The Scent of Other Men’s Sins

Linnea's POV

My world fell apart the day I got scratched by my best friend Coralie’s cat, and she handed me that "miracle" ointment.

Rosalind, the mentor I had respected for years, suddenly turned on me, cutting all ties in a fit of rage that landed her in the hospital.

My mother, Adrienne, transformed overnight, screaming abuse and kicking me out of her house.

And Dorian, my fiancé, publicly humiliated me at our engagement party, viciously calling off the wedding.

Driven to despair, I wandered into the street and was nearly killed by a car. In the shocking clarity of that near-death moment, I finally realized the twisted truth behind everyone’s sudden, violent disgust for me...

"Jesus! Milo!" Coralie shrieked.

I grabbed my neck, gasping as hot blood immediately seeped through my fingers. Coralie’s Persian cat, erratic since giving birth, had suddenly launched herself from the cat tree, her sharp claws slicing right across my neck.

"Linnea, you’re bleeding! I’m so sorry, she’s been so temperamental lately," Coralie rushed over, pulling my hand away with a look of absolute horror. "Oh my god! Your engagement party with Dorian is this weekend. What if it scars?"

I grabbed a tissue to press against the wound, smiling as I patted her hand. "Don't panic. It's a small scratch. Dorian won't care. I'm just here to pick you up for Rosalind’s birthday gala. Are you ready?"

"Wait, I have just the thing!" Coralie ignored me, digging out a green metal tube. "I got this in Europe. It's a miracle cream for inflammation and scars! Here, let me put it on you."

She squeezed a pale green, viscous paste onto her fingertips.

A cold sensation covered my broken skin. Having entirely lost my sense of smell to a severe flu a year and a half ago, I couldn't smell a thing. But I was used to it. I’d taken my daily rhinitis meds that morning, and physically, I felt fine.

"Remember to reapply it twice a day so it heals before the party!" Coralie carefully massaged the ointment into my skin.

"Got it, boss." I checked my watch. "Now hurry up and change. Rosalind hates it when people are late."

To hide the bandage and redness on my neck, I borrowed a high-necked, backless black velvet gown from Coralie.

Half an hour later, we arrived at Rosalind’s French-style estate in Long Island.

The hall was a sea of designer gowns and champagne; half of Manhattan’s architectural elite was there. Rosalind, wearing a custom burgundy dress, was the undisputed queen of the architecture world. She was the mentor who had single-handedly elevated me from an unknown rookie to today's "Most Promising New Architect."

"Look who’s here!" Rosalind’s eyes lit up when she saw me. She opened her arms, proudly announcing to the room, "My perfect masterpiece, Linnea!"

"Happy birthday, Rosalind."

I hurried over, smiling warmly. Just as I had done countless times over the last six years, I leaned in for a cheek kiss. The heating in the hall was on full blast, and from rushing over, a fine layer of sweat had formed on my forehead and nose.

Just as my cheek was about to touch hers—

Rosalind froze.

Her nostrils flared sharply. In a fraction of a second, the proud, maternal warmth in her eyes shattered into pure, unadulterated disgust.

"Rosalind?" I asked, confused, reaching out to support her arm.

"Don't touch me!"

She violently recoiled, her heel twisting on the floor. Her champagne completely spilled across the expensive rug. She stared at me, her chest heaving, looking at me as if I were a monster carrying a deadly plague.

I stood there, paralyzed. "Professor... what's wrong? If you're not feeling well, we can go to the lounge..."

"I should have known..." Rosalind ground out, her voice trembling with extreme fury and palpitations. "The disgusting things you've done behind my back! I thought you were just a hard-working girl from a humble background. I never knew you were this ruthless. There is nothing you wouldn't do to claw your way up!"

She suddenly doubled over in agony, clutching her chest and gasping for air.

"Rosalind!"

"Security! Throw her out!" she shrieked with the last ounce of her strength before collapsing onto the carpet.

Chaos erupted. People screamed; someone called 911. I tried to rush forward to help, but two massive security guards grabbed my arms, dragging me forcefully out of the estate.

Like a madwoman, I jumped into my car, tailing the ambulance all the way to Mount Sinai's emergency room. I paced the hallway, cold sweat soaking the back of my high-necked dress, the scratch on my neck burning hot.

Finally, the ER doors swung open. Out walked Rosalind’s eldest daughter, Chloe.

"Chloe, how is she? What exactly happened?" I rushed up to her.

Smack. A vicious slap landed hard on my cheek.

My head snapped sideways. My ears rang.

"You have the nerve to show your face here?" Chloe practically spat the words, pointing at the exit. "My mother had a severe heart attack. Right after she woke up, the first thing she told me was to sever all ties between you two. You are no longer her student. Take your sickening tricks and get the hell out of our sight!"

"That’s not fair! I don't even know what I did wrong!" I yelled, breaking down.

"You don't know? You're a cheap slut!" Chloe hissed a vile curse and coldly ordered hospital security to throw me out.