Chapter 4 The Scent On The Bed

"Congratulations," Baila said flatly.

"Hurry up and help me with my bath!" Phoebe said.

After soaking in the tub, Phoebe stepped out, reaching for a bottle of expensive perfume. She sprayed herself generously, drenching her skin in its floral fragrance. As she caught her reflection, she thought of Rowan-his strikingly handsome face and perfect physique. Just the thought of him sent a rush of heat through her veins.

She couldn't wait any longer.

"Baila, you must be jealous." Phoebe flipped her damp hair over one shoulder. "Remember, you're nothing but a cheap stand-in. I am the real Mrs. Hayes!" With that, she strutted away.

Inside the master bedroom, Rowan was standing before the French window when Phoebe stepped in.

"Honey, I'm here," Phoebe purred as she approached him.

Rowan had been waiting for her scent. But as soon as she drew close, an overpowering wave of artificial perfume hit him.

The sharp, synthetic rose fragrance assaulted his senses.

Rowan's expression darkened. Without hesitation, he shoved her away. "What is that smell? Why doesn't it match the scent on the bed?"

Phoebe stiffened. The scent on the bed?

She had never slept in his bed. But Baila had.

He wanted Baila's scent?

Rowan's eyes narrowed with dangerous suspicion. "So it wasn't you who slept on this bed?"

Oh no. If Rowan found out the truth, Phoebe knew it would be over for her.

"It was me, honey!" Phoebe forced a laugh. "I just bathed with flower petals to freshen up earlier..."

Rowan said impatiently, "Then go wash it off. I want the original scent. Otherwise, you're no longer Mrs. Hayes."

"I-I'll go and do that right now!" Phoebe stammered before rushing out. A tremor shot through her body. She believed Rowan was in a really bad mood today.

***

Baila was about to turn in for the night when Phoebe stepped into her room, her face dark. Baila asked, "Phoebe, why are you here again? Did Rowan throw you out?"

"Baila, you're going to sleep with my husband tonight!" Phoebe said.

Baila was stunned.

Phoebe was forcing her into Rowan's bed again?

"No, I won't do it," Baila said immediately, her voice firm.

Phoebe clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She didn't want this, either!

But she knew Rowan wasn't stupid. If Baila didn't go, he would figure out the truth. And if that happened, she would lose her position as Mrs. Hayes.

Taking a deep breath, Phoebe pulled out her phone. "Look at this, Baila."

The screen lit up with a video. Baila's breath caught the moment she saw the screen-her grandmother dressed in a thin hospital gown. Her hair was now entirely grey. She looked so frail.

An oxygen mask covered her face, her chest rising and falling weakly. "Baila... Baila..." she muttered.

Phoebe smirked. "Are you going or not? If you refuse, I'll have them remove her oxygen mask right now. She misses you, you know. Calls your name every single day."

Something inside Baila cracked. She looked at Phoebe coldly. "Fine. I'll go."

Phoebe crossed her arms, triumphant. "Good. But listen carefully-I don't care what happens; you're not allowed to have sex with him. And you must leave before six in the morning."

Phoebe's nails bit into her palms. Tonight should have been her night-her chance to be with Rowan. But instead, Baila was taking her place again.

But time was running out. She had no other choice. She would let Baila do this now and come up with a solution tomorrow.

"Okay," Baila said coldly.

"Put on some makeup and cover that disgusting scar. Don't scare my husband with your ugly face!" Phoebe said.

Only when Phoebe saw the scar on Baila's face did she feel even a little better. Satisfied, she turned and strode out.

Sitting before the dresser, Baila didn't reach for the foundation. Instead, she picked up the makeup remover. Slowly, she removed the scar, revealing a face breathtakingly beautiful.

Baila's beauty was almost ethereal-flawless skin, clear eyes that shimmered like stars, and a radiance so striking it seemed to light up the room. Every delicate feature only enhanced the captivating aura that surrounded her.

The scar on her face had been fake all along.

She walked toward the master bedroom.

Tonight, she would sleep beside Rowan.

She had once believed that after that night, their paths would never cross again. Yet here she was, forced to take Phoebe's place once more.

As she recalled his tall, imposing figure and the cold warning he had given her, she steadied her breath and stepped inside.

Rowan was already lying on the bed when Baila slipped in, careful to stay as far away from him as possible.

Rowan was in a foul mood. His mind drifted to that young servant-the one with the clear, reserved eyes. She had seemed composed, even distant, yet she had written that shameless love letter to his nephew.

He pushed the lingering thoughts of the servant aside and opened his eyes, his gaze settling on the delicate figure beside him.

She lay stiffly at the very edge of the mattress, her body tense. It seemed a single shift would send her tumbling to the floor.

Rowan's expression darkened. "Why are you so far away? Come closer."

Baila hesitated before moving closer to him.

The moment she did, Rowan's senses were filled with a familiar fragrance. That scent.

He couldn't quite place it-delicate yet intoxicating, unlike any perfume he had ever known.

"Sleep in my arms." Rowan's voice was low and commanding.

Sleep in his arms?

A shiver ran down Baila's spine. She didn't want to, but she was pretending to be Phoebe tonight. If she refused, Rowan would become suspicious.

She shifted, stiffly rolling into his embrace.

Rowan's arms encircled Baila, his firm grip settling on her shoulders. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.

The scent on her was subtle but irresistible.

"What perfume did you use last time?" he murmured.

"I don't wear any perfume," Baila replied softly.

"So... This is just your natural scent?" Rowan asked.

His voice was smooth and rich, tinged with amusement as it brushed against Baila's cheek. Heat rushed to her face. "That's not what I meant, Mr. Hayes," she said hurriedly.

The moment the words left her lips, Rowan's fingers gripped her chin, tilting her face toward him. "Mr. Hayes? Why are you calling me that?"

Rowan's mind raced back to the servant. She had called him the same thing.

Baila's heart skipped a beat. She had been so nervous that she had slipped up.

Rowan studied her with quiet suspicion. Quickly, Baila scrambled for an excuse. "It's just... This is my first time sleeping beside you," she muttered. "I guess I was just nervous."

Rowan's piercing gaze lingered, tracing the contours of her face. Phoebe had always been beautiful. But now, as he looked at her, he believed she was breathtaking.

Her delicate features were flawlessly refined, her lips soft and rosy, her thick, flowing hair framing a face that seemed almost unreal. And her eyes were clear, holding an inexplicable allure.

Phoebe during the day seemed ordinary in comparison.

Rowan didn't know that the woman he was holding now wasn't Phoebe.

Rowan's lips curled slightly. His calloused fingers brushed along her jaw, grazing her skin lightly. "Why so shy now? Weren't you so bold that night?"

Baila stiffened. "I was drugged by Old Mrs. Hayes that night..." she said weakly.

Rowan looked at her. "Then what should you call me?"

Thinking of Phoebe's way of calling Rowan, Baila felt so shy. She wanted to turn away, but his grip was firm.

"Honey," she whispered hastily before burying her face in his chest.

She couldn't help but imagine his reaction if he ever discovered the truth-that the woman in his arms wasn't Phoebe, but the very servant he had dismissed. And worse, she had just called him "honey".

A flicker of amusement danced in Rowan's eyes. He hadn't been trying to tease her, but she was so easily flustered.

Her voice was so sweet; his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.