Osagie_Aromose

The clock ticked past midnight, each second echoing like a hammer in the hollow silence of the apartment. Rain lashed against the windows, the storm outside mirroring the tempest brewing in Emily’s chest. She sat rigid on the couch, her fingers digging into the upholstery, eyes fixed on the door. David’s keys jingled in the lock, his laughter—warm and carefree—seeping through the wood before he did.  

He stumbled in, tie askew, the sharp tang of bourbon on his breath. But it wasn’t the alcohol that made her stomach churn. It was the cloying sweetness of jasmine perfume clinging to his collar—a scent that didn’t belong to her.  

“Where have you been?” Emily’s voice trembled, though she’d rehearsed the question a hundred times in her head.  

David froze, his smile dissolving. “Work ran late. You know how it is.”  

“Work ends at six, David. It’s *midnight*.” She stood, her legs unsteady. “And since when do you wear lipstick to the office?”  

His hand flew to the smudge of crimson on his white sleeve—a shade too bold, too *alive* for the muted tones of their marriage. His face hardened. “You’re imagining things.”  

“Am I?” She stepped closer, the jasmine scent now suffocating. “Or is it *Jane* from accounting? The one who ‘just needs your help’ every time I call?”  

His laugh was a cold blade. “You’re paranoid. Always picking fights—”  

“Paranoid?” Her voice cracked. “You haven’t touched me in months! You come home smelling like *her*, lying to my face—”  

“Enough!” He slammed his fist on the table, a vase rattling. “I’m tired of your nagging! What do you even do all day? Sit here and wait to accuse me?”  

The words struck deeper than any slap. Emily’s breath hitched. “I gave up my career for you. For *us*—”  

“Us?” He sneered. “There *is* no ‘us.’ Just you, digging through my things like a desperate—”  

She didn’t see his hand move. The crack of his palm against her cheek split the air, her head snapping sideways. She stumbled, clutching the wall as the taste of copper bloomed on her tongue.  

David loomed over her, his eyes wild, foreign. “You… you pushed me to this,” he hissed, grabbing his coat. “Clean yourself up. You’re pathetic.”  

The door slammed. Emily slid to the floor, tears mingling with the blood on her lip. Outside, thunder roared. But beneath the pain, a spark ignited—a flicker of defiance. Her gaze landed on the shattered vase, its jagged pieces glinting in the lamplight.  

*Pathetic.* The word echoed, twisting into a vow.  

She would rise. Not for him. Not for “us.”  

But to make him regret the day he underestimated the woman he’d reduced to ashes.  

-**Chapter One: The Scent of Betrayal (Continued)**  

The air hung thick with venom. David’s chest heaved, his earlier bravado fraying at the edges. Emily wiped her bleeding lip with the back of her hand, her eyes blazing.  

“You think Jane *wants* you?” she spat, her voice a razor. “Or does she just pity the man who needs to steal confidence from a bottle and affairs to feel alive?”  

David’s jaw twitched. “Shut up.”  

“Why? Because it’s true?” She laughed, cold and sharp. “You’re a cliché, David. A middle-aged fraud in a tailored suit. Even your *precious* promotion—did you earn it, or did you cry your way into it like you did when your father called you a disappointment?”  

He lunged forward, but she sidestepped, her words relentless. “Jane must be desperate. Or blind. Tell me, does she know you couldn’t even—”  

“I said *shut up*!” he roared, his composure crumbling.  

“Couldn’t even *what*?” she taunted, stepping closer. “Finish a sentence? A marriage? Or is that why you’re so bad in—”  

The slap exploded like a gunshot.  

Emily’s head whipped sideways, her body crumpling to the floor. The world blurred—a kaleidoscope of shattered glass and spinning shadows. Her cheek burned, but worse was the silence that followed, broken only by her shaky breaths.

Ex-wife Revenge: From Grass to Grace

Midnight arrived, and each tick echoed through the empty apartment. The storm outside mirrored the chaos raging within Emily, rain battering the windows. Sitting stiffly on the sofa, her nails dug into the fabric as she stared at the door. David's keys jangled in the lock; his muffled laugh—light and carefree—began to seep through before he stumbled inside.

Reeking of bourbon, he swayed slightly. Yet it wasn't the whiskey that twisted her stomach. It was the cloying scent of jasmine clinging to his shirt—a fragrance that screamed of someone else.

Emily's voice trembled, though she'd been whispering the question to herself all evening. "Where were you?"

David's grin faded as he dropped onto the couch. "Got stuck at work. You know how it is."

Rising on shaky legs, she hissed, "Work ends at six. Two hours—gone. And since when does the office wear *lipstick*?"

Too vivid, too *real* for his colorless life, his hand jerked toward the red smear on his sleeve. His face hardened like stone. "You're imagining things."

"Am I?" she muttered, stepping closer, jasmine stinging her senses.

"Or is it Jane? The one who 'needs your advice' every time I call?"

He laughed—sharp and empty. "You're insane. Always looking for a fight—"

"Insane?" her voice wavered. "You haven't touched me in months! You come home smelling like *her*, lying—"

His hand slammed against the table, making the vase rattle. "Enough!"

"What's your purpose anymore if all you do is sit here and *wait* to accuse me?"

The words cut deeper than she would admit. "I gave up my job for you," she whispered. "For *us*—"

"*Us?*" He sneered. "There *is* no us. Just you, digging through my life like some—"

The slap caught her off guard. Her head whipped sideways, cheek blazing as she stumbled against the wall. Blood pooled beneath her tongue. He loomed above her, eyes cold and foreign. Grabbing his coat, he spat, "You... you *made* this happen. Fix yourself. You're pathetic."

The door slammed shut. Emily crumpled to the floor, tears mingling with blood. Thunder grumbled outside, but beneath the numbness, something shifted. Her gaze locked on the shattered vase, glass shards glittering in the dim light.

*Pathetic.* The word coiled tightly inside her, turning to resolve. She would stand. Not for him. Not for their past. But to watch him choke on the ashes of the life he'd burned.

Rage crackled in the air. David's breath turned ragged; his mask began to slip. Emily's eyes blazed, blood streaking her chin.

"You think Jane *chose* you?" she spat. "Or is she just sorry for the man who needs whiskey and cheap flings to feel alive?"

His face went pale. "Forget it. I'm done."

"Why?" Her laugh was sharp and brittle. "Hit a nerve? You're pathetic, David. A sleek, suited puppet. Did you earn that promotion, or beg for it? Just like your father always said—you'd never be enough."

He swung, but her voice sliced through the air like a knife. She ducked, sidestepping him.

"Does Jane know you can't even—"

"Shut up!" he roared, fists trembling.

She stepped closer, her voice venomous. "Can't even *what*? Keep a promise? Or is that why you're so bad at—"

The slap cracked like ice splintering.

Emily crumpled to the floor, head pounding and palms streaked with cuts. Only her jagged breathing disturbed the silence.

David stood over her, hand still trembling. "You... you *made* me," he muttered hoarsely.

She lifted her head, tears streaking her face. "No," she rasped. "You just showed me how *small* you are. Isn't that right?"

He flinched, then grabbed his keys. "Rot here," he mumbled, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the walls.

Alone, Emily pressed her palm to the floor. His mark throbbed, but beneath it, something stronger burned.

*Little.* Fingers curling around a shard of glass, her grip tightened. Not broken. Not beaten. Just... ready.

Chapter 1: The Scent of Betrayal