The sky was gray and overcast, but there was nothing surprising about that. Long gone were the days of sunshine and happiness. Now my life was filled with meaningless tasks, making time pass, moving along painfully slowly while I tried to forget the events that shaped my life forever. 

Now I was just a regular girl. I worked in a flower shop, and in exchange for lower pay, the owner allowed me to live in a swanky apartment above the shop.

I was reasonably happy. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. I hadn’t been happy in a long time, but I tried to get by. 

That morning, I was once again the first one at the flower shop. I woke up early but not so bright—one look through the window proved it was drab and dreary outside. Another day of bad weather and not very nice customers awaited me.

With a sigh, I forced myself to get out of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I padded into the kitchen, where I made myself a steaming cup of coffee, then sat in the window seat, my favorite place in the apartment, while I watched the sun rise over the city.

Later on, I dressed in one of my staple outfits, a black skirt and white blouse. Black and white were the colors of my uniform, but once I got to the flower shop, I’d have to put an apron over them to protect my clothes. Luckily the shop was right below our building, so I only had the four flights of stairs to take before I arrived.

Unlocking the shop, I walked into the cool interior and was greeted by beautiful blooms that never failed to make my day just a little bit brighter. 

In the back, the delivery of fresh flowers was already waiting for me, and I sighed at the sight of the gorgeous flora to be displayed in the shop.

Petale was a high-end florist, and as ashamed as I was to admit it, I knew most of our business came from rich city men sending flowers to different women every day. 

Sometimes it was their wives, but more often than not it was lovers or one-night stands. I felt sorry for the flowers when I thought about that. A lot of them were smashed and thrown out when an angry woman realized who they were from. I couldn’t imagine myself being that jealous.

Well, not anymore.

Not since him.

But I did my very best to keep him out of my thoughts.

The hours started passing as I arranged bouquets and fulfilled orders that had come in overnight through our online shop. At 9:00 a.m. sharp, my boss, Mr. Ventura, walked in.

"Good to see you working early," he greeted me with a sly grin.

I forced a smile in return.

Mr. Ventura was twenty years older than me, forty-five to my twenty-five, and he had the unpleasant habit of hitting on me whenever there was a chance. I thought of him as the staple client of our shop—seemingly happily married on the outside, but probably cheating on his wife with a slew of secretaries and call girls. I tried to stay out of his way as much as possible to avoid the remarks, but it seemed he was in an extra chipper mood that morning, winking lewdly at me as he made his way inside.

"Oh, Ginger," he called out once I disappeared into the room at the back. "Something arrived for you."

He handed me a small box made of pretty white cardboard, creamy and thick, tied up with a pink ribbon. I had no idea who would send me something in such exquisite packaging. I didn't even know anyone around these parts, preferring to keep to myself. But it was plainly obvious that Mr. Ventura had his own thoughts on the package, and his knowing smile pissed me off.

"Got yourself an admirer?" he asked with another wink. "Nothing wrong with that, Ginger. A pretty girl like you is bound to catch somebody's eye."

There was a hint of jealousy in his voice that I refused to acknowledge. Instead, I offered him a smile and placed the box in my locker in the back. Before I had the chance to open it, we were open for business, and the little bell above the door chimed in greeting to our first customer.

For the rest of the day, I was more than busy with clients, not getting a single chance to look at the mysterious box. I prepared bouquet after bouquet, picked the prettiest blooms and tied them up in ways that were irresistible to our customers. I just hoped the recipients would be grateful.

I'd only received flowers once in my life.

It was years ago, when he had sent me three dozen red roses to my apartment. I had kept the prettiest bloom out of the bunch, and it still hung on my bedroom door, upside down and almost as beautiful in its death as it was in life. But I preferred not to think about it. I chose to ignore it most days, because a single look at the flower filled me with sadness I didn't want to deal with.

Once I was done with work, Mr. Ventura was waiting in the front of the shop and I groaned inwardly, knowing I'd have to deal with his remarks yet again.

"Great work today, Ginger," he told me. "But I do have to warn you about your outfit."

I glanced down at my clothes. I hadn't worn anything special, just the skirt and blouse ensemble I always picked for work. 

"Our customers are people of class," Mr. Ventura said with a smirk. "You'll need to pick up some better-quality clothes. And while you're at it, get some stockings instead of tights. They're so much more appealing."

