The Crazy Scent of Roses

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During the latter half of the Levitan Group's online auction, my phone buzzed repeatedly with notifications from my smart vacuum.

Gizmo is stuck. Please assist.

My brow furrowed.

My husband, Samm, was an extreme germaphobe with severe obsessive-compulsive tendencies. Everything from the alignment of the coasters to the exact angle of the bedsheets had to be precisely positioned. Even our intimate moments required a rigorous sanitization process beforehand. Every cleaning path of our robot vacuum, Gizmo, had been meticulously programmed by Samm himself. It was practically impossible for the machine to get stuck.

I opened the vacuums camera feed while texting my husband back home.

"Gizmo is sending distress signals. Check on him when you get back from work."

A few minutes later, his reply came through: "K."

Just as I was about to message the building manager, a pair of pale, bare feet appeared on the camera feed.

In the next second, a familiar, soft giggle echoed through the speaker.

"Let's do it right here."

A pair of women's slippers was carelessly kicked aside.

I closed the feed, immediately backed up the video, and forwarded it to my assistant, Paige.

"Compile a complete inventory of all marital assets. Book me a flight. I'm heading back to New York immediately."

I strode out of the conference room. Paige hurried to catch up, flipping open her folder.

"Ms. Ashford, I identified the woman in the video." She handed me a photograph and briefed me as we walked. "Her name is Fiona. She's an intern who joined through the youth recruitment program you established. She only has an associate degree and was assigned to clean and organize the executive suite."

I glanced at her resume. "She was given a rare opportunity in the executive offices, yet she chose to throw it away. Add her to the layoff list." I handed the folder back, took a couple of steps, and paused. I tapped my finger on Fiona's name. "Pull all her expense reports, corporate card transactions, and keycard access logs. Every single one."

"Understood, Ms. Ashford."

We waited in the elevator lobby for three minutes. With a soft chime, the elevator doors slid open.

Before we could step in, the regional manager blocked the way, holding a massive bouquet of roses in one hand and a tablet in the other.

"Congratulations on winning the bid, Ms. Ashford! Mr. Levitan rented out an entire restaurant floor. Tonight is a celebration for our overseas team!"

The tablet screen lit up, showing a video call from Samm.

"You've worked hard these past two months. I'll make it up to you when you return." His voice was deep and steady as he sat upright in his office chair.

I didn't say anything, gently pushing the roses aside.

"What's wrong? You look pale," Samm's face filled the screen, his expression intense and focused.

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and forced a neutral expression. "Nothing. I'm allergic to roses."

The screen went quiet for a second before he let out a soft laugh. "I thought you liked them. I'll remember that next time."

Next time?

My chest tightened with a sharp, familiar pain. The first time he had ever sent me roses, my face swelled so badly I had to stay indoors for three days. Back then, Samm had been so guilt-ridden that he had the entire rose garden at our estate paved over overnight. But now, his memory only held the preferences of his intern.

Samm glanced at his watch. "I only have a minute. I have an international board meeting."

I froze, my eyes landing on the vibrant checkered tie around his neck. It was loud, flashy, and completely unlike anything in his closet.

"Samm, do you know what day it is?"

He paused, rubbing his temple. "Right. I almost forgot. It's your birthday." He glanced up, scanning the flight information projected on his screen. "I'm sorry. The last flight out tonight has already departed. Let's celebrate tomorrow instead."

Before I could speak, a pale, slender hand entered the frame.

"Samm, can you zip me up?"

The call was abruptly disconnected.

The black screen of the tablet reflected my pale, hollow face.

The manager beside me held his breath, while Paige asked softly, "Ms. Ashford, should I cancel your ticket?"

"No. We fly tonight."

Three hours later, my flight landed. The arrivals gate was packed with people, each holding a bunch of red roses. The scent was suffocating. I pulled my coat collar up and hurried through the crowd, covering my nose.

"Happy birthday, Fiona!"

A familiar masculine voice cut through the noise, freezing me in my tracks.

