From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 67

**Chapter 11**

Spring returned once more, painting the world in vibrant colors and fragrant blossoms.

Stellan found himself in a charming southern town, renowned for its stunning flowers, all in the name of a business deal that had brought him here.

Once the meeting concluded, he politely declined an invitation to dinner, feeling the need to escape the bustling atmosphere. Instead, he meandered down an old street, where wisteria hung overhead like delicate purple curtains, their sweet scent mingling with the gentle warmth of the sun.

The sun’s rays were soft, and a light breeze caressed his face, carrying with it the delightful aroma of blooming flowers and the simple joys of everyday life. Yet, amidst this picturesque scene, an unsettling emptiness gnawed at him from within.

Just as he contemplated turning back, something caught his eye—a quaint little flower shop nestled at the corner of the street.

It bore no sign, but its window was a kaleidoscope of colorful blooms, with green vines cascading lazily over the edges, all bathed in a warm, inviting yellow light.

Inside, a woman stood with her back to the street, dressed in a simple yet elegant dress, meticulously watering a gardenia plant.

That slender, familiar silhouette made Stellan’s heart skip a beat.

*Ella?*

He rubbed his eyes, convinced he was imagining things. A rush of blood surged to his head, and the world around him seemed to tilt dangerously.

He froze, transfixed, staring at her back, his breath caught in his throat.

Suddenly, the door to the shop swung open, and a man emerged. He wore a clean plaid shirt and an easygoing smile, holding a whimsical cartoon water bottle in his hand.

With a fluidity that felt so natural, he approached her, handed her the bottle, and gently took the watering can from her grasp. Every movement radiated familiarity and tenderness.

Ella turned, accepting the bottle with a soft, relaxed smile that lit up her face.

Stellan’s heart raced as he finally saw her face clearly.

It was indeed Ella—the woman he had been yearning for, the one who had haunted his thoughts and dreams for far too long.

She appeared thinner but radiated a certain health and vitality. Her eyes sparkled with a serene peace he had never witnessed before.

That peace stabbed deeper than any dagger could.

She was thriving.

Without him, she was flourishing *so well*.

“Mommy! Daddy! Look at my flower!”

Out of the shop came a little girl, perhaps three or four years old, her pigtails bouncing as she skipped joyfully, clutching a messy crayon drawing in her tiny hands.

She leaped into Ella’s arms, her laughter ringing like music.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify