Where Love Shouldn't Bloom

The Morgan estate was alive with movement. Sleek cars idled in the driveway, their engines purring softly as uniformed drivers stood at attention. Servants rushed back and forth, carrying luggage, trunks, and other necessities for the upcoming trip. The air hummed with chatter, footsteps, and the occasional clang of metal against stone.

At the foot of the grand staircase, a striking figure struggled with her luggage.

Giselle Winters, a young woman with fiery red hair that burned like embers in the fading twilight, gripped the handle of her suitcase with both hands, attempting to haul it up the steps.

It was a battle-one she was determined to win, though her face remained as unreadable as ever.

The decision to accompany the Morgans on this vacation had been abrupt. Not that it mattered to her. She wasn't particularly thrilled, nor was she resentful. Excitement, frustration-those emotions did not touch her. Her expression was as impassive as ever, revealing nothing of what she thought about the entire ordeal.

She had just reached the third step when a sudden force sent her stumbling forward.

A playful giggle echoed behind her, unmistakable in its lighthearted mischief.

"Race you there!"

Annabelle Anders, twenty years old and forever brimming with energy, dashed past her like a child, her long blonde hair trailing behind her as she sprinted up the staircase.

Giselle caught herself, gripping the railing to keep from tumbling forward. Her gaze followed Anna's retreating figure, but she didn't bother responding.

She simply shook her head and resumed her slow, steady ascent.

"Oh, dear, Izy-thank goodness you're carrying less stuff."

Giselle barely turned before a stack of trunks and a small chest were unceremoniously shoved into her arms.

Katherine Anders-her adoptive mother-barely paused before hurrying away again, calling out over her shoulder. "Be a darling and take those up. I need to help your father with the heavier trunks."

Before Giselle could even think of a response, Katherine was gone, disappearing into the chaos below.

She exhaled quietly, adjusting the load in her arms. The weight wasn't unbearable, but the lack of consideration was almost amusing. Almost.

Giselle glanced down at her own luggage, then at the additional burden. With a sigh, she carefully stacked the smaller trunks and secured them against her hip before gripping the handle of her suitcase once more.

The obscured view made navigating the stairs a challenge, but she managed-until she didn't.

A hard impact jolted through her as she collided with someone.

The contents of her arms went flying.

A loud crash echoed through the grand lobby as something shattered against the polished marble floor.

Giselle's gaze flicked downward. An expensive-looking phone lay face-down, its screen most certainly cracked beyond repair.

She barely reacted. No flicker of remorse. No flash of frustration.

She simply stood still, staring, until an enraged voice cut through the air.

"How dare you! Don't you have eyes?"

Slowly, she shifted her gaze to the owner of the voice.

Maurice Morgan.

The ruthless CEO of Morgan Enterprises.

Even without prior knowledge, she would have recognized him. He carried himself with the unmistakable air of power-broad shoulders- squared, dark eyes simmering with barely restrained irritation.

His thick, straight brows furrowed sharply as he glared at her.

He was tall-dangerously so-with tousled ebony hair that gave him a rugged charm despite the sharpness of his features. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing just enough to add to his careless, devil-may-care aura.

Giselle took him in, analyzing him like one would a work of art. The public hadn't exaggerated-the man was striking. A god carved from storm and stone.

But she was immune to such things.

Maurice's frown deepened when she remained silent, her expression frustratingly unreadable.

"I said, didn't you hear me?" His tone sharpened.

Her placid green eyes met his, still void of reaction.

Maurice clenched his jaw.

The girl didn't even flinch. Didn't so much as blink.

Most people recoiled under his glare, yet she... simply stood there, unmoved.

Something about that irked him more than the broken phone.

He had been in the middle of an important call-one that required his full attention. But then, in one careless moment, she had knocked his phone from his grasp. And now, she had the audacity to stand there without a single word of apology?

The sheer nerve!

His hand twitched at his side, itching to do something-anything-to break through her maddening indifference.

His phone crackled with sound, reminding him that someone was still on the other end.

"Mr. Morgan? Are you still there?"

He exhaled sharply, restraining his rising irritation.

Without sparing Giselle another glance, he strode toward his fallen device, with steady gait, picking it up with a hardened expression.

The screen was ruined, spiderweb cracks splintering across the surface. He briefly checked the time on his wrist watch before lifting the phone to his ear.

"Yes, Mr. Beauséjour. I'm on my way."

His voice was clipped, all business.

Then, after a final scathing look in Giselle's direction, he turned and walked away, his long strides eating up the distance.

Giselle merely watched.

Once he was gone, she crouched to gather the scattered trunks and carefully stacked them again.

Her hands worked mechanically, but her mind lingered.

Her gaze flickered toward the exit, where Maurice had disappeared. She spotted Gabriel Anders speaking briefly with him before he stepped out the door.

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

So this is the man Anna is supposed to marry?

She exhaled quietly, shaking her head before returning to her task.

It was none of her concern.

And yet...

The way his eyes had burned with barely restrained fury, the way he had looked at her like an immovable obstacle-

Something about it stirred something in the depths of her mind.

A flicker.

Gone before it could take root.

She straightened, brushing invisible dust from her hands before continuing up the staircase.

Emotionless as ever.

As if nothing had happened at all.