I stared at him in disbelief. Is he really telling me this? I couldn't believe his gall.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ventura," I replied coldly. "I’m wearing black and white as the dress code suggests."

"Yes, dear," he said with patience. "But it's not… how shall I put this… enticing enough. Our customers want to see a well-put-together, attractive girl behind the counter."

I was never behind the counter, he was. I mostly worked in the back.

"Your clothes could also do with some… tightening," he said suggestively. "You seem to wear a size or two too big for your frame."

Yeah, so you wouldn't stare at me like you are now, I thought bitterly. On the outside though, I just smiled brightly and nodded in understanding.

"I know your paycheck isn't much," he went on, "so I'd be happy to take you out and help you shop for some things." His brows moved up suggestively, and he licked his thin lips as he looked at me. "Perhaps I could even help you pick some undergarments to go under your new clothes."

"Thank you, Mr. Ventura," I replied. "I will keep that in mind next time I'm shopping for clothing."

I left him standing there and walked out of the flower shop, my lips pursed together in annoyance.

He was such a horrible man, but I knew he would never fire me. There was no one else who'd be willing to work their lives around the crazy hours of the flower shop. He needed me more than I needed him—at least as far as he knew. I needed the anonymity. Being hidden in plain sight. But I couldn't let him know that. The second he realized how important the job and the apartment were to me, I'd be forced to follow his rules. 

I knew he'd had his eye on me for a while, but I was never going to let him touch me. 

In my rush to get out of Petale, I'd almost forgotten to take the mystery box that had arrived for me. Luckily I'd wrapped it in my jacket, and the creamy cardboard felt silky under my touch as I carried it upstairs. I wondered who had sent me the box.

I'd received only a few presents before, from rich customers of Petale who thought they could sway me with expensive, lavish gifts. I assumed this was more of the same.

As pretty as the gifts were, they always went back to the sender. But this time, I hadn't noticed a return address on the box, which meant it was stuck with me.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment and opened a window, letting some of the cool air in. It was starting to rain once again. 

The box went on my small table, and I glanced at it curiously while I made myself a cup of peppermint tea. I was nosy, but the moment of not knowing what was in there was almost as exciting as actually opening the mysterious package.

Finally, I sat down at the table with my steaming cup of tea in front of me, my fingers toying with the pretty ribbon around the box. I undid it and slowly opened the lid.

There were two things inside, and when I saw them, all the color drained from my face.

One was a tarot card. When I turned it around, I realized the front was blank. It had the back I used to know so well, but the front of it was just blank white paper.

Tabula rasa.

I tried to make the words disappear from my head, but they seemed stuck there, reminding me of everything I'd done in the past. I thought I was going to be sick. But I wasn't done with the box just yet. There was something else in there, a note written in the loopy, childlike handwriting I still remembered so well, all the i’s dotted with hearts. My stomach turned at the sight of them.

I picked up the piece of paper with shaky fingers, my eyes scanning the words, committing them to memory.

I know where you are. But instead of coming for you, I'm going to let you come to me. Then I'm going to destroy your life. Think I'm lying? I've already started. 

I swallowed thickly. Of course I knew who the message was from. She didn't need to sign it. It was plainly obvious she'd come back to haunt me, just like she'd promised all those years ago.

Collapsing on the chair, I let the piece of paper flutter to the ground. I couldn't bear to look at it, and I couldn't bear to think of what I'd done. It hurt too much. Yet I wasn't the one who'd been hurt the most.

All these years spent hiding, living in the shadows, hoping she would never come for me. They would all be over soon. And if I was being honest with myself, I knew she was going to find me eventually. She'd promised me her revenge, and I knew her well enough to see she meant it. 

I chose not to remember our time together, to think of my betrayal. I chose to move on, not looking for her because I knew eventually she'd come looking for me. It seemed like the time had finally come.

I had never wanted to admit it, never wanted to so much as say her name out loud, but I deserved everything that was coming. I'd let her down. Betrayed her in the worst possible way. I deserved her punishment.

There were so many times I'd lain awake at night, wishing I were gone for what I'd done to her. Days when I'd held a razor in my hands, thinking about ending things. I wasn't ever brave enough to go through with it.

But she was.

The only way she wouldn't seek justice would be if she was dead. And despite everything, I didn't want that.

After all, she was my sister.