روايات وقصص ضمن The Scent Of Betrayal

Ethan was in a meeting, so I waited in his office. That was when Sophia walked in. She politely brought in coffee, and when she bent forward, I caught the familiar scent of cologne. Just as Joy had described, it was Ethan's scent. "Don't you have anything to say to me?" I asked suddenly. Her hand trembled, spilling hot coffee on herself, leaving red marks instantly. She looked fragile and helpless as her eyes darted away. Flustered, she crouched down to clean the mess and did not answer.

“You’re good at pretending.” Her smile widens, icy. “Years of practice.” I inhale deeply and my eyes close briefly at her body scent. She smells like vanilla, not the oud kind, the soft scent that makes you want to lick it. I compose myself quickly before she notices. I wonder what is wrong with me. Why does this lady draw me in this much? As the night drags on, I do what I always do. Talk business with people who want to ‘invest’ in the company. I knew most of them were wolves who just wanted to stick their noses around and weren’t actually interested in investing, but I played along.

"A scent of my own. A family signature. Let's see how your 'null field' handles the scent of a true mate candidate." Before anyone could stop her, she strode forward. She wasn't trying to smell me. She was bringing her scent to me, aggressively. She uncorked the bottle and waved it right beneath my face. The scent was overwhelming. Jasmine, dark velvet, and a sharp, metallic pride. It was the scent of legacy, of entitlement. And my silence reacted. It wasn't passive anymore. It felt like a shell around me hardened. Selene, so close, gasped. She dropped the bottle, which shattered on the floor. The scent exploded in the room.

The rain streaks the glass, city lights bleeding into one another, everything beautiful and blurred. Because that’s what I am, isn’t it? Blurred. Caught somewhere between believing and breaking. He squeezes my hand again. “You’re really quiet tonight,” he says, smiling. “Just tired,” I repeat. But in my head, I hear another voice, the one whispering that sometimes betrayal doesn’t come crashing like a vase. Sometimes it just smells like someone else’s perfume. The car slows at a red light. The scent swells again, stronger now that the air is still.

Yet now, I drifted across the rooms like a phantom, numbly packing my things. I stopped dead in my tracks upon stepping into the master bedroom. The bed was a wreck, the mattress sunken in places and tainted with unmistakable stains. That wasn’t what broke me, though. It was the sweet, thick, aggressive scent of an Omega in heat. With my stomach churning violently, I covered my mouth and dry-heaved. It became clear to me now. They went beyond what could ever be forgiven. The betrayal began long before tonight, before I could have a talk with Justin.

he patted her on the head like a dog and left her on the floor. "NO...NO AMETHYST!!" Lena screamed, the force tore her throat to ribbons, she clawed at the side of the bed, pulling herself up as the mark on her neck burned with the betrayal, this was not supposed to happen. She prayed for her wolf to answer her, but all she heard was one, faint whimper, and then she was gone. An awful feeling of cold loneliness replaced where the warmth of her wolf usually lived.

“Beautiful! That scumbag finally used his brain for once!” I only gave a faint smile. The show was far from over. I took out my phone and hit send. The next second, the LED screen in the church—originally playing romantic music—went dark. Then a photo appeared. The one Rose had sent me: she and Ethan in the hotel bed before the wedding. Next came every line I’d photographed from the two time capsules Ethan and Rose buried together. The crowd erupted. “Oh my god! So the groom cheated before the wedding? And the mistress is the one wearing the dress?”

I tried to shake it off, telling myself it was paranoia. Then… a scent; faint, fleeting, but unmistakable. Smoke and iron. The memory of betrayal. The ghost of him. Damon. I would never mistake that smell after two lifetimes. My heart stuttered. The sound of his name in my head was like a curse. No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here. Not inside the heart of the pack. I sat up slowly, eyes scanning the room. Shadows pooled in the corners. The curtains swayed gently though the windows were shut. The flame in the hearth flickered, stretched, as if something had brushed past it.

When I was ten, I suddenly gained the ability to see threads connecting people above their heads. And only two people who had slept together would be connected by these impossible-to-hide threads. Over the years, two more threads had appeared above my father's head, and my mother had threatened to divorce him again and again. Because of what I had witnessed, I practiced celibacy after reaching adulthood. When choosing a wife, I placed loyalty above everything else and eventually chose the chaste, aloof genius with not a single thread above her head—Madeline Woods. During my bachelor party the night before the wedding, my closest friends played a game of whoever lost had to let everyone el

Sienna I never thought I'd be walking into a house where every room held a story of betrayal. But there I was, standing at the front door, my shopping bags heavy in my hands, a strange, uneasy feeling pooling in the pit of my stomach. It was a normal afternoon, or so I thought. The sunlight filtered through the windows, casting shadows across the hallway, and for a moment, everything seemed so... still. I had just stepped through the door when the overwhelming stench of sex, sweat, and something else…something like the residue of betrayal lingering in the air.