Chapter 1

Sabrina Watts pressed her hand against the scalding coffee pot. Her skin made a sizzling sound, turning red and swollen, but she didn't even flinch.

Edgar Herrera watched with cold eyes, his face twisted in disgust. "Sabrina, are you really hurting yourself just to get some pity? Can't feel pain, huh? What an act."

What Edgar didn't realize was that Sabrina truly couldn't feel pain anymore. As a stand-in for Edgar's first love, every time her heart broke in their three years of marriage, she lost another sense. Taste, smell, pain... now, it was hearing's turn.

*****

The crystal chandelier in the villa's dining room threw a cold, unforgiving light across the long table, landing right on the delicate mango mousse cake in the center. The vivid yellow jam looked almost toxic, glaring from the white porcelain plate like a warning sign.

"Eat it," Edgar ordered, his voice icy as he swirled his wine glass. The blood-red wine clung to the rim, looking disturbingly like fresh, unwashed stains.

Across from him, Gillian Rice sat in a simple white dress that seemed completely out of place in the lavish room. Her hands were nervously tangled together, her eyes shy, but a barely-there smile lingered at the corners of her mouth.

"Edgar, maybe we shouldn't… Sabrina's allergic, you know. I do want to see if she really welcomes me back, but if she ends up in the hospital because of this cake, I'd feel pretty guilty."

"She'll survive," Edgar snapped, slamming his glass down so hard it rang out. "Sabrina, Gillian just returned. This is her gesture. As Mrs. Herrera, can't you even pretend to be gracious?"

Sabrina stared at the cake in front of her. On their third wedding anniversary, her husband had brought back his old flame—and under the excuse of "testing her generosity," was forcing her to swallow poison.

She picked up the silver fork and cut a piece of cake coated with cream.

At that moment, her sense of taste was completely gone. Her mouth was nothing but a lifeless void. The sickly sweet mango flavor that used to make her throat tighten and her skin break out now was just a bland, waxy lump on her tongue.

She chewed and swallowed mechanically.

One bite, two bites, three bites.

Edgar stared at her face, watching for any sign of pain, resistance, or a dramatic reaction for attention. But there was nothing. Sabrina's face was frozen, her eyes staring into nothingness, as if she were eating nothing at all.

No tears, no begging, not even any anger.

Edgar's knuckles turned white around his wine glass, and a restless irritation grew inside him like wild weeds. 'How could she stay so calm? Shouldn't she be losing her mind with jealousy?' he thought.

Her reaction was like stagnant water, making him feel like a clown swinging his fists at cotton.

"Enough!" Edgar suddenly stood up, the chair screeching across the floor. "Sabrina, this meek acceptance is so fake it makes me sick. Are you really willing to throw your life away just to stay Mrs. Herrera?"

Sabrina set down her fork, her hand trembling slightly beneath the table. Her throat began to swell, her airway narrowing fast, her lungs starving for oxygen. Without the warning her sense of taste used to give, the reaction struck her out of nowhere—a clear sign she was about to suffocate.

Her face went from pale to blue in a heartbeat, her fingers gripping the edge of the tablecloth so tightly her nails threatened to rip the fabric.

"Still putting on a show?" Edgar sneered, pulling Gillian along. "Gillian, let's go. This is disgusting."

Just as they turned, a dull thud echoed behind them.

Edgar turned back to see Sabrina crumple to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been severed. Her breaths came in harsh, ragged gasps, and angry red welts blossomed across her cheeks, glaring under the cold, unforgiving light.

The air in the high-end perfume boutique was saturated with expensive scents, mingling with hints of leather and the cool blast of the AC.

Sabrina had only been out of the hospital for three days when Edgar dragged her here. He said it was to help her unwind, but really, Gillian was hanging onto Edgar's arm, acting all sweet and pointing out the priciest bottles at the counter.

"Ms. Watts, help Gillian pick one," Edgar said, sprawled on the velvet sofa with his legs crossed, shooting Sabrina a cold look. "Weren't you always claiming you had the sharpest sense of smell? Don't waste your so-called talent."

Sabrina stood in front of the display case, surrounded by all kinds of strong floral and woody fragrances. But for her, it was like breathing pure, empty air—her world felt stripped bare. Without her sense of smell, she was like someone blind in a world bursting with color; she had no clue which bottle was rose, which was cedar.

As she hesitated, reaching out, Gillian suddenly let out a startled gasp and, acting all innocent, knocked her elbow hard into a dark brown glass bottle next to her.