Chapter 5 Perfume

Rowan draped an arm around Baila's shoulder, his voice dipping into a hushed murmur. "Let's sleep."

"Okay, good night," Baila whispered.

***

Baila had assumed she wouldn't be able to fall asleep, that the night would stretch endlessly. But when her eyes fluttered open the next morning, it was already six o'clock.

Phoebe had been very clear about this; Baila knew she had to leave before six.

She was going to be late!

Baila attempted to slip out of bed, but she realized she was wrapped in Rowan's embrace. His arm was firm around her waist. Their bodies were nestled against each other.

Carefully, Baila tried to ease herself from his hold.

However, the moment she moved, Rowan stirred. His voice, low and husky with lingering sleep, vibrated against her skin as his arm instinctively tightened around her. "Why are you up so early? Stay with me a little longer."

For years, Rowan had battled with insomnia, but last night had been different. He had fallen asleep effortlessly. It was the most restful sleep he had had in a long time.

And now, he didn't want to let her go.

Baila stilled, her mind racing. She knew Phoebe was waiting outside. "I have to get up," she murmured, forcing calm into her voice. "You can sleep a little longer. I have housework to do."

Rowan kept his eyes closed. "Aren't there enough servants in this house? Why would you need to do anything?"

He still believed she was Phoebe. But she was not.

"I really need to get up," Baila said, untangling herself from his grasp.

As she pulled away, Rowan slowly opened his eyes. His sleep-induced haze lifted, his eyes turning sharp and focused.

He watched as she hurriedly sat up, slipped on her clothes, and left the room without a second glance.

Rowan frowned. Why was she in such a rush? Phoebe had always clung to him, always finding an excuse to stay close. Yet she had just left as though she couldn't get away fast enough.

***

When Baila stepped out, the scar was back on her face. She barely had time to adjust when Phoebe turned toward her with a dark expression. "Baila, it's 6:05. You spent five extra minutes in my husband's arms. What, was his embrace so warm that you didn't want to leave?"

Phoebe's words struck a nerve. In truth, Baila had always been an early riser, never one to linger in bed. But this morning... This morning, she had been wrapped in Rowan's warmth. His arms had been strong, his hold firm yet somehow comforting. Without realizing it, she had held onto him.

Forcing composure, she exhaled and met Phoebe's glare. "If you're so concerned, then don't make me sleep beside him next time."

Phoebe's face twisted in rage. She had spent the night wide awake, stewing in frustration, knowing Baila had been in Rowan's arms.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. Phoebe's expression shifted. "What perfume do you use? Hand it over."

Baila blinked.

Perfume? First Rowan, and now Phoebe. Why was everyone suddenly asking about her perfume?

Raising an eyebrow, Baila reached into her pocket, pulling out a sleek glass bottle. "Here."

Phoebe's eyes widened.

It was a luxury perfume of a globally renowned brand, one that symbolized status. People often said a woman's scent could reveal everything about her, and this particular fragrance was so captivating that no man could resist its allure.

Every quarter, the brand released an exclusive limited-edition perfume, triggering a frenzy among New York's elite. Socialites and high-society women scrambled to get their hands on a bottle, pulling every string and sparing no expense just to claim one.

This particular perfume was this season's coveted release-the very one Phoebe had begged her mother for weeks to obtain but in vain.

Yet Baila had this.

"Baila, how did you get this perfume?" Phoebe asked.

"A friend gave the perfume to me," Baila said.

A friend?

Phoebe wished she had a friend like that.

The perfume bottle in her hand was completely empty. This meant that if she wanted to sleep beside Rowan, she had no choice-she had to buy this kind of perfume herself.

Phoebe's face twisted with frustration. She made to slap Baila across the face. "You ugly bitch! Why would you need perfume? Look at yourself! The perfume is a complete waste on you!"

Baila gripped Phoebe's wrist just before the slap landed.

Her clear, bright eyes lifted slightly, amusement flickering in them. A small smile touched her lips. "Oh? So it's not a waste if you use it? Then why don't you go and buy some yourself?"

"You..."

Phoebe was furious. But just as she was about to lash out, some movement caught her eye. The master bedroom door swung open, and Rowan stepped out.

"Ouch!" Phoebe gasped dramatically and stumbled backward. "Baila, why did you push me?"

Just then, Rowan walked over to Phoebe.

Baila knew exactly what Phoebe was doing. The exaggerated fall, the feigned hurt-it was all an act. She lifted her gaze, and Rowan's icy stare locked onto her.

"How could you do that?" Rowan's voice was devoid of warmth. "Apologize now."

He wanted her to apologize to Phoebe.

Baila lifted her chin, her slender frame straight. "I didn't push her. She's faking it; I won't apologize."

Phoebe clung to Rowan's sleeve, whining, "Honey, she grabbed me and shoved me!"

Rowan's eyes darkened, his voice dropping dangerously. "I'm giving you one last chance," he said, each word deliberate. "Apologize."

He believed Phoebe.

Not long ago, Baila had just left his bed. Yet in the daylight, his tenderness belonged to Phoebe.

Baila believed she had always been nothing more than a stand-in, a temporary placeholder who would be discarded once the truth surfaced.

Behind Rowan, Phoebe smirked victoriously, her eyes flashing with cruelty.

She was certain Baila would give in.

Baila remained silent for a moment. Then, without warning, she stepped forward and shoved Phoebe hard.

"Ah-"

Phoebe shrieked as she tumbled backward, landing hard on the floor.

Pain shot up her back.

Her eyes welled up with tears from the pain.

Baila's expression remained impassive. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hayes," she said flatly. "This time, I did push you."

Phoebe gawked at her, stunned.

"Mr. Hayes, I've apologized. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." With that, Baila walked away without looking back.

"Honey, that servant dared to lay hands on me! She's completely out of line-you have to do something!" Phoebe trembled with fury, struggling to her feet.

Rowan was also stunned. His eyes lingered on Baila's retreating figure, his expression unreadable.

His eyes then flicked to Phoebe. She was still clutching his sleeve, her face streaked with tears. Thick layers of makeup clung to her skin, the artificial scent of cosmetics overpowering.

Yet last night, the woman in his arms had been different. Her skin had been soft and smooth, untouched by makeup.

How could the same person feel so starkly different from night to day?

At night, she drew him in. But in the day, she repulsed him.

"Phoebe," Rowan said, eyes narrowing. "Was it really you who slept in my bed last night?"