Looking up, I saw twenty-four rose-shaped fireworks bursting across the night sky, marking Fiona's twenty-fourth birthday.

In the center of the crowd, a girl in a white dress and a ponytail threw herself into Samm's arms. He caught her, spinning her around. When they stopped, his usually cold, distant eyes held a tenderness I hadn't seen in five years.

"You are the best gift the universe has ever given me, Fiona."

A bystander whispered in envy, "Must be nice. She casually mentioned wanting to see the ocean, and her billionaire boyfriend flew her out overnight."

Another joined in. "When you have that kind of money, you can celebrate anywhere."

I stood in the crowd, pulling a pack of allergy medication from my purse and swallowing the pills dry. The bitterness lingered on my tongue.

Taking my phone out, I dialed Samm's number.

A few yards away, the man pulled out his phone and switched it off.

I gripped the phone so tightly my fingers throbbed with a sharp ache. As I suddenly loosened my grip, my diamond wedding ring slipped from my ring finger, rolling into the bustling crowd and vanishing from sight.

For five years, I had memorized every single one of Samm's triggers. Every time we shared a bed, I scrubbed myself raw, terrified of causing him even the slightest discomfort.

Thinking back to the footage of Samm and Fiona, a wave of nausea washed over me. I dialed my mother-in-law's number.

"Eleanor, Samm is having an affair."

There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a soft, resigned sigh.

"Victoria, you know how Samm is with his condition. It was a miracle he found a woman he could tolerate. Try to be understanding."

She already knew.

Sensing my silence, she tried to soothe me. "Victoria, I promise you, the Levitan family only recognizes you as our daughter-in-law. Once you give us an heir, I will transfer the majority of my Levitan shares to you. With nearly forty percent of the company's stock, you can live comfortably without worrying about Samm's little distractions."

Her voice was dripping with sweet persuasion, offering a tempting fortune.

But what she didn't know was that on the day our families merged our business interests, my parents had already transferred all their Levitan shares to me.

The last shred of warmth I felt for this family evaporated under her empty promises.

Paige sent me a link to an online profile. "Ms. Ashford, this is Fiona's private account."

I tapped the link. The pinned post was a grid of photos. Eight showed sweeping views of the city skyline, while the center photo was a selfie. The angle of the shot could only have been taken from Samm's and my private penthouse suite.

The pink diamond necklace my parents had gifted me for our wedding was draped around her neck.

The caption read: The view from our private suite. It feels so good to have someone who remembers every little thing I like.

I scrolled down.

During a charity golf tournament last year, I had sprained my ankle. Samm had only helped me up before breaking into a cold sweat, visibly shaken by his severe germaphobia.

Yet, on Fiona's profile, the man who couldn't bear human touch was kneeling on the floor, gently massaging her ankle.

The caption: A little slip, and the big boss gets so worried.

Although only his profile was visible, I had gazed at the small mole on his jawline too many times to mistake it for anyone else.

I systematically compiled every image and forwarded them to my lawyer.

It was only when my hands gripped the steering wheel that I realized I was shaking.

I drove straight to the Levitan Hotel. Throwing the keys to the valet, I took the private elevator to the penthouse.

When the doors opened, the place was a disaster.

My custom-tailored gowns in the walk-in closet were covered in neon yellow stickers reading Trash and tacky. The silk nightgown from my wedding night lay crumpled on the floor, slapped with a label that read Desperate and cheap. Even the organic herbal remedies and therapeutic salves I had painstakingly prepared for Samm's skin condition had been dumped into the trash can.

I clenched my teeth, stepping back out of the closet. Taking deep breaths, I used my phone to document every piece of damage. I also took a photo of a white pill lying under the coffee table, texting Paige to have it collected and analyzed.

Years of corporate experience had drilled one rule into my mind: always leave a paper trail.

The next morning, Paige knocked on my door with a cup of coffee.

"Ms. Ashford, I tried to pull the security footage, but the hotel staff said the penthouse cameras require authorization from either Mr. Levitan or Fiona. They refused to hand it over."

I let out a cold laugh.

