1 I was scrolling through Instagram when I stumbled upon a post from an actress in my husband's latest film. It was a photo dump from the wrap party. [Thanks for the amazing wrap gift, Nathaniel!] The last photo in the carousel was a close-up of a perfume bottle on her makeup vanity. A silver bottle, engraved with my initials. I deliberately liked the post, then immediately called my private doctor. "I need to change my prenatal appointment to a termination." Next, I posted an Instagram story, visible only to my Close Friends list. The first slide was a picture of my signature on the procedure’s consent form. The second was the cover of a set of divorce papers. The caption read: [Ten years ends today.] … “Aurora!” The anesthesia was just wearing off when I saw Nathaniel standing in the doorway of my hospital room, his face a mask of cold fury. He was clutching his phone, the screen displaying a screenshot of my Instagram story. “We’ve been trying for a baby for two years. We’ve seen every specialist, tried every treatment, and we finally get pregnant! And you throw it all away because of a bottle of perfume?” He strode to my bedside, his finger practically jabbing me in the face. “And this garbage you posted! Are you not happy unless you’re making a public spectacle of our lives?” My body felt weak, and a dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen, but I managed to push myself up to a sitting position. I looked at him calmly. “Did you sign them?” “What?” “The divorce papers.” I nodded toward the folder on the nightstand. “They were delivered to your studio three days ago.” “Nathaniel,” I said, my voice flat. “There’s a line of women from here to Paris who would kill to have your child. You can drop the act with me.” That remark shattered his composure. He swept the nutritional meal a nurse had just brought in off the table. The rich chicken broth splashed across the floor. “Aurora! What the hell is this really about? Is it just about some stupid bottle of perfume? Isabelle mentioned she liked the scent, so I gave it to her! It was nothing! Is that really a reason to kill our baby and demand a divorce?” “I gave it to her.” He said it so casually. I looked at him, and my mind flashed back ten years. I had just finished my first role with actual lines. The paycheck was a measly eight hundred dollars. To celebrate, I spent an entire afternoon at a high-end boutique, and finally, using half of my living expenses for the month, I bought a limited-edition bottle of ‘Silver Iris.’ That night, I carefully spritzed it onto a tester strip and posted a picture of it online. “My very first perfume, to commemorate my very first role.” Three minutes later, my phone rang. It was Nathaniel. “Aurora, you bought perfume?” The disapproval in his voice was so thick I could feel it through the phone. “That ‘Silver Iris’? It’s over three thousand dollars a bottle. Do you have any idea how much I’m spending right now trying to land that supporting role in the new Pierce film? I need every cent for networking.” His words stunned me. The hand holding the tester strip began to tremble. “I… I used my own savings. And I already set aside my living expenses for the month…” “You set them aside?” Nathaniel scoffed. “Aurora, can you stop being so vain? Are you going to eat that perfume? Or do you think that just because you’re with me now, you can start throwing money around?” The call lasted twenty minutes. I sat there, the phone hot against my ear, watching the scent on the paper slowly fade, and then I deleted the post. In the ten years since, Nathaniel’s pay went from five thousand an episode to thirty million a film. He bought me bags, watches, and jewelry, but never again did he buy me perfume. Once, at a brand event, the organizers gifted us a full set of their new fragrances. I picked one up and lingered on it for a moment too long. On the car ride home, Nathaniel spoke, his voice cool and distant. “Some people haven’t landed many roles, but they sure have developed expensive tastes. What is it now? Starting a collection?” I quietly put the bottle down. From that day on, I never mentioned anything related to fragrance in public again. I told myself he just didn’t care for perfume. That he was just blunt. That he just wasn’t… thoughtful. Until I saw that bottle of Silver Iris in Isabelle’s Instagram post. It was sitting carelessly in the corner of her vanity, next to lipsticks and compacts, like any other ordinary object. And in the background of the photo, Nathaniel was leaning in, speaking to her, a gentle, tender smile on his face that felt like a knife in my gut. In that single moment, a decade of self-deception crumbled into dust. It wasn't that he didn't know how. