I smiled mockingly and said softly, "Go ahead. Your children need you."

Alex didn't even look back at me once. He fled in panic, the wind from his movement brushing across my face.

I sat alone in the darkness, neither turning on the lights nor crying. I knew Alex might never marry Brooke. But he would be called away by her again and again, because of those children.

I had blended over a thousand fragrances. Top notes, middle notes, base notes, each layer distinct yet harmoniously unified. But my life had been forcibly invaded by a discordant, cheap odor.

If I didn't divorce him, how long would I have to endure this contamination? A lifetime?

A familiar, needle-like pain twisted through my stomach. I curled up on the couch and opened my phone.

Brooke had posted a photo on her social media feed. Alex stood guard beside the incubator, his profile haggard, his expression showing a panic and anxiety I'd never seen on him before.

Her caption read, "With you here, I'm not afraid."

I laughed bitterly. I immediately had my lawyer draft the divorce papers. Then, I went to the office where the fragrance brand "Amme" that I had built from nothing was now one of the group's most profitable subsidiaries.

The HR director nearly spilled her coffee when she saw my resignation letter. "Ms. Shaw, you're resigning? Does Mr. Carter know?"

I smiled faintly. "He's swamped right now."

Seeing the flash of sympathy in her eyes, I knew the entire company was watching my embarrassment play out.

Back at the western suburbs villa, this place had once been our quiet retreat, somewhere we'd occasionally stay for peace. My small fragrance studio was still here.

While packing, I found a yellowed note tucked inside a book called "The History of Perfume". It was Alex's handwriting, youthful yet bold.

"Em, I don't know when you'll see this. By then, we should have several children, one who looks like you and one who looks like me.

"I love you, Emma. No matter what happens in the future, you're not allowed to abandon me."

Tears fell without warning onto the paper, blurring the ink. My stomach suddenly seized with violent pain, more intense than ever before. My vision went black, and I collapsed to the floor.

I woke to the sound of my phone ringing.

"Emma Shaw! What the heck do you think you're doing?" Alex's furious voice blasted through the receiver, making my ears ring. He rarely called me by my full name like this.

"Brooke has been careful and accommodating enough! I've told you countless times that she won't affect you! Why did you send her those vicious texts, cursing my children?"

I didn't even know what he was talking about. Vicious texts? I laughed until my stomach cramped. He didn't even ask if it was really me. He just decided I was guilty.

"Are you finished?" My voice was as calm as stagnant water.

My reaction caught him off guard, and his anger deflated slightly. "Next Sunday is the children's one-month celebration. You have to attend. Em, stop throwing tantrums, okay?"

"Fine."

After hanging up, I stared at the stars outside my window and suddenly felt that everything had lost its meaning.

…

On the day of the celebration, I arrived without makeup. Among the glittering guests dripping in jewelry, I looked like a misplaced ghost. Everyone watched me with pitying, curious, and gleeful looks.

In the center of the banquet hall, Brooke wore an eye-catching red gown. She nestled against Alex's side like a delicate bird, smiling like the true lady of the house.

Victoria saw me and frowned impatiently. "Since you're here, hold the children and share in the joy."

Alex brought his daughter to me, lowering his voice with a hint of pleading. "Em, about the texts, I won't pursue it anymore. I know you're upset.

"After today, I'll arrange for Brooke to go abroad. The children... The children will be registered under your name. I know you..."

He stopped, looking at me with complicated eyes. I knew what he wanted to say.

Years ago, when my laboratory caught fire in an accident, he came looking for me. I pushed him to safety and inhaled toxic chemical fumes, fundamentally damaging my body. The doctor said I would have great difficulty having children of my own for the rest of my life.

He had held me and sworn that the two of us would be enough for this lifetime. He wanted nothing else, only me. Now he was saying, "Isn't this the perfect solution?"

My heart felt like it was being burned by that fire all over again, the pain so intense that I could barely breathe. Just then, the baby girl in my arms suddenly began coughing violently. Her little face turned bright red before she spat up a mouthful of blood-tinged milk.

"Something's wrong with the baby!" someone screamed.

Brooke lunged toward me like a madwoman, her voice sharp enough to shatter glass. "Emma! If you have a problem, come at me! Why are you hurting my child?"

A sharp slap rang out. George had struck me himself.

The blow forced my head to the side, stars exploding before my eyes as I fell to the ground. My cheek burned with pain, and my mouth instantly filled with the metallic taste of blood.

Alex instinctively reached out to help me up. Just as his fingertips were about to touch my arm, the other child, the boy, suddenly let out a wail and vomited a large mouthful of fresh blood.

