Chapter 3

My skin had lost its color, turning a sallow, waxy white. My lips were purple, my eye sockets sunken.

The cuff on my wrist blinked its useless red light, a final, futile protest from a corpse.

A faint odor began to emanate from my body.

It was the accursed scent of a rejected mate, whose body decays with unnatural speed once the bond is broken.

Soon, the smell would grow stronger. Impossible to ignore.

I used to hate that smell more than anything.

But now, all I could do was float at the ceiling, smelling my own body rot.

"Go away," I tried to command the smell, but I had no voice.

The body was slowly decomposing, a pool of black fluid beginning to seep from it.

I no longer felt disgusted.

This wasn't so bad.

At least there was no more pain.

I whispered to the pathetic form below.

"Don't be afraid. You can't feel anything anymore. It will all be over soon."

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on my already stiff corpse.

The sizzle of meat searing in a pan came from the kitchen.

The aroma of top-grade wagyu beef wafted through the vents of the central air system, filling the entire penthouse.

It was my favorite scent. Valerian only had the kitchen prepare it when there were important guests.

"Good," Valerian said, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he sipped his coffee in the living room. "Let's see if this scent can lure the little mouse out of her hole."

He was doing it on purpose.

He wanted to tempt me out with my favorite food so that I would apologize.

I floated near the ceiling, looking down at my body.

My skin was now tinged with green, my eye sockets were deep pits, and dried black blood was caked at the corners of my mouth.

If I were alive, that aroma would have sent me scrambling to the door, begging for forgiveness.

But I was dead.

The dead are not tempted by food.

"Valerian!" Briar's voice suddenly crackled through the communicator, filled with fake drama. "What is that disgusting smell? It's coming from Aveline's studio!"

It sounded like she was pinching her nose, her voice muffled.

"Is she having another episode in there? Trashing the place?"

Valerian put down his coffee cup, his face instantly darkening.

"What smell?"

"It's awful! Like... like something's rotten!" Briar gagged dramatically. "I smelled a little of it yesterday, but today I'm about to throw up!"

Yes. Something was rotten.

Me.

Overnight, my corpse had begun to emit a noticeable stench.

A werewolf's body temperature is naturally high, so decomposition happens quickly.

My mate's face turned to stone.

He strode toward my studio, stopping outside the door.

"Aveline!" he roared, pounding on the door. "How dare you throw a tantrum by soiling your own room? You think this filth will make me give in? It's childish!"

His voice was trembling, not with anger, but with disgust.

I floated by the door, watching his contorted face.

It's useless, Valerian. Yelling won't do any good.

I can't hear you anymore.

"Let her stew in her own stench!" Valerian turned, about to walk away. "We'll see how long she can last!"

Just then, Ronan walked into the apartment.

As he got closer, his nose wrinkled.

"What's that smell?" Ronan covered his nose. "It smells... like something died in there."

Hope sparked in me again.

Ronan! You can smell it!