Chapter 7

Abigail's POV

Friday's sunshine was unexpectedly bright. I clutched the perfume exhibition invitation that Isabella had secured for me, approaching the elegant art gallery with both nervousness and excitement. Inside, the lighting was soft, and industry professionals moved between displays of new fragrances.

I quickly spotted Matthew, surrounded by a group of young perfumers and industry experts, patiently answering questions about his new work. When he noticed me, his expression remained cold as he continued talking with those around him, as if he hadn't seen me.

I wandered through the exhibition area, sampling new fragrances, making small talk with unfamiliar brand representatives. After an hour, fatigue gradually set in—my body reminding me that my condition was still present. So I retreated to a nearby rest area.

"Not researching kitchen spices anymore?" Matthew's voice sounded in my ear. He stood before me, arms crossed, his expression showing some dissatisfaction, "Decided to rejoin the ranks of perfumers?"

I looked up at him, my emotions mixed. "Matthew, I'm sorry. I know my leaving disappointed you. I just..."

"You wasted your talent," he interrupted me, sitting down beside me, "Do you know how rare your molecular understanding is? Your graduation project was revolutionary, and you gave it all up for..." he paused, his tone complex, "domestic bliss?"

I tried to suppress the guilt and remorse in my heart. "I thought it was the right choice at the time. Looking back now, I was wrong."

Matthew's expression finally softened somewhat. "Actually, your timing is perfect. The industry has changed a lot, and innovation is needed more than ever."

"I don't know if I can keep up anymore," I admitted, "Three years is a very long time."

"Don't be silly," he said without hesitation, "Talent like yours doesn't disappear. Isabella has already secured you a technical partnership stake."

I blinked in surprise: "Technical partner? But I haven't—"

"Your 'Eternal Tears' formula," Matthew continued, "No one can replicate the molecular stability you achieved then. The State Department still uses it for diplomatic gifts, and they've been asking if we can develop a new series."

"Do you really think I can still contribute?" I asked softly.

"I know you can," Matthew said firmly, "The question is, are you ready to truly commit this time?"

Before I could answer, the gallery suddenly stirred. Everyone turned to look at the entrance—Nicholas and Olivia appeared hand in hand, reporters swarmed around them, cameras flashing, all eager to capture this power couple.

"Speaking of commitment..." Matthew muttered, his gaze falling on my face.

I took a deep breath, surprised to find that this scene didn't sting as much as I had imagined. Perhaps it was because of Matthew's trust, or perhaps because I finally had my own goal.

"Yes," I turned to Matthew, "I'm ready. This time, it's for myself."

---

I stood at the edge of the exhibition hall, my gaze unconsciously lingering on Nicholas and Olivia. The two of them stood out remarkably in the crowd, drawing countless admiring glances.

I forced myself to look away, focusing instead on a bottle of limited-edition perfume displayed on the counter, silently reminding myself: since I'd decided on divorce, there was no need to keep track of them.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to immerse myself in analyzing the fragrance's notes, attempting to mask my inner turmoil with professional interest.

This perfume had a fresh citrus top note, gradually transitioning to a complex heart of jasmine and ylang-ylang, finally ending with a warm base of amber and sandalwood. I closed my eyes, letting the scent transport me back to the laboratory days—when the world consisted only of molecular stability and aromatic harmony.

Just as I was finding some calm, Ernest and Harry approached from either side, the air between us subtly charged with tension.

Ernest spoke first, his voice full of contempt, "See that? Look how attentive Nicholas is to Olivia. Even if you managed to get an exhibition invitation, you won't get a single glance from him. Do yourself a favor and leave early."

I tightened my grip on the perfume bottle, looking him straight in the eye. "I'm here for the perfume and professional reasons, not for anyone's attention. Don't you think you're too fond of meddling in others' affairs?"

Ernest gave a cold laugh, his tone becoming even more cutting. "Can you even appreciate these fragrances? Olivia has real talent and training. You don't seriously think you can attract Nicholas's attention by pretending to learn for a couple of days, do you?"

I didn't back down, countering, "Aren't you underestimating people a bit too much? I love perfume, and I'm willing to work hard for it. As for Nicholas's attention, that's not why I'm here."

Seeing the tense atmosphere, Harry quickly tried to smooth things over. "Alright, alright, we're all friends here. Today is about appreciating fragrances, let's not bring personal grudges into it. Abigail, which fragrance do you like? I can introduce you to some new releases."

I nodded, responding politely: "Thank you."

Just then, Nicholas and Olivia happened to walk in our direction, and the surrounding atmosphere noticeably quieted. Nicholas's gaze lingered on me for a moment, his expression complex, as if he wanted to say something but ultimately said nothing, just gave me a cool glance before leading Olivia away.

Olivia gracefully approached the testing counter, selecting a newly released fragrance with confident ease. She went through the sampling process with practiced skill.

Using professional terminology, she commented on the perfume's top, middle, and base notes, analyzing the combination of ingredients and their layering. Her voice was clear and confident, attracting quite a few industry professionals who stopped to listen.

I stood at the edge of the crowd, having to admit that Olivia truly had skill in perfumery. Her sampling process was methodical and clear, her insights unique, her demeanor elegant, demonstrating solid professional knowledge and exceptional stage presence.

I silently acknowledged: She is indeed excellent, both in her understanding of scents and her ability to express herself. It's flawless.

But as I watched her confident expression, a sense of irony and anger welled up inside me. Memories flooded back: Olivia's mother had been my mother's college roommate, who out of jealousy had plagiarized my mother's original perfume formula.

Then turned around and accused her of copying, destroying my mother's reputation and eventually leading her into depression. Meanwhile, Olivia's mother had risen to fame with that perfume, married a wealthy man, and become an industry socialite.

Looking at Olivia, a cold smile played at my lips as I thought: All her glamour was built on my mother's suffering. How ironic.