People used pictures to remember moments.
I never understood why.
Pictures faded. Colours changed. Faces became unfamiliar.
But scents…
Scents never lied.
One breath was enough to drag me back to a specific day, a specific place, a specific version of myself.
That was why I collected perfumes.
Not because I loved them.
Because I loved memories.
Every important day of my life had a scent attached to it.
The day I lost something.
The day I gained something.
The day I decided something.
And today…
Today needed its own memory.
I wondered what this perfume would smell like years from now.
Would it smell like freedom?
Or betrayal?
Perhaps they were the same thing.
The heavy, cloying scent of white gardenias clung to my skin, thick enough to choke on.
I turned to the full length mirror, smoothing down the pristine, cascading silk of my wedding dress. It was breathtaking. A masterpiece of deception. But as I stared at my own reflection, the glass seemed to ripple, the light warping until my own features melted away. In my place stood a five year old girl. Her eyes were wide, glassy with terror, staring back at me from the other side of the glass.
"Don't hurt my dad," she whimpered, her tiny voice echoing inside my skull, a pathetic plea that grated against my nerves. "Please, don't hurt him."
She took one tiny step forward.
The little girl didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She only looked at me.
As though she pitied me.
I hated pity.
A blinding, violent fury surged through my veins, hot and volatile. My fist moved before my mind could even process the rage.
Crash.
The mirror shattered into a web of silver shards, raining down onto the floor.
"He is not your dad!" I screamed at the empty air, my breathing ragged, my chest heaving as the remaining fragments of glass distorted my fractured reflection.
The heavy oak door flew open, and Asher rushed in, his eyes wide with alarm. He took in the scene, the broken glass, my trembling frame, the wild look in my eyes.
"Lune! What happened to you? Why did you break the mirror? Are you okay?"
I forced my hands to stop shaking, clenching them into tight fists. The anger was still burning hot behind my ribs, a dark, suffocating weight.
"It was her again," I spat out, the words dripping with bitter venom rather than fear. I didn't want his pity.
I wanted the world to burn.
Asher stepped carefully over the debris, closing the distance between us. He reached out, his warm hands gently framing my face, forcing me to look into his eyes.
"It's okay, it's okay. Everything's okay, Lune. Don't worry. It's our special day."
A cold, sharp smile touched my lips, entirely devoid of genuine warmth.
"Yeah."
"Surely, it's a special day."
He searched my face, a sudden shadow of doubt crossing his features.
"Are you really sure you want to get married at this early age? We can wait, Lune. If you're not ready..."
"I'm ready," I interrupted softly, placing my hand over his. "Don't worry, Asher. Go downstairs and let me finish getting ready. I'll be down soon."
He lingered for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at me in the gown.
"You're already looking so pretty, Lune. You look like a dream I never want to wake up from. I've waited my whole life for this moment. To finally call you mine. I'll see you at the altar."
With one last emotional look, he finally turned and walked out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
The room became silent again.
I looked down at the engagement ring resting on my finger.
It sparkled beautifully beneath the light.
Poor Asher.
He believed today was the beginning of our forever.
He never realised he was only another piece on the board.
People always mistook love for devotion.
Love was never devotion.
Love was ownership.
And today, I was about to prove exactly who owned whom.
Good.
Everyone was exactly where they needed to be.
I had personally ensured that every single one of my father's high profile friends, his elite business partners, and every influential person in his circle was out in the garden right now.
From my window, I could see them.
Children ran across the perfectly trimmed lawn, laughing without a care in the world.
Crystal glasses clinked together.
Music floated gently through the air.
My mother greeted guests with the smile she had spent years perfecting.
My father stood proudly among the people whose respect he treasured most.
They were all gathered to witness his golden hour.
Instead, they would witness his execution.
I pulled out my phone, hitting the final command.
From an anonymous, untraceable number, a video file was instantly broadcast to every single guest sitting in that garden.
I knew the exact moment it reached them.
The distant laughter slowly faded.
The music became meaningless.
One by one, heads lowered toward glowing screens.
Then...
Silence.
On their screens, the footage played out. It was dark, shaky, but unmistakably clear. It showed him. My father.
The distant silence lasted only a heartbeat.
Then came the whispers.
Then the gasps.
Then the screaming.
Reputation had a sound.
It sounded exactly like this.
The illusion was shattered.
The monster was finally unmasked.
I didn't waste a second. I sat at my vanity, picking up a pen, and hurriedly scribbled a note onto a piece of stationery.
"I can't do this anymore. I don't want to be a murderer's daughter. Now that I am nineteen, I have the legal right to live my own life, away from the blood on your hands. I love my mom and dad so much, but you all always disappointed me."
The words were a pathetic, fabricated lie.
But lies were always more believable when they carried tears.
As the distant sound of police sirens began to wail in the distance, drawing closer to arrest the man who ruined my life, I slipped out of the back exit of the estate, blending into the shadows of the late afternoon, leaving the chaos behind me.
I never looked back.
Because memories were meant to be revisited.
Never relived.
Ten minutes later, I stood on a porch on the other side of town, the cool air biting at my bare shoulders. My heart hammered against my ribs, not out of fear, but from the sheer adrenaline of freedom.
I knocked on the heavy wooden door.
A moment passed before the lock clicked.
The door swung open, and Marcos stood there, his eyes widening in sheer shock as he looked at my wedding dress, my hair, and the dark expression on my face.
Before he could speak, before he could even offer a greeting or ask a single question, I locked my gaze onto his and spoke with absolute, unwavering finality.
"You said no matter what happens between us, I can come to your place."