CHAPTER 5

Her Scent

"Maya,Maya. Wake up, it's already 9:00 pm".

Madam Rosie's voice was sharp as she tried to wake Maya from her deep sleep. It seemed she had overslept. With a groggy sigh, Maya rubbed her eyes, her once neatly tied-up hair now a mess. Madam Rosie had offered to take her home, but Maya refused—there was still unfinished business waiting for her.

Knowing Maya was sick, Madam Rosie hesitated but ultimately left. Work always came first for Maya.

Gathering her bag and slipping into her heels, Maya made her way to the 23rd floor,determined to check how much progress had been made in retrieving the lost files. Her body was weak, feverish, yet she forced herself forward.

When she arrived, the office was dark except for the faint glow of an LCD screen

displaying active data. No one else was there. Sighing, she stepped inside,

removing her heels to walk barefoot on the cool floor. Feeling unbearably warm,

she slipped off her grey blazer, revealing a fitted white tank top that subtly

highlighted her toned form. She draped her blazer over an empty desk along with

her bag and phone.

The soft lighting of the monitors cast a glow on her skin, revealing a small lily

tattoo on the side of her waist—an elegant contrast to the high-waisted

straight-cut pants she wore. With a sigh, she reached up, loosening her hair,

letting it cascade over her shoulders, relieving some of the weight pressing on

her temples.

She approached the main computer, scanning the files. Just a few more were left to recover. Almost done. With a quiet exhale, she shut off the system. As she

turned the chair, she murmured, "I need water."

Walking unsteadily toward the refreshment station, she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small pill bottle. She popped one into her mouth and swallowed dry. It wasn't just fever medicine—it was a sleeping pill. Maya had struggled with

insomnia for years. Fever medication alone wouldn't help; she needed this to

rest.

She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Her heartbeat quickened, an anxious dread washing over her. Not now, not now… Her vision blurred, and she clenched her fists, trying to stay upright.

And then, she collapsed.

Out of nowhere, strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.

Arden.

---

Arden Enrique Zayn had been in the room all along.

After his evening workout, he had taken a shower in the employee lounge, wrapping himself in a towel, preparing to dry his damp hair. But then, an unmistakable scent filled the space.

Maya.

Her natural fragrance—sweet, floral, and fresh—had seeped into the air. It was a

scent so distinct that employees could tell whenever she arrived at a floor,

even before seeing her. It lingered, captivating yet elusive, something Arden

found himself unconsciously searching for.

From the changing area, he peeked through the gap.

There she was.

Maya had removed her blazer, revealing her toned arms and the curve of her waist. As she let her hair down, his dark eyes widened slightly. Something primal stirred within him, but he remained frozen, simply watching.

But then, something changed.

Her breath hitched. Her body swayed. And then—she collapsed.

Arden moved on instinct, catching her slender frame in his arms before she could hit the cold floor. Her body was feverishly warm against his skin, her unconscious form weak, defenseless.

His throat went dry.

His hands, which were gripping her waist, tensed. She was light—almost too light. Her head rested against his bare chest, her soft breaths warming his skin.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring down at her sleeping face.

She was stunning.

His eyes traced the small beauty mark nestled between her brows, the faint spot

along the bridge of her nose—details he hadn't noticed before. Even in

unconsciousness, she looked effortlessly captivating.

A drop of water from his wet hair trickled onto her cheek.

Arden swallowed hard.

With a calloused hand, he gently wiped it away, his rough fingertips grazing her

smooth skin. How the hell do you smell this good? He muttered under his breath,voice low and almost frustrated.

The scent was intoxicating. Maddening.

Lucky for her, she was unconscious. Otherwise, she'd see him like this—shirtless,towel hanging low on his hips, exposing the intricate tattoos decorating his back. A mix of geometric patterns, a watchful owl, skeletal figures, and Latin

phrases like memento mori and hold onto were inked into his skin.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the office couch.

Gently, he checked her pulse with cool fingers. It was steady. Her breathing was

normal. She would be fine.

Still,he hesitated.

What if she didn't wake up? What if something happened?

He leaned in slightly, his forearms braced on either side of her waist, trying not

to touch her, yet close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her fevered

body.

"Maya…Maya…" His voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Another drop of water from his hair landed on her cheek.

Suddenly,her hand shot up, gripping his forearm tightly. Her nails—painted a deep,wine-red almond shape—pressed into his skin, leaving faint scratches.

Arden tensed.

Without opening her eyes, she whispered, "Please… let me rest. I'm so tired."

A sharp sting bloomed on his arm. His brows furrowed as he felt the wet warmth of blood trickling from where her nails had cut him.

Then,silence.

Her grip loosened. Her breathing deepened once more.

A single tear slipped down her temple.

Arden exhaled through gritted teeth.

He stood abruptly, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. Turning away, he

pulled on his clothes—an oversized white shirt and grey sweat shorts—before

retrieving a blanket. Draping it over her, he positioned his folded black

jacket beneath her head as a pillow.

Then,he sat in the chair across from her, arms crossed, eyes trained on her sleeping figure.

It was late. The office was eerily quiet, save for the faint ticking of the clock.

12:45 AM.

His body was heavy with exhaustion, the stress of the day catching up to him. Mr.Bills had been pushing him hard, testing his abilities. Arden had barely rested

since arriving at DE PHILIPS CORP.

Slowly,his eyes drifted shut.

Thick lashes cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones. His usual intense expression

softened, his breathing evening out.

And there, in the silence of the dimly lit office, both of them slept—one wrapped

in feverish dreams, the other lost in the quiet storm of his thoughts.