Chapter 119 119
Flowers.
A beautiful trail of white and soft pink roses was scattered gently down every single step, their petals forming a delicate path that glowed in the morning sunlight. The sweet, fresh scent floated up to me, light and romantic. My heart stuttered in my chest. I stood there, amazed, staring at what he had done. The hard, dangerous man who ran a motorcycle club had turned into someone who left flowers on the stairs… for me.
A smile I couldn’t chase away spread across my face, wide and unstoppable. It felt silly and wonderful at the same time. Still rubbing one eye, I began walking down the stairs, following the flower trail, my bare feet stepping carefully between the petals. The smile refused to leave my lips no matter how hard I tried to calm it.
When I reached the bottom and turned into the living room, my eyes landed on the shock of my life. A scream I couldn't control escaped my lips, and I stumbled back a step, my hand flying up to cover my mouth. My breath was already shaking as my eyes gazed around the entire room; it had been completely transformed.
Soft white and pink balloons floated near the ceiling. Delicate streamers and warm fairy lights draped across the walls and furniture. A beautiful cake sat on the center table, candles already lit and flickering gently. But what stole every bit of breath from my lungs was the huge flat-screen TV on the wall. Bold, elegant white letters glowed across the dark background:
“Daisy…
The world became a little brighter on this day.
March 14th — Your Birthday.”
Tears flooded my eyes instantly. They spilled down my cheeks before I could even try to stop them. An overwhelming wave crashed over me, so heavy it made my knees feel weak.
I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had celebrated my birthday. After my mom died, the day simply stopped existing. For the past seventeen years—since I turned seventeen—March 14th had been just another painful day filled with Donald’s debts, fear, and survival. No cake. No gifts. No one who cared enough to say the words “Happy Birthday.” My mom had been the only person who ever made the day special, and she had been gone for so long that I had forgotten what it even felt like to have a birthday.
Now this.
Diesel had remembered. He had planned. He had turned an ordinary morning into something I never thought I deserved again. My vision blurred completely. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe through the sob building in my throat. I kept looking at the beautiful wonder; not even once did I remember today was my birthday. I had written this day off in my brain. I didn't even remember it, let alone think I deserved this much.
I was still standing there as Diesel stepped out from the kitchen, holding a single perfect rose in his hand. He looked soft and handsome in the morning light—gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a simple black t-shirt stretched across his chest, hair still slightly messy from sleep. But his eyes… his eyes were full of quiet, steady love as they locked on mine.
“Happy Birthday, my Daisy,” he said, his voice low, warm, and sincere, like every word carried years of meaning.
I tried to ask how he knew. I tried to say anything at all, but the tears came harder, turning into deep, broken sobs. My legs moved on their own. I walked slowly toward him, then threw myself into his arms, burying my face in his chest as heavy sobs shook my entire body.
“Thank you…” I cried against him, the words muffled and raw. “Thank you… thank you so much…”
Diesel wrapped his strong arms around me tightly, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubbed slow, soothing circles on my back. He held me like I was something precious and fragile, letting me cry without rushing me, without trying to quiet my tears. He just held me close, solid and warm, as years of forgotten birthdays poured out of me in waves.
When my sobs finally quieted into soft sniffles, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head and whispered, “Come here. I have something for you.”
He kept one arm securely around my shoulders and gently guided me toward the corner of the room. My eyes widened through the tears as I saw the row of beautifully wrapped gifts waiting there. The first was enormous—a giant, fluffy teddy bear almost as tall as me, wearing a tiny party hat. Beside it sat a delicate baby onesie with a card that read: “What Daisy deserved when she was one year old.”
I let out a shaky, wet laugh, my chest heaving as I looked up at him through the mess of tears on my face. "One year old?" I choked out, pointing a trembling finger at the tiny onesie. "Diesel, what... what even is this? I’m twenty-three, why are you giving me baby clothes?"
He didn't reply. He just looked at me with that heavy, intense stare that made my breath hitch, his thumb brushing a tear off my jaw. He gave me a slow nod, urging me toward the next one. "Keep going, Daisy. I’m just catching us up."
I moved like a zombie, my feet heavy. At age two, a wooden train. At five, a doll with golden curls. At ten, a music box that played a soft, haunting tune. By the time I hit the teen years, I was full-on sobbing again. "What the fuck is this?" I whispered, the words catching in my throat as I looked at the long line of boxes still waiting. He had really done it. He had gone back through every single year of my life.
He jerked his chin toward the line of boxes. "Keep going."
My hands were shaking so badly I nearly ripped the "Eighteen" tag. When the paper fell away, a shiny car key hit the floor, and my eyes bugged out at the thick stack of cash tucked into the box.
"Diesel..." I breathed, my head spinning.
"Twenty," he muttered, pointing to a large, flat box.
I tore it open. It was a massive, professional makeup kit with every color imaginable, and sitting on top was a cheque with my name on it. The amount... I couldn't even count the zeros through my tears. I felt dizzy, like the floor was tilting.
Then I saw a folder labeled Twenty-one. Inside wasn't a toy or a gadget. It was a list of several top colleges, and clipped to the back were letters—official, stamped letters—confirming guaranteed scholarship payments. My breath left me in a sharp scream. I was going insane. I was actually losing it. The dreams I had buried years ago, the ones I thought were dead and gone, he had dug them up and handed them back to me on a silver platter.
"You got me in?" I shrieked, clutching the papers so hard they wrinkled. "How did you even—"
"Focus, Daisy. The last one," he interrupted, his voice low and rough.
I stumbled to the box for Twenty-three. My fingers were shaking so badly I could barely get the ribbon off. Inside was a gold-framed document. I wiped my eyes, squinting at the bold letters: CERTIFICATE OF REGISTRATION.
It was a business license. Registered in my name.
My knees finally gave out, and I hit the floor, still clutching the frame. "A business? Diesel, what is this?"
He dropped down beside me, his large hand cupping the back of my head. "It’s a massage studio. It’s already set up—you don’t work for anyone else ever again. You're the owner."
I let out a jagged, hysterical sob, throwing my arms around his neck so hard we almost tipped over. I was crying so hard I couldn't even see him anymore, just feeling the heat of his skin and the steady beat of his heart.
"Thank you," I wailed into his neck, my voice raw and broken. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."
He just held me, his arms like iron bands around my waist, letting me fall apart in the middle of all those gifts. For years, I was nobody. Today, he made me feel like the only girl in the world. I squeezed him tighter, my face buried in the crook of his neck, soaked with tears I couldn’t stop if I tried.
Diesel let out a low, huffed breath, his large hand sliding up from my back to cup my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes were dark and intense, but there was a smirk playing on his lips—that raw, confident look that always made my stomach flip.
He swiped his thumb across my soaked cheek, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly tone.
“Stop crying, Daisy,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto mine. “We still have long days to party.”