Before I Die, Forgive Me

The glass door was thrown open just as I was bent over, trimming a bouquet of champagne roses. A cold wind swept in, carrying a sharp scent of perfume, laced with undeniable arrogance. "You call this dump a flower shop?" A sultry female voice rang out. I looked up to see Darcy Lancaster holding a woman in a red slip dress standing by the door. Her nails were painted bright red; her restless fingers toyed with Darcy's tie, and her eyes swept the shop with pure contempt. Darcy Lancaster's gaze fixed on me. Seven years apart, and he was sharper than ever—his suit sleeves rolled up, an expensive watch peeking out from his wrist, and an icy aura radiating from him. "Sabrina Sinclair," he said, his voice cold and devoid of warmth, "Sylvia wants blue roses. You don't have any?" I set down the scissors, my fingertips still stained with rose sap. "Out of season—blue roses are out of stock." "Out of stock?" Darcy sneered and swept his hand across the nearby flower rack. The glass vase shattered on the floor, shards and petals strewn everywhere. "I think you're doing it on purpose." Sylvia Donald chuckled softly, leaning into his embrace. "Darcy, don't waste words on her. This little shop isn't worth tears, even if it gets smashed." Darcy Lancaster said nothing, just waved his hand behind him. Two men in black immediately walked in and began smashing everything inside—the crash of breaking flowerpots and collapsing shelves echoing nonstop. I watched the carefully tended flower shop turn to chaos in an instant, my heart clenched as if gripped by a hand, yet I felt no trace of panic. I slowly moved behind the counter and grabbed the wooden stick in the corner—a self-defense tool I'd prepared earlier, worried about dangers on late nights. "Darcy Lancaster, you've gone too far." My voice was calm, but my hand holding the wooden stick tensed slightly. Darcy turned to look at me, eyes full of derision. "Gone too far? Sabrina, what you did to me back then was a hundred times worse than this." He stepped closer to me, Sylvia Donald following behind with a smirk, clearly enjoying the spectacle. Just as he reached out to grab me, I lifted the wooden stick and struck him on the head without hesitation. With a muffled "thud," Darcy grunted and stumbled back several steps. Blood trickled down from his temple, dripping onto his pristine white shirt like glaring red plum blossoms, soon splattering across the floor. Sylvia screamed, "Darcy! Are you okay?" Darcy raised his hand to his forehead, seeing the blood on his hand, his eyes darkened immediately, "Sabrina, you actually hit me?" He clenched his teeth, his voice thick with menace, "If I don't die today, tomorrow will be your last day!" I gripped the wooden stick, standing amid the wreckage, expressionless, "If you can't die, then be the one to collect my body." The air froze instantly as Darcy Lancaster stared at me, the fury in his eyes threatening to consume me whole. In the end, he was supported by Sylvia Donald and the man in black, staggering out of the flower shop. Before he left, the way he looked at me was as if he wanted to tear me apart alive. I watched their fading figures and slowly lowered the wooden stick, but the trembling in my fingers wouldn't stop. Seven years... and after all this time, we've finally come to this moment.