Chapter 5 - The Perfume
Clara stood in the grand foyer, her mind racing furiously.
Victor had smelled faintly of cedarwood when he arrived at her apartment, bleeding out from a machete wound.
But Victor wasn't wearing cologne. He was covered in blood, sweat, and rain.
The scent belonged to the person he had been in close contact with right before he was ambushed.
Isabella Kaine.
Clara kept her face perfectly neutral, masking the sudden realization.
“Who is this?” Isabella asked, wiping a tear from her eye and gesturing disdainfully at Clara.
“This is Clara Hayes,” Victor answered smoothly. “She is a trauma surgeon. She will be staying with us to oversee my recovery.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed slightly, sweeping over Clara’s cheap clothes.
“We have the best doctors in the city on retainer, Victor,” Isabella pointed out, her voice taking on a sharp edge.
“Why bring a stray from the Narrows into our home?”
“Because the stray is the only reason I didn't bleed to death in an alleyway last night,” Victor replied coldly.
“Elias, show Dr. Hayes to her room.”
Elias Vance escorted Clara up the sweeping marble staircase to the east wing of the massive estate.
The guest suite was larger than Clara’s entire apartment building, featuring a king-sized bed, a private balcony, and a marble bathroom.
“Do not wander the estate without an escort, Dr. Hayes,” Elias warned, lingering in the doorway.
“The guards have orders to shoot intruders on sight, and you are not a familiar face.”
Clara dropped her duffel bag onto the pristine white duvet.
“Understood, Mr. Vance.”
Elias closed the heavy door, locking it firmly from the outside.
Clara was a highly paid prisoner.
She spent the next three hours familiarizing herself with the medical wing, organizing the state-of-the-art equipment Victor had stockpiled.
Later that evening, a guard escorted her to Victor’s private quarters to check his sutures.
Victor was sitting in a leather armchair, a glass of expensive scotch resting on the table beside him.
He had removed his shirt, exposing the heavy gauze bandage wrapped around his torso.
Clara washed her hands and put on fresh gloves.
She carefully peeled back the tape, inspecting the wound.
The tissue was slightly inflamed, but the stitches were holding perfectly.
“You’re healing well,” Clara said quietly, applying a fresh layer of antibiotic ointment.
“No signs of infection.”
Victor watched her hands, his dark eyes intense and unwavering.
“You noticed something earlier in the foyer,” Victor stated abruptly.
Clara froze, her fingers hovering over the bandage.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“You are a terrible liar, Clara,” Victor said, his voice a low rumble.
“When Isabella hugged me, your breathing changed. Your pupils dilated.”
“What did you smell?”
Clara realized that lying to a man who had survived at the top of the criminal underworld for a decade was a futile exercise.
“Cedarwood,” Clara admitted softly.
“When you collapsed in my kitchen, you smelled like cedarwood.”
“It’s Isabella’s perfume.”
Victor didn't look surprised.
He didn't look angry.
He simply stared into the fireplace, the flames reflecting in his cold eyes.
“Isabella was the one who set up the meeting with the Colombians last night,” Victor murmured.
“She was the only one who knew the exact location of the sit-down.”
Clara finished taping the new bandage and stepped back.
“Your own sister set you up to be murdered?” Clara asked, horrified.
“In this world, blood is just a vulnerability,” Victor replied, buttoning a fresh shirt over his chest.
“Isabella wants control of the syndicate.”
“She partnered with the Colombians to remove me from the board.”
He looked up at Clara.
“You are the only person in this house I can trust, Clara.”
“Because you are the only one who doesn't want my throne.”
Before Clara could respond, the heavy doors to Victor’s quarters violently burst open.
May you like
Elias Vance stepped into the room, holding an assault rifle aimed directly at Victor’s chest.
Behind Elias stood Isabella Kaine, a triumphant, wicked smile spreading across her face.
