.

My heart pounded so hard I pressed a hand to my chest, as if I could cage it in. Rational Nova told me to delete it, tell Grant, ignore it. But the broken, curious Nova, the Nova who still heard her mother’s laugh in her dreams was already pulling a hoodie over her head.

I slid two sharp pens into my pocket. Weapons. Pitiful ones, but it gave me the illusion of control.

"Don’t be stupid," I muttered to myself the whole cab ride. "Don’t be stupid. You’re being stupid."

But by the time I got to the Numbers Tour, it was too late to turn back.

Neon lights buzzed, the air filled with the smell of fried food and expensive cologne.

And there he was. Luca.

Sitting at Table 2 like a trap dressed as a man, his tuxedo was replaced with casual wear that only made him look more approachable. More dangerous.

My stomach plummeted.

"Cara Mia," he said smoothly, smiling like I’d just made his day. He gestured to the chair across from him. "I was beginning to think you’d stand me up. Sit."

I didn’t move. My hoodie clung to me like armor.

"We both know I’m not here for drinks," I said, my voice steadier than my hands. "Who killed my parents? How do you even know?"

His eyes sparkled, dark and endless. He leaned back, unhurried, every inch of him coiled like a predator who already had the prey trapped.

"Oh, Cara Mia. Always so impatient." He chuckled, low, smooth, dangerous. "I know many things. I orchestrate many things. But answers are delicate. They need time. Wine. Conversation."

He tapped the table twice, as if daring me to sit.mmmm

My heart clawed against my ribs, torn between rage, fear, and the gnawing, desperate hunger for truth.

And the way his smile curved told me one thing with cruel clarity:

Whatever came out of his mouth tonight, it wasn’t going to set me free.