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of it. It was just that his thoughtfulness, his indulgence… it was never meant for me. “Just because of a bottle of perfume?” Nathaniel looked at me as if I’d told the world’s most pathetic joke, his expression twisting. “Aurora, Isabelle is new to the industry. The director was tearing her apart on set every day. I just felt sorry for her and gave her a small gift as encouragement! And you’re going to get an abortion and divorce me over something so trivial?” “Are your pregnancy hormones messing with your head? Are you thinking clearly?” He paused, then a look of dawning comprehension spread across his face, his lips curling into a sneer. “Oh, I get it.” “You’re just using this as an excuse. This is your revenge for me calling you vain all those years ago, isn't it?” “Wow, Aurora. Ten years, and you’re still holding a grudge.” He let out a short, sharp laugh. 2 “Fine. You want perfume? Is that it? How many do you want? I’ll have them clear out the entire boutique and deliver it to you right now.” “Yes,” I said, looking straight at him. The numb space in my chest suddenly erupted with a sharp, stabbing pain, but my voice was unnervingly calm. “It is because of a bottle of perfume. Exactly that.” “So what, Nathaniel? For one bottle of perfume, I will get rid of your child and I will divorce you.” “You’re being completely irrational!” Nathaniel slammed the door on his way out. Three hours later, my hospital room was filled with perfume gift boxes. A delivery man, sweating profusely, was trying to take inventory. “Ma’am, a Mr. Knight ordered every bottle of Silver Iris from every boutique in the city. It’s one hundred and twenty-seven bottles in total. Where would you like them?” I signed the delivery slip and stared at the mountain of exquisite boxes filling the room. My phone buzzed. A message from Nathaniel popped up: [Is that enough for you?] I could picture the look on his face as he sent it—brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, radiating an air of impatient charity. I didn’t reply. I just blocked his number. The validation and respect I had craved for a decade had finally arrived, piled up in this absurd, insulting fashion. It was nothing short of a mockery. I called my best friend, Zoe. Her voice on the other end was hushed. “Aurora? I’m in the middle of a shoot. What’s up?” “Zoe,” I said, looking out the window. “Last year, you said that if I ever left Nathaniel, you’d take me to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. Does that offer still stand?” There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. “Are you serious? You’re really leaving him?” “Aurora, Nathaniel is at the top of his game. He has all the connections, all the resources. If you leave now, you’re throwing away ten years of struggle. You’re just going to hand it all over to the next girl who comes along.” Zoe was the one who told me not to get involved with Nathaniel in the first place. And now, she was the one worried I’d get the short end of the stick. I smiled softly. “Since I’ve decided to leave, it means I’ve already let it all go.” “Alright then,” Zoe’s voice firmed up. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll go.” “Soon.” After hanging up, I went home and took my documents from the nightstand. Just as I opened the safe, I heard the front door open. A final text from Zoe came through: [Once he signs, we’re gone.] Liquidating stocks, dividing property. Even if I had to start from scratch, I wouldn’t starve. I picked up my suitcase and walked into the living room, only to find an unexpected visitor. Isabelle, dressed in a delicate white dress, stood timidly beside Nathaniel, her fingers clutching the cuff of his sleeve. She took a tentative step forward as if it took all her courage. “Aurora… I’m so sorry.” Her voice was thick with tears, her wide, innocent eyes glistening. “I didn’t mean to show off by posting that. I was just so happy… Nathaniel has been so kind to me, teaching me how to act, giving me gifts… I just got carried away and I made you upset. Please don’t be angry…” Isabelle suddenly bowed deeply, her shoulders trembling. “Please don’t divorce him. Nathaniel really, really loves you. It’s all my fault…” She wept beautifully, as if she were the victim of some terrible injustice. I took a step back, avoiding her bow, and lifted my eyes to Nathaniel. He was looking down at Isabelle, and the look in his eyes—a sort of pained, restrained tenderness—was something I had never seen in ten years. Suddenly, the whole thing just felt pathetic. “What exactly are you sorry for?” I asked calmly. I wasn't going to be painted as the villain. I had no desire to see the headline #AuroraHayesBulliesNewcomer trending tomorrow. So I was direct. “This grand