The scene erupted into complete chaos.

"Mr. Carter!" Brooke shrieked desperately, pushing between us like a magnet. "Our son! Please save our son!"

Alex's hand, reaching toward me, trembled violently in midair. I watched clearly as the struggle and guilt in his eyes were slowly devoured by panic and heartache.

Slowly, he pulled his hand back. He turned and picked up the vomiting boy.

…

In the hospital hallway, the smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. I stood lost in the sterile white maze. The divorce papers I'd prepared slipped from my coat pocket, fluttering to the ground.

Victoria's sharp eyes caught sight of them. She stepped forward, snatched them up, and after reading the contents, roughly threw them back at my face. The paper's edge cut my cheek, leaving a thin, stinging wound.

Her well-maintained face was filled with poisonous disgust. "You wicked woman! How has the Carter family wronged you all these years? Tell me!

"Alex argued with us countless times over your little perfume business, and we tolerated it! Now, you can't even accept two innocent children?

"Since you're so desperate to leave, then get out! Stop wasting everyone's time and holding Alex back!"

I silently bent down and picked up the dust-covered agreement. The PICU door opened, and Alex emerged with bloodshot eyes. "The children... They're saved."

He looked at me with eyes full of anger, as if I were his mortal enemy. "Emma, you've really gone too far this time."

Trembling, I held out the divorce papers to him. "Let's... end this."

His pupils contracted sharply as he stared at me intently. "Are you sure?"

"I'm tired." I held back my tears. "I'm afraid if I stay any longer, I don't know what else might happen."

"Fine! Just fine!" He snatched the agreement, pulled a pen from his pocket, and viciously signed his name. Then, he slammed the pen down, breaking it in half with a sharp crack.

"Emma, do as you wish!"

I returned to what had once been our marital home, the penthouse apartment called "Century Residence".

Pauline Sutton, our maid who had cared for me for years, rushed over in panic. "Ma'am! Your face..."

I looked around and noticed my beloved antique perfume organ from the living room was gone. Our large wedding portrait on the wall had disappeared. Even the limited edition perfume bottles I'd collected from around the world, once displayed in the entryway cabinet, had all but vanished.

This home had been stripped of every trace of me. Pauline wrung her hands nervously.

"Ms... Ms. Anderson came to live here during her pregnancy. She said the perfume scents made her dizzy, so Mr. Carter had everything kept away."

The door lock clicked open, and Alex walked in with Brooke. She leaned against him, and when she saw me, her face showed perfectly timed surprise.

"Ms. Shaw, what brings you here?"

Her tone suggested she was the lady of the house.

"Where are my things?" My voice shook as I stared at Alex.

Alex let out a cold laugh, pulling Brooke closer to him. "We're getting divorced anyway. Why do you care about this stuff?"

Brooke walked over with false concern, trying to take my hand. "Ms. Shaw, please don't blame Mr. Carter. It's because I was weak during my pregnancy and was afraid of damaging those precious things..."

"Don't touch me!" I jerked my hand away like I'd been burned.

She cried out in surprise, swooning backward with delicate fragility. Alex caught her swiftly, checking her anxiously from head to toe.

"Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

Watching them together, nausea churned violently in my stomach. I turned and walked away.

Behind me came Alex's voice, laced with anger. "Emma! Stop right there!"

I didn't look back. I didn't want him to see how pathetic I looked in that moment.

Outside, a torrential downpour had begun. I wandered the streets aimlessly like a soulless puppet. The rain washed away the tears on my face, freezing and sharp.

After wandering for what felt like hours, a group of thugs cornered me in a dark alley.

"Well, well, if it isn't Ms. Shaw," the leader with a scarred face leered as he approached. "Someone paid us to take real good care of you."

He leaned closer, taking a deep sniff. "Smells good. The washed-up wife of a tech mogul really is something else."

Instinctively, I reached for my phone and dialed the number I knew by heart. The call connected immediately, but instead of relief, Alex's tender voice came through.

"Don't be afraid. It's just a nightmare. Go back to sleep."

He was saying this to Brooke.

"Alex! Help me!"

"Emma, I don't have time for your games right now."

The call was cut off abruptly. When I tried again, only the cold automated message of a phone was heard. Ice-cold rainwater mixed with desperate tears flowed into the corners of my mouth, bitter and salty.

"Go ahead, scream! You can scream your head off, but no one will come!"

The thug's grimy, oil-stained hand reached for the collar of my coat, his rough fingertips scraping across my collarbone. I squeezed my eyes shut, nails digging into my palms, feeling nothing but cold.