His Perfumes Had No Me, He Begged

Chapter 4

I never did the final test.

When Matthew returned from the doctor's office, the only thing left on the hospital bed was the gown I had folded neatly.

He called me.

"Where are you?"

"Doing something I should have done a long time ago."

"Grace, don't risk your health just to make a point."

I stood in the studio's ingredient storage room and watched Caleb push the last crate of samples into the destruction unit.

Inside, rows of clear glass vials tipped over and shattered. Every label bore the same date and the same name.

The name was Grace Bennett.

Matthew had bought those vials with the money from his first order 10 years earlier. He said my scent was too precious to lose and promised to preserve it.

Later, those samples were used to create Long Night, Rising Tide, Daylight, and Chloe. The bottles carried the names of celebrities, socialites, and Chloe Parker. Not one of them carried mine.

The progress bar reached 90%.

Matthew said my name over the phone.

"Gracie, don't do this."

He rarely called me that. Whenever he did, it was because he wanted me to give in.

"Stop the process. I've canceled the launch and recalled all 3,000 bottles."

I watched the number on the screen continue to climb.

"It's too late."

"Wait for me. I'm coming now."

"Don't. The engagement is over. I've terminated my contract with the studio, and I left the apartment key in the entryway."

The line went abruptly silent. Matthew's breath caught.

"Where are you going?"

The process reached 100%.

The high-temperature warning light came on inside the unit. The final gardenia sample cracked in the flames.

I powered down the machine.

Rachel Hayes's car was waiting at the back entrance. She put my luggage in the trunk without asking a single question and handed me a cup of warm water.

As we drove out of the complex, workers were dismantling the giant launch screen. The campaign poster for Chloe curled as it came down, folding the perfume's name in half.

Caleb sent me a message 30 minutes later.

Caleb: Mr. Reid is here.

Another followed immediately.

Caleb: He wants to know where the remaining samples are.

I didn't reply.

My phone kept vibrating. Unknown numbers, the studio landline, and Matthew's private number took turns lighting the screen. I rejected every call.

By the time we reached the bridge over the river, a voice message came through.

There was no sound in the background. Matthew's voice was lower than usual, "Grace, I don't want the samples anymore. Just tell me where you are."

A little over 10 seconds later, another message arrived, "The apartment doesn't smell like you anymore."

I opened a photo Caleb had sent.

Matthew sat in front of the empty fragrance cabinet. The Chloe bottle lay shattered at his feet.

The termination letter he had ignored all day lay open across his knees beside my medical report. The lower-right corner was crumpled where he had gripped it.

Rachel glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"Do you want me to pull over?"

The river slipped past outside the window.

I silenced my phone.

"Keep driving."

The car didn't slow down.

Matthew's third voice message came through, "Gracie, I was wrong. Come back, and I'll make the perfume you wanted."

I placed my engagement ring in the storage compartment in the car door.

The perfume had come 10 years too late. By then, I was already losing the ability to smell it.