The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 190

Annelise flipped the wooden sign on the door from OPEN to CLOSED.

She checked all the switches and, once satisfied, turned off the shop's main lights.

Only a small, warm spotlight above the counter remained, casting a soft, golden glow.

She took off her apron, folded it neatly, and tucked it into a cabinet.

Grabbing the clear umbrella and the navy blue scarf, she walked toward the entrance.

“I'm heading out, Sophia,” she called to the redhead, who was still standing behind the counter, watching her with palpable concern.

“Anne, are you...” Sophia started, wanting to say more, but ultimately swallowed her words.

She just nodded firmly. “Be careful out there.”

Pushing open the heavy glass door, Annelise was instantly met by a furious blast of freezing wind and rain.

She snapped the clear umbrella open and stepped without hesitation into the raging Oslo downpour.

Almost simultaneously, Yves stepped out beside her.

He expertly locked the shop's door with his keys and seamlessly fell into step on her right side.

It wasn't a fiercely protective stance, nor was it a possessive display of intimacy.

It was simply two people naturally walking the same path.

Maintaining a comfortable, respectful distance, they walked in complete silence down the rain-slicked pavement.

From across the street, beneath the thrashing trees, Hackett watched her emerge from the warmly lit shop.

His heart plummeted into his throat in that instant.

He had whispered it in his mind thousands of times.

But now, with her finally right in front of him, it felt as though something scalding had lodged in his throat, choking off every sound.

All he could do was watch helplessly as she walked toward him through the storm, side-by-side with another man.

Annelise crossed the street, passing right by Hackett.

The rain hammered down even harder.

Streams of water cascaded down her clear umbrella, forming a moving curtain that severed their two worlds.

Through that rippling veil, she caught a glimpse of his face.

He was an entirely different person from the arrogant, immaculate Hackett Lehman who used to look down on the world through gold-rimmed glasses in his spotless white coat.