gesture of yours,” I said, gesturing to her bow, “is it a genuine attempt to save my marriage, or is it an act to pressure me into letting go for good?” “We’re both women. We both know how these games are played. There’s no need to put on a show for me.” “I’ve already decided to get a divorce.” I turned to Nathaniel, meeting his stunned gaze. “And my mind won’t be changed by someone’s tears or apologies. You, of all people, should know that about me, right?” Nathaniel’s face darkened. But Isabelle suddenly rushed forward and grabbed my wrist. “Aurora! Everyone on set is saying you got jealous because of my post, that you got an abortion and are filing for divorce just to put me in my place, to show Nathaniel who’s really in charge! I don’t believe them. I know you’re not that kind of person…” I had thought Isabelle was just a moderately ambitious newcomer. Clearly, I had underestimated her. Every word she spoke was a carefully crafted nail in the coffin of my reputation, sealing the image of me as a jealous, petty bully. As expected, Nathaniel stepped forward, his eyes flashing with anger. “That’s enough, Aurora!” “Isabelle is apologizing to you like this, and you’re still cornering her. Don’t you think you’re going too far?” I looked at Nathaniel, at the face I had loved for a decade. There was a time when I believed that wherever he stood, there was light. I had willingly softened every edge, lowered every standard for him. Looking at him now, he was just another selfish, hypocritical man. 3 I pulled my wrist from Isabelle’s grasp, took the divorce papers from my bag, and spread them on the coffee table. “If you really want to protect her, then act like a man. Sign the papers and let’s get divorced. Don’t stand here gaslighting me about bullying a newcomer.” I shot a cold glance at Isabelle, who was now hiding behind Nathaniel, sobbing. “Ambition is a good thing. Since your ambition has brought you this far, you might as well go all the way and win the man.” My tone was so calm that a flicker of panic crossed Nathaniel’s eyes, but his words remained defiant. “You’re being completely unreasonable!” “Am I? Don’t you know the truth?” My gaze fell to the hand he was using to shield Isabelle. “You know better than anyone that I can’t tolerate filth in my life.” “When something gets dirty, I throw it out.” I held out a pen to him. “If you want to retain any shred of my respect, sign it.” I had chased after Nathaniel for ten years. A decade ago, my parents died in a case of medical malpractice. It was Nathaniel who ran from hospital to hospital with me, who met with lawyer after lawyer, who grabbed the attending physician by the collar and demanded answers. But halfway through the lawsuit, the hospital produced evidence that my father had an undisclosed medical history and that my mother had been disoriented when she signed the consent forms. My lawyer advised me to accept a settlement. I refused. I stood outside the courthouse and cried until I nearly passed out. It was Nathaniel who picked me up and whispered in my ear: “Aurora, you are not alone.” “I’m here. If the sky falls, I’ll hold it up with you.” In the end, I signed the settlement. I took the compensation money, along with the money from selling my parents’ house, and gave it all to Nathaniel for acting classes, for networking, for landing roles. My friends all called me a fool. They said a woman who spends money on a man is cursed for three lifetimes. But I held Nathaniel’s hand and said, “To spend it on Nathaniel, I’d be cursed for ten.” Nathaniel cupped my face in his hands and made a solemn promise: “Aurora, I will never make you regret this.” Ten long years. We went from a basement apartment to a penthouse in the city center, from unknown extras to him holding a Best Actor award. Every step was a struggle. But Nathaniel’s tenderness, it seemed, had only existed in those few short months after my parents died. Nathaniel looked at my resolute face, and a powerful sense of unease washed over him. He instinctively reached for me, but was interrupted by Isabelle’s sobs. “Aurora,” Isabelle said, her eyes red, but her voice surprisingly clear. “You can call me a homewrecker. You can call me shameless. I’ll accept it all.” The fragile, helpless girl from moments ago was gone. She now looked me straight in the eye. “I have feelings for Nathaniel. Anyone would be drawn to a man as wonderful as he is. My feelings are honest and out in the open. But unlike you, I would never use his love for me as a weapon to act so recklessly.” “Everyone knows he’s spoiled you for ten years, and you repay him by getting rid of his child? That’s just cruel.” Her words extinguished the last flicker of hesitation and pity in Nathaniel’s eyes. “Aurora, are you