Chapter 1
One hundred percent scent compatibility. That was the binding force, the chemical inevitability that had locked me in marriage to Julian Sterling. But he didn't love me.
Every day, I would select the most perfect, dew-kissed rose from the florist's shop and place it in a crystal vase on our dining table.
More often than not, the fragrant bloom would end its day alongside Julian's untouched, congealing dinner, both unceremoniously dumped into the trash.
He was impeccable in all things, except in his affection for me.
I clung to the fragile belief that his nature was simply reserved, that persistent warmth could eventually thaw such glacial composure.
His birthday shattered that illusion. Standing on the balcony, the sharp bite of a rose thorn breaking the skin of my palm, I overheard the conversation at the front door.
Julian, smelling of wine, was being steadied by his oldest friend. "Roses are so damn tacky. They just wither into something dusty and dull. So boring. Just like her," he said.
The words, casual and cruel, pierced through me with the precision of knives. How ironic that the longest sentence I'd ever heard from him was one that hollowed out my heart.
Much later, he found me, his eyes bloodshot and desperate, his fingers clutching at the hem of my coat with humble desperation. "Evelyn, please. Let me buy you roses from now on. Every day. Please."
But by then, my hand was firmly entwined with another's. I looked at him and gave back the very words he had gifted me. Then, I turned away, without a single glance back.
*****
The roses, still fresh with morning dew, bloomed beautifully as I carefully snipped their stems with scissors.
The soft click of the bedroom door opening broke the quiet. Julian emerged, already immaculate in a tailored suit, the clean, sharp scent of alpine snow and cedarwood, his Alpha signature, trailing in his wake.
His profile was a study in elegant angles, a masterpiece of aloof beauty.
A thorn pierced my fingertip, and a bead of blood appeared.
Ignoring the tiny wound, I seized the chance for contact, my voice barely above a murmur. "I made some oatmeal for breakfast. It's plain, the way you prefer."
His cool gaze swept over the steaming bowl on the table. "I'm not hungry. Don't wait up for dinner; I have a client engagement that will run late."
With that, he left without so much as a glance at the roses on the table, or at me, blood still trickling from my finger.
Julian was the golden boy of the elite private academy, the unrivaled campus heartthrob and heir to the powerful Sterling family.
I was an orphan who'd only managed the sky-high tuition through a surprise lottery win, earning my place at the school purely through exceptional academic performance.
Thick black-rimmed glasses hid my features, and I shrank into myself like a drab, overlooked ugly duckling.
My modest roots made me an easy target for the wealthy students. They'd scribble cruel insults across my homework or toss my textbooks into the trash moments before class began.
One afternoon during my freshman year, a group cornered me in a back alley after school, holding up phones as they roughly tore at my clothes.
Overmatched by their strength, I sobbed and pleaded, fighting back with every bit of fight I had left.
"What do you think you're doing?" A crisp, cool voice cut through the chaos; A boy arrived like a guardian angel.
"Damn! It's the Sterling heir. What's he doing here? Let's get out of here!" Fear flashed across their faces, and the group scattered at once.