Chapter 2

Natalie's POV

On our third wedding anniversary, Damian stood me up.

I sat in my aromatherapy boutique, staring at the French dinner on the table that had long gone cold, sitting motionless for a long time.

My phone screen lit up. It was a brief message from Damian.

"Serena's depression relapsed. I'm at the hospital with her. I won't be coming home tonight."

No apology, no explanation, just a matter-of-fact notification.

I stared at those words for a few seconds, then pressed the lock button.

I stood up and dumped the carefully prepared steak and red wine into the trash can without the slightest hesitation.

A year ago, I might have called him in tears, demanding to know whose husband he really was, or even hysterically rushed to the hospital to try to win him back from Serena.

But now, I couldn't even be bothered to sigh.

Because the death of a heart is a long and irreversible process.

At two in the morning, the door lock of the villa clicked softly.

Damian pushed the door open, bringing in a wave of cold air, and took off his coat that reeked of hospital disinfectant and some sickeningly sweet commercial perfume.

I was familiar with that perfume smell. It was Serena's favorite Sweet Bomb, cheap and pungent.

As a professional aromatherapist, I was extremely sensitive to scents.

In the past, I had fought with Damian countless times over this smell, only to be met with the man's impatient rebuke.

"Serena is sick. Can't you stop being so unreasonable?"

Now, when I smelled this scent, I only felt a wave of physical nausea rising in my stomach, but no longer had any desire to argue.

"Why aren't you asleep yet?"

Seeing me sitting on the sofa, Damian frowned slightly, his tone carrying a hint of habitual wariness.

He probably thought I was going to throw a tantrum again because he came home late.

"I was waiting for you."

I stood up, walked to the table, and handed him a small bottle of sleep-aid essential oil I had just formulated.

"You've been having serious insomnia lately. This is a new formula. Just put a few drops on your pillow."

Damian froze for a moment, clearly not expecting me to be so calm.

He took the essential oil.

"Serena was very emotionally unstable today. She kept holding onto my hand and wouldn't let go. I couldn't leave."

For once, he offered an explanation, seemingly making excuses for breaking our date.

"Mm, I understand."

I responded coolly and turned toward the bedroom.

"Get some rest early."

Damian stood there, gripping the bottle of oil, his frown deepening.

Damian irritably tugged at his tie.

Back in the bedroom, I was already lying down with my back to him.

After showering, Damian lay on the other side. Between us was a distance that could fit an iceberg.

He habitually applied the essential oil to his pillow.

This was a scent I had custom-made exclusively for him, one of a kind in the entire world.

Soothed by the fragrance, Damian quickly fell asleep.

And I slowly opened my eyes in the darkness.

Listening to the man's steady breathing, I exhaled softly.

I gently lifted the covers and got out of bed, walked to the study, and opened an encrypted folder at the bottom of a drawer.

Inside lay a prepared Divorce Agreement.

In the lower right corner, at the wife's signature line, my name was already written neatly.

There were thirty days left until I completely left.

I took a deep breath and locked the drawer again.

Damian, the debt I owed you for the past three years, I've already repaid with countless nights of companionship.

From now on, we owe each other nothing.