The breaking point came with the gardenia. A single, perfect bloom floating in a tiny glass bowl on his desk. Leo adored gardenias but rarely bought them. This one was fresh, fragrant, undeniably new. Clara felt a surge of possessive anger. Who dared? Who knew him well enough to leave his favorite flower?
“Okay, this has to stop,” Clara stated, her voice tight. “Someone is leaving things for you, Leo. Who is it?” The accusation hung in the air. Leo recoiled, his face a mixture of confusion and hurt. “I don’t know, Clara! Why do you keep blaming me? Do you think I’m cheating with flowers?” The argument escalated, raw and unhappy.
Later, simmering, Clara checked the locks, peered through the peephole, even subtly asked their neighbour if they’d seen anyone unusual. Nothing. The apartment was secure. Unless… unless the ‘admirer’ didn’t need to break in. Unless they were already inside, somehow. The thought sent a chill down her spine, twisting her fear into something colder.