Chapter 3

Natalie's POV

The next morning, I prepared breakfast as usual.

When Damian came downstairs, he looked more relaxed than the night before.

He sat down at the dining table, picked up his coffee and took a sip, then spoke in a seemingly casual manner.

"The water pipes burst in Serena's apartment, and the landlord can't fix them right away. She's scared to stay in a hotel alone. It might trigger her depression. I told her she could stay in our guest room for a while."

His tone wasn't asking. it was informing.

Even as he said this, his body tensed slightly, bracing himself for my outburst.

After all, no wife would accept having her husband's "good friend" move into their home.

However, I only paused in cutting the bread, looked at him for a second, then calmly nodded.

"Okay, I understand. I'll have the housekeeper prepare the guest room."

The knife and fork cutting Damian's sausage suddenly halted, making a harsh scraping sound in the quiet dining room.

He looked at me in disbelief.

"You don't mind?"

Damian couldn't help but ask, his brow furrowed tightly.

I asked back: "If I minded, would you tell her not to come?"

Damian choked, then said in a low voice: "Serena's mental state is very fragile right now. As her friend, I can't ignore her."

"So, since the result won't change, what's the point of me minding?"

I smiled faintly.

"The house has plenty of rooms. As long as she doesn't mind."

That afternoon, Serena moved in with large and small pieces of luggage.

She wore a pure white knit dress, her long hair draped softly over her shoulders, her eyes slightly red, looking pitiful and delicate.

"Natalie, I'm sorry to intrude on you both."

Serena stood in the living room, nervously clutching the hem of her dress.

"I promise, as soon as the apartment is fixed, I'll move out immediately."

I watched her performance without responding.

Seeing this, Damian immediately shielded Serena behind him, his tone carrying a hint of reproach.

"Natalie, Serena is a guest. Show some courtesy."

How interesting. I hadn't said anything, yet somehow my attitude was bad?

"The guest room is on the second floor, first door on the left. The housekeeper has already changed the bedding."

Too lazy to deal with them, I turned to leave for my shop.

"Wait!"

Serena suddenly covered her nose, her brow furrowed tightly, looking very uncomfortable.

"Damian, what's that smell in this house? It's so pungent. I'm getting dizzy and my chest feels tight..."

Damian immediately supported her anxiously.

"What's wrong? Is your depression causing somatic symptoms again?"

He turned to look around, his gaze landing on the diffuser operating in the corner of the living room.

It was a top-grade neroli essential oil I had specially formulated to purify the air.

"Natalie, get rid of all this aromatherapy nonsense!"

Damian ordered sharply.

"Don't you know Serena is sensitive to scents?"

I stopped in my tracks.

That so-called "aromatherapy nonsense." It came from precious raw materials I'd spent countless nights collecting from around the world.

Once, Damian said he loved having this calming scent in the house.

Now, because of Serena's one word, "pungent," it had become trash.

"Fine."

I didn't argue. I walked over and unplugged the diffuser directly.

Not only that, I called the housekeeper and had all the aromatherapy equipment and essential oil bottles from the living room, hallway, and even Damian's study packed into boxes.

"What are you doing? I only said to remove the one in the living room. I didn't tell you to take away the ones in my study too."

He said in a low voice.

"Since we're removing them, might as well do it thoroughly, so Miss Serena won't feel dizzy from catching even a whiff."

I sealed the last box with tape.

I removed the aromatherapy, and with it, the last trace of myself in this house.

Damian opened his mouth to say something, but Serena timely leaned into his embrace, weakly calling out.

"Damian, my head hurts so much..."

Damian's attention was instantly diverted. He immediately lifted Serena in his arms and carried her upstairs.

I stood there, watching their intimate figures disappear, and couldn't help but laugh.

I took out my phone and called the real estate agent.

"Mr. Wilson, my aromatherapy shop. You can put it on the market now. Yes, the sooner the better."