The Levitans might own the hotel chain, but the Ashfords were a legacy family of architects and builders with just as much leverage. Our marriage had been a merger of equals, though my feelings for Samm had been genuine. Knowing how protective he was of his personal space, I had managed the hotel's interior operations without ever stepping on his private authority. Now, that respect was being used against me.

I looked up and handed her a stack of financial reports. "Request the footage as a major shareholder of Levitan Enterprises. My personal property was damaged and stolen. Pulling those tapes is entirely within my legal rights. Also, publish the layoff notice we drafted yesterday immediately."

By afternoon, I was holding a team meeting in the hotel's conference room when Fiona, dressed in a light summer outfit with a beach bag slung over her shoulder, burst in.

"On what grounds are you firing me?!" she demanded, her eyes welling with tears as she looked around at the watching staff. "I was just doing my job for Mr. Levitan, and you're throwing me out! I don't have a wealthy family or a big background. I'm just trying to make a living! Just because you were born with a silver spoon, Ms. Ashford, doesn't mean you have to ruin my life!"

Faced with her performance, I slammed the folder containing the evidence onto the table.

"Doing your job? You used Samm's authority to embezzle high-end hotel vouchers and resell them for personal profit. The paper trail is right here. Do you want to review it?"

Instead of backing down, Fiona let out a bitter laugh.

"Ms. Ashford, I really don't understand what you're so afraid of." She spread her hands, raising her voice so everyone could hear. "I'm just a cleaner. How could I possibly have the power to do all that? If my presence bothers you so much, I'll leave! But the rest of you better watch your backs. Our dear Ms. Ashford doesn't tolerate anyone she doesn't like!"

Giving me a venomous look, she leaned in and whispered, "If you push me, you'll be the one who ends up humiliated. Just watch."

With that, she ran out of the room, crying hysterically.

A few employees looked as though they wanted to speak up for her, but none dared to.

Not even five minutes passed before Samm's name flashed on my screen. I ignored it.

Seconds later, whispers of "Mr. Levitan" echoed outside the room.

Samm strode in, wearing his signature white gloves to avoid direct contact with the door, keeping a careful distance from me.

"Did you issue Fiona's termination?"

"Yes."

"Victoria, you're letting your personal feelings interfere with business again."

Looking at his cold, dismissive eyes, my remaining respect for him crumbled further. "Have you been up to the penthouse lately?"

Samm frowned, adjusting his cuffs. "What does that have to do with Fiona's termination?"

I held up a flash drive. "She vandalized and stole my personal property, and she embezzled hotel assets. It's all on this drive."

Samm interrupted me impatiently. "I authorized her access to the penthouse. She's just a young girl who got curious. There's no need to make a mountain out of a molehill."

"A molehill?" I let out a sharp laugh and tossed the flash drive at him. "Take a look for yourself and tell me if it doesn't meet the threshold for grand larceny."

Samm's face darkened. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the spot on his suit where the drive had hit him. "Whatever is damaged, I'll pay for it. I'll have her apologize to you. But you will withdraw the termination. Fiona did nothing wrong, and she shouldn't have to endure this kind of humiliation."

I stared at the white gloves he wore. I was the one who had them custom-made by hand from Europe every month, keeping spares in our home, his car, and his office. Yet, he had never once tried to see things from my perspective. He only stood on his moral high ground, correcting me.

My voice turned entirely cold. "The notice stands. Samm, I want a divorce."

Samm fell silent for a moment, then scoffed. "So that's what this is about. You're upset because I can touch Fiona without any issues, aren't you?" He tossed his handkerchief into the trash can, a lie slipping easily from his lips. "Victoria, my relationship with Fiona is purely professional. I am simply looking out for an employee."

I lost every ounce of my patience. Stepping closer, I held up my phone. "Looking out for her? Samm, is this how you look out for your employees?!"

As I drew near, Samm instinctively slapped my hand away. A sharp, burning pain flared across my skin.

"I'm sorry," Samm muttered, his brow furrowing as he stared at the red mark on my hand, hesitating to reach out. "You got too close."

