Chapter 121 Can It Be Refused?
Hearing her name, Grace felt a surge of surprise.
She maneuvered her walker toward the nurses' station and saw a man in a tailored suit standing there. Behind him, two similarly dressed men were pushing an ornate white iron cart laden with roses arranged in a heart shape—but these were rare black roses, unlike anything she'd ever seen.
Grace's lips twitched involuntarily. She had never seen black roses before and couldn't help but stare in amazement.
One of the young nurses gasped in awe. "Did you see that? He's wearing an Eden Hill badge—he's from Eden Hill Florist!"
"Eden Hill Florist? I've heard of them—they're that famous rare flower cultivation studio. Lots of celebrity weddings use flowers from their greenhouse."
"High society always orders from Eden Hill Florist. Their cultivated flowers are the highest quality, most beautiful. Even a single red rose costs ninety-nine dollars."
"I've never seen black roses before. I heard they're the rarest of all."
Black roses were indeed a rare variety, seldom seen in the market.
Though part of the same rose family, black roses were absolutely unique.
Eden Hill's cultivated black roses were particularly renowned—with their luxurious petals displaying deep black with hints of velvet red, exuding an air of opulent mystery. The petal edges shimmered with a golden velvet-like luster.
Cultivating black roses was notoriously difficult. The dark petals, when exposed to full ultraviolet rays from sunlight, could easily suffer tissue damage, making survival challenging.
Only Eden Hill possessed the advanced cultivation conditions necessary, and even then, black roses bloomed just once per year with only a ten-day harvest window.
"I heard each black rose costs five hundred dollars!"
"That expensive?"
Eden Hill Florist?
Grace had only seen them featured in luxury magazines. Eden Hill never accepted public orders—they exclusively served high society clients, offering only rare varieties in limited quantities.
Who could it be?
She had heard someone asking for her room number earlier. Could these flowers actually be for her?
Such extravagance—sending so many roses.
Grace glanced at Henry, but his face showed equal confusion. She had assumed the flowers might be from him.
Three minutes later, two men wearing black velvet gloves pushed the flower cart toward Grace's room.
Many nurses followed, eager to witness the unique beauty of the black roses.
In the hallway, patients and family members stepped aside as everyone watched the massive cart of black roses roll toward Grace's room.
"Who sent them? What an incredible gesture! I heard there are ten thousand and one roses—symbolizing 'one in ten thousand.' At five hundred dollars per black rose, for ten thousand and one... do the math!"
"Ten thousand and one roses... oh my God, I'm terrible at math. I can't even calculate it."
"Roughly speaking... five million dollars?"
Gasps and exclamations rippled through the crowd.
Henry asked Grace, "Someone sent you roses?"
Grace replied, "Um... maybe they got the wrong person?" She couldn't imagine who would send her so many roses.
Henry chuckled. "But don't you dislike roses?"
Grace nodded. "I don't like flashy, impractical things like this."
She watched helplessly as crowds gathered outside her room, feeling deeply embarrassed.
Who would think sending this many roses to a hospital would be romantic?
And who was the bored person responsible for this?
Grace pushed her walker toward the doorway, but the entrance was completely blocked by the crowd. She nearly got pushed aside.
"Where is Ms. Foster?"
"Which one is Ms. Foster?"
Grace was too embarrassed to respond.
The thought of accepting these roses in front of so many people, surrounded by all these staring eyes, made her toes curl with mortification.
Among the crowd, the delivery coordinator immediately noticed her—Grace's fair skin and naturally pretty face, even without makeup, made her stand out.
He walked directly toward her. "Excuse me, are you Ms. Foster?"
Grace immediately denied it. "No, I'm not, I..."
"Ms. Foster, you're back?"
The aide emerged from the room, chattering excitedly. "Ms. Foster, someone sent you all these roses! How romantic!"
Suddenly, countless eyes focused on her.
Grace felt her scalp prickle as she quickly lowered her head, breaking into a cold sweat.
The coordinator smiled. "Ms. Foster, hello. I'm from Eden Hill Florist. I'm here on behalf of Mr. Hayes to deliver these flowers."
Grace's mind went blank. "Who?"
"Mr. Hayes."
"Mr. Hayes? Alexander?!" How could he be so tacky? Who taught him such cliché tactics?
The coordinator placed his right hand over his heart, bowing respectfully with elegant grace. "Yes, ma'am."
Grace's facial muscles twitched violently. "Can I refuse them?"
The coordinator froze mid-bow, lifting his head to stare at Grace in complete shock, utterly bewildered. "Why?"
Grace said firmly, "I don't like roses."
The coordinator was stunned again.
Could there really be a woman in this world who would refuse such beautiful roses?
Grace continued, "Take these roses back, and please tell your Mr. Hayes that I don't like roses—I like money. Tell him to cater to my actual preferences next time."
The coordinator was speechless.
They had spent five million dollars on these 10,001 black roses, used oversized delivery trucks, and organized an elaborate convoy to transport them here, only to have her refuse delivery?
Grace gestured around. "This is my hospital room, where I'm recovering. Do you see how this place could possibly accommodate all these roses?"
The coordinator wiped his cold sweat nervously. "These black roses were hand-picked overnight and loaded for early morning delivery. If you refuse them... how are we supposed to handle this?"
Henry spoke up from the side. "So you're saying the flowers can't be returned?"
The coordinator nodded, still sweating. "That's correct."
Mr. Hayes had insisted repeatedly that the black roses must be delivered directly to the recipient. If they were refused, there would be no way to explain it to Mr. Hayes.
Alexander...
What was that man trying to accomplish?
Did he have no concept of what 10,001 flowers meant? Didn't he realize this many roses would completely fill her hospital room, leaving no space to move around?
How was she supposed to sleep tonight—in a bed of roses?
Henry approached the cart full of black roses, gently lifting one with his index finger and running his fingertip over it thoughtfully. "Eden Hill's cultivated black roses are indeed superior quality. However, concentrating this many flowers in a hospital room isn't conducive to patient recovery."
He smiled with subtle mischief. "Why don't we place them in the back garden, directly facing Ms. Foster's window? That way, Ms. Foster can see them every morning when she opens her curtains, and you won't have to endure the trouble of transporting them back while wondering how to explain the situation."