The first bouquet arrived mid-morning.

The doorbell rang, and when Luara opened the door, a young omega girl was holding a huge arrangement of red roses, their scent filling the air as if trying to occupy every space in the house.

“For Miss Luara Silvares,” said the girl, a shy smile on her lips.

Luara took the card before even accepting the flowers. The white paper was folded impeccably, her name written in firm, masculine letters. She opened it slowly, reading the ...