sure you want this divorce?” The person who knows how to hurt you the most always knows exactly where to twist the knife. “Don’t forget,” Nathaniel said, pouring salt on my oldest wound, “you don’t have a family anymore.” “I am the only family you have left.” “If you leave me, you will be completely and utterly alone in this world.” I have a deep-seated fear of people talking about my parents, of the vicious whispers that I was a jinx, that I was cursed to bring ruin to my loved ones. It was Nathaniel who used to stand in front of me, throwing punches at anyone who dared to gossip. It was him who held me tight during countless nights when I broke down, whispering: “You are not a jinx. You are my destiny. I will love you enough for your parents too. I will never change.” Now, that same man looked at me with cold eyes. “There’s no smoke without fire. With a personality like yours, who could possibly stand you?” “No wonder your parents left so early.” That sentence shattered my last line of defense. I slapped him, hard, across the face. “You bastard!” My vision blurred. The pain in my chest was so intense it felt like my heart was splitting in two. I had scrimped and saved, passed up every opportunity and connection for him, stood by him through years of obscurity, only to be called a jinx in the end. How could I not break? How could I not be devastated? He stared at me for a few seconds, then a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “Fine, Aurora. You’ve really outdone yourself.” “You want a divorce, right?” Nathaniel snatched the pen and scribbled his name on the agreement. “Then let’s get one!” “And don’t you dare come crawling back to me!” He threw the signed papers in my face, then turned, grabbed Isabelle’s arm, and stormed out. I bent down to pick up the scattered pages and let out a soft, broken laugh. “Nathaniel, this time, it’s really over.” As I boarded the plane, my screen lit up. A series of calls from Nathaniel’s different numbers. I looked at it for a moment, then switched my phone off. Goodbye. 4 Thinking I was just throwing a tantrum, Nathaniel booked out the city's largest luxury perfume boutique. Isabelle posted another nine-photo carousel on Instagram. In the photos, she was smiling radiantly, a wall of perfume displays behind her. The caption read: [Some people are just born unworthy of the best. They only deserve secondhand things.] Nathaniel had always been the one in control. In our relationship, all he had to do was be himself. I would automatically fill in the gaps, make the excuses. Just like ten years ago. Even though he knew I just wanted to commemorate my first role, even though he knew I bought that perfume with my own money. He still had to crush my spirit. At my moment of greatest happiness, he had to put me in my place, to remind me: “You are not worthy.” He needed to call me vain, to watch me feel guilty, to wait for me to apologize. In the beginning, our friends warned him to back off, not to push me too far. But over time, he became known in our circle as a master at managing his wife. At dinners, men would ask him for his secret to keeping a woman so devoted. He would take a sip of his wine and smile coolly. “Give her a taste of sweetness at her moment of deepest despair, and she will see you as her savior. After that, no matter what you do wrong, she will find a way to forgive you on her own.” Nathaniel was no fool when it came to people. He had spent his life reading others, and he knew exactly how to exploit a person’s vulnerabilities. He had practiced on me for a decade. And it had worked. So he watched Isabelle’s post go live, watched the likes and comments roll in, knowing he didn’t have to lift a finger. Mutual friends would soon be calling me, acting as his messengers. All he had to do was wait for me to come to him, head bowed in apology. And so he waited. Nathaniel waited for two weeks. He didn't get my apology. Instead, he got a letter from my lawyer. “Mr. Knight.” My attorney sat across from him, pushing a folder across the table. “This is the share transfer agreement Ms. Hayes has asked me to handle. She is requesting to purchase your 35% stake in the studio at market value. If we do not receive a response within one week, we will file a motion with the court to compel the sale.” Nathaniel stared at the documents, his fingers tightening into a fist. “Where is she?” “Ms. Hayes has gone abroad to clear her head.” The lawyer smiled politely. “As for her destination, I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.” “Clear her head?” Nathaniel shot to his feet. “She just had a termination two weeks ago, and she’s flying abroad to ‘clear her head’? Is she trying to kill herself?”
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