Chapter 6

Abigail's POV

I spread my perfume formula notes that I hadn't touched for years across the small dining table of my new apartment. The hospital was just three blocks away, which gave me some peace of mind—if my heart acted up again, at least I could get medical attention immediately.

My phone lay silently beside my laptop, no missed calls, no texts from Nicholas. The divorce agreement still hung without response, like a cruel joke weighing on my mind. I tried calling him again this morning, but it went straight to voicemail as usual.

It seemed impossible to get a clean break.

I rubbed my temples, trying hard to focus my attention back on the fragrance component charts rather than that lingering anxiety. The white walls of this rental apartment felt cold compared to the warm tones of Nicholas's mansion, but at least here, I could breathe freely, no longer feeling like an unwelcome guest.

Yet my thoughts kept drifting back to Nicholas. What was he doing right now? Working? Or with Olivia? The familiar pain in my chest returned, and I couldn't tell if it was a warning sign of my heart condition or just the pain of rejection.

The doorbell suddenly rang, interrupting my wandering thoughts. Isabella stood at the door, holding a bottle of wine, her face showing concern with a hint of mischief.

"You look terrible," she said while walking straight into the apartment.

"Thanks for your honesty," I smiled helplessly, following her into the kitchen.

Isabella put down the wine bottle, turned to look at me, and softened her tone: "Sorry, I'm just worried about you. How's the research going?"

"Slowly getting back into it," I pointed to my open notes, "like learning to ride a bike again, except this bike is the molecular structure of esters and aldehydes."

She laughed, then hesitated before speaking: "There's a party tonight, industry people will be there."

My heart tightened, "And?"

"Nicholas will be there, with Olivia," she carefully observed my reaction.

"I thought you might want to come with me, take your mind off things, maybe meet some new people."

I instinctively wanted to refuse, but swallowed the words. This might be my only chance to talk to Nicholas about the divorce agreement face-to-face, in that setting, he couldn't pretend not to see me.

"You don't have to say yes now," Isabella quickly added, seeing my hesitation, "I know it might be awkward—"

"I'll go," I interrupted her, surprising even myself with this decision.

Isabella raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure? Ernest will be there too, and Nicholas's friends. The atmosphere might be... lively."

"I need to talk to Nicholas about the divorce," I explained, "he's not responding to my messages. This might be my only chance to get an answer."

Isabella stared at me for a moment, then nodded, "Alright. Don't worry, I'll stay by your side all night. If anyone dares to give you trouble, I'll shut them up."

I couldn't help but smile, "I'm actually quite nervous. Seeing them together..."

"Hey," Isabella gripped my shoulders, "remember, this time you're not going for anyone else, you're going for yourself. You need to take back control of your life."

Her words struck me. For three years, I had revolved around Nicholas's needs. Now, it was time to make decisions for myself.

"The green one," Isabella pulled out a deep emerald silk dress from my closet, "with your eyes, absolutely stunning."

I looked at the dress with hesitation. Its neckline was lower than what I usually wore, and the cut was more form-fitting. I had never worn it before.

"I'm not sure, Bella..."

"Trust me," she was already looking for matching shoes, "tonight you're not here to be wallpaper. You're Abigail Rodriguez, genius perfumer, about to return to the stage."

The moment I put on that dress, a long-forgotten confidence subtly emerged. The woman in the mirror looked very different from before—no longer the silent shadow in Nicholas's home, but a person with strength and determination.

Isabella helped me with my makeup, "Don't worry," she said while applying mascara, "I'll be by your side tonight. If anyone dares to mess with you, I won't stand for it."

I smiled gratefully, "I just need to get through tonight, talk to Nicholas, and leave."

"Exactly." She stepped back to examine my makeup, "Perfect. Remember, chin up, shoulders back. If Olivia tries anything, don't forget you're still his legal wife."

On the way to the party, my heart was racing. The restaurant's exterior walls shimmered in the light, and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

This time, it's for myself.

The moment we stepped into the restaurant, I saw them. Nicholas stood by the bar, impeccably dressed in a suit, with Olivia leaning intimately against him, her smile radiant. The sight made my stomach churn.

Nicholas's friend Ernest was the first to notice us, his lips curled in a mocking smile.

"Well, Abigail," he drawled, deliberately raising his voice, "you're really dedicated, following Nicholas wherever he goes. Talk about 'persistence'."

Everyone around turned to look, and I felt like I was put under a spotlight. Isabella stepped forward without hesitation.

"Are you all so bored that you need to care this much about other people's lives?" Her voice was crisp, sharp as glass, "Married couples appearing at the same event—does that really need your gossip?"

Ernest's smile visibly diminished when he saw Nicholas's indifferent expression.

Olivia maintained a faint smile throughout, her arm naturally resting on Nicholas's, the diamond bracelet on her wrist particularly glaring under the lights. This deliberate intimacy caused a twinge in my heart.

"Alright," Harry stepped in to smooth things over, "everyone's here to enjoy themselves, not to create drama." He nodded politely toward us, "It's been a while, how have you been?"

"Thank you for asking. I'm well."

I didn't defend myself or explain anything, just kept my head high. Isabella stood beside me, giving me silent support.

After enduring an hour of sidelong glances and whispers, I finally saw Nicholas standing alone by the terrace door. I took a deep breath, walked over, and suppressed the nervousness in my chest.

"Nicholas," I said softly, "we need to talk."

He turned around, his eyes cold, "What is it?"

"It's been a week. I need to know if you're going to sign the divorce papers."

He stirred the drink in his glass, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm, "Weren't you the persistent one before? Why so eager to end things now?"

His response caught me off guard, as if he was blaming me for changing.

"There's no point in dragging this out," I said calmly, "this marriage has been dead in all but name."

Nicholas looked at me silently for a long time, his expression unreadable. "I'll look at the documents," he finally said flatly, "is that all?"

I nodded, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted. "That's all."

Having achieved my purpose, I didn't linger. I found Isabella, said goodbye, and left the restaurant with my last shred of dignity. Even though my heart wasn't at peace, I knew I had done the right thing.