Chapter 4: The Perfume He Didn't Smell

Before Damien could fold the ultrasound photograph into his pocket, I lunged forward.

My fingers caught the edge of the paper.

My nails scraped across his palm as I tore it from his grip.

The photograph crumpled between my trembling fingers.

I pressed it tightly against my chest.

"Give it back," I said.

His eyes darkened instantly.

"You think hiding it changes anything?"

"It belongs to me."

"Nothing inside this house belongs to you anymore."

He reached for my wrist.

Just before his fingers touched my skin, his phone rang.

The sharp vibration shattered the suffocating silence inside the studio.

Damien glanced at the screen.

His expression hardened.

"Speak," he answered immediately.

I took two cautious steps backward until the drafting table pressed against my spine.

My heart refused to slow.

"When?" Damien asked into the phone.

The anger disappeared from his voice.

Only cold authority remained.

He listened without interrupting.

Every few seconds his eyes drifted toward me.

As if making sure I hadn't disappeared.

"Fine," he finally replied.

"I'll deal with it."

The call ended.

"Who was it?" I asked.

"Colette."

He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"She found the back gate unlocked again."

"I wasn't anywhere near the gate."

"Should I start believing everything you say now?"

His words landed harder than any slap.

"After discovering you hiding evidence of another man's child?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Then explain it."

"I can't."

"Exactly."

He slowly buttoned the cuff of his shirt.

"Starting tomorrow, you won't leave this estate."

I stared at him.

"You can't imprison me."

"Watch me."

His tone remained terrifyingly calm.

"No hospital visits."

"No town."

"No gardens beyond the main grounds."

"No studio unless I allow it."

"You're serious?"

"If you leave this property without my permission," he continued, "I'll have this entire studio demolished."

I felt every drop of blood leave my face.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Without another glance, Damien walked away.

The studio door remained open behind him.

His footsteps echoed through the empty corridor until everything fell silent again.

***

The next morning, I stood beside one of the upstairs windows.

The iron gates at the front entrance remained tightly shut.

Two additional security guards stood outside.

Neither had been there yesterday.

By noon, it became obvious.

Damien had meant every word.

No vehicle entered.

No vehicle left.

I had become a prisoner inside my own home.

***

Near lunchtime, I waited inside the foyer with Damien's wool coat folded carefully across my arms.

He descended the staircase while adjusting his cufflinks.

His silver watch caught the morning light.

He didn't look at me.

He rarely did anymore.

The front door opened.

Colette entered carrying a thick manila folder.

"The merger documents from the downtown office, sir," she said politely.

"Leave them there," Damien replied.

She obeyed.

But instead of stepping away, she moved closer.

Much closer.

She reached toward Damien's chest.

"Your lapel folded over during the drive yesterday," she said softly while smoothing invisible wrinkles from his jacket.

I immediately stepped forward.

"That's enough, Colette."

She withdrew her hand with exaggerated innocence.

"My apologies, Madame."

Then she tilted her head slightly.

Almost as if she were examining something.

"That's strange..."

"What is?" I asked.

"Mr. Ashford isn't wearing his usual fragrance today."

I tightened my grip on the coat.

"I applied it myself this morning."

"Really?"

She leaned forward slightly.

"I can't smell it at all."

"Perhaps you forgot."

"I don't forget."

"Maybe the bottle spoiled."

Her smile remained perfectly polite.

Perfectly rehearsed.

Damien sighed impatiently.

"Enough."

He took the coat from my hands.

"I don't have time for perfume discussions."

"Have a productive meeting, sir," Colette said sweetly.

Damien walked straight through the front door without looking back.

The engine of his car faded into the distance.

Only then did Colette face me.

"Such a pity," she whispered.

"You put in so much effort."

"Return to work."

"Of course, Madame."

She bowed politely.

The tiny smile on her lips never disappeared.

***

I didn't confront her.

That was exactly what she wanted.

Instead, I calmly walked upstairs.

Straight to the master bedroom.

The room looked exactly as I'd left it.

Until I reached my vanity.

A dark stain spread across the polished wood.

My heartbeat skipped.

I pulled open the top drawer.

The perfume bottle lay on its side.

Its silver cap rested beside it.

Empty.

Every drop had spilled across the table.

I slowly picked up the bottle.

Three months before our wedding, I'd created that fragrance by hand.

Juniper.

Cedar.

A trace of bergamot.

Damien had once called it unforgettable.

Now the room smelled overwhelmingly of concentrated cedar.

The scent hit the back of my throat.

Suddenly...

Everything disappeared.

Twisted metal.

Broken glass.

Gasoline.

Blood.

"Viv..."

Nathaniel's weak voice echoed somewhere inside the memory.

"I'm sorry..."

I squeezed my eyes shut.

When I opened them again, I was standing in front of the vanity.

Breathing hard.

My brother was gone.

Only the spilled perfume remained.

I immediately understood.

Someone had entered my room.

Opened the bottle.

Poured it across the furniture.

Colette wanted exactly one thing.

She wanted me angry.

She wanted me screaming.

She wanted every servant downstairs to witness the unstable wife losing control.

She wanted Damien to hear about it before dinner.

I refused to give her that satisfaction.

Instead, I calmly retrieved a towel from the bathroom.

I cleaned every drop of oil.

Polished the wood.

Disposed of the stained lace cloth.

When everything looked normal again, I lifted the empty bottle carefully.

Only by the nozzle.

I carried it toward the bedroom window.

Bright afternoon sunlight passed through the crystal glass.

My own fingerprints appeared faintly near the bottom.

Then I noticed another mark.

One clean partial fingerprint near the center.

Beside it...

A tiny streak of nude-colored nail polish.

The exact shade Colette wore every single day.

I stared at the bottle for several seconds.

Then a slow realization settled inside me.

She hadn't made a mistake.

She'd left the print intentionally.

She wasn't trying to hide.

She was challenging me.

Daring me to prove it.