I put my hand behind my back. "Leave."

The remaining staff members exchanged uneasy glances, keeping silent for the rest of the meeting.

By evening, a heavily edited video of Fiona's confrontation in the lobby was circulating online. It showed only her weeping about being bullied, while I sat there looking cold and unbothered.

Public opinion flared up instantly. People began twisting the operational guidelines and standard auditing policies I had established, claiming I was exploiting lower-income workers. Within hours, I was painted as a bitter, insecure heiress abusing her power.

I stared at the toxic comments flooding my screen. "Find out who leaked the video and who is driving this narrative," I told Paige.

I had seen this kind of online smear campaign since I was a child.

Later that night, Fiona's account updated. She posted a photo of two hands clasped together, showing off matching diamond bands. Samm's back was turned to the camera.

The caption read: He said once I wear this ring, I'm his forever.

Someone commented: Why is his face always hidden? Is he married?

Fiona replied immediately: What do you know? He's a prominent businessman. He has to maintain his privacy.

I scoffed and typed a reply: I know quite a few prominent businessmen, but I don't seem to recognize this one.

A few seconds after posting, a text from an unknown number popped up.

It was Fiona: Delete that comment right now, or I'll make sure you regret it!

I didn't bother replying.

By nightfall, my comment had climbed to the top of the thread. Thousands of users began questioning Fiona's role in Samm's life, calling her out as a homewrecker.

Panicking, she made a grand announcement: her boyfriend would be proposing to her at a luxury hotel the following day, and the entire event would be livestreamed.

I opened the livestream link and watched the waiting viewer count climb past one hundred thousand.

The next morning, I met with my lawyer to finalize the divorce agreement, ensuring every asset division was precise and documented.

On my way back to the hotel, Paige called. "Ms. Ashford, we traced the source of the leaked video. It was Fiona herself. Should we file a defamation lawsuit?"

"No. Keep the evidence. We'll settle everything at once."

The moment I stepped into the hotel lobby, a group of beauty influencers holding phones blocked my path.

The woman at the front raised her voice. "Are you Victoria Ashford? What kind of fake vouchers are you selling? The hotel refuses to let us check in!"

She reached out to shove me, but I caught her wrist firmly, stopping her in her tracks.

"First, did you verify the identity of the person who sold you those vouchers? As a major shareholder and design consultant, I have no reason to sell fraudulent vouchers. Second, all legitimate hotel vouchers are registered with the buyer's name. Yours have no registration numbers, meaning they are counterfeit."

A few people in the crowd began to hesitate. "She has a point. And her voice doesn't sound like the person we spoke to online."

The leader wasn't convinced, thrusting her phone near my face. "You're just making excuses! The girl who sold them to us said her name was Victoria Ashford! I don't care, you're the one pocketing our money!"

I smiled calmly. "If I were the seller, there would be transaction records. You are welcome to check. However, if you can provide the contact information and payment details of the person who sold them to you, I will personally arrange for you to stay in an executive suite for free today."

The group wavered, whispering among themselves as they sat down in the lobby to look up their purchase history.

Right then, the lobby manager entered, accompanied by several police officers. The lead officer stepped forward, showing his badge. "Are you Victoria Ashford?"

I nodded calmly.

"We received your report regarding stolen property. Please accompany us to the scene to identify the items."

I glanced at the influencers, my lips curving slightly. "Of course. Everyone, please follow me."

At the end of the top-floor hallway, the penthouse door was slightly ajar. Romantic music drifted out into the corridor.

Inside, Samm was down on one knee. Fiona, wearing my pink diamond wedding necklace, was crying tears of joy. A phone was set up nearby, broadcasting the scene live, carefully framing only the side of Samm's face.

Just as Fiona was about to say yes, I pushed the door wide open.

In the dead silence that followed, only the rapid clicking of camera shutters filled the room.

I covered my mouth in mock surprise, looking at them.

"Samm, why are you proposing to our cleaning lady in our hotel?"