The cloying scent of perfume clung to Cedric’s suit, a fragrance she recognized instantly. The saleswoman had called it "After Affair Perfume," describing it as alluring, almost scandalous. Back then, she’d dismissed it as too provocative, too bold for someone like her.
But what struck her most was that Cedric, with his rhinitis, couldn’t tolerate strong scents. For years, she had chosen perfumes with barely-there aromas just for his comfort.
Her gaze lingered on the red marks adorning Cedric’s neck, and she asked deliberately, her voice calm but pointed, "What happened to your neck?"
Cedric froze for a moment before quickly releasing her and striding toward the mirror. His hand instinctively moved to rub the marks as his brows furrowed. "Probably mosquito bites."
"Really?" Dione’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes remained sharp. "Are you sure it wasn’t some woman leaving her mark?"
Her gaze bore into his reflection, searching for any flicker of guilt.
Cedric turned, his expression softening into a helpless smile as he pulled her into his arms again. His voice, smooth and warm, brushed against her ear. "If anyone were to kiss my neck, it’d only be you. No one else is allowed."
He tapped her nose lightly, his smile faltering just enough to show a hint of frustration. "Stop overthinking. You’re the only one I love."
Before she could reply, his phone buzzed insistently from his pocket, the vibrations breaking the moment. His unease was palpable as he turned toward the bedroom, muttering something about needing a shower.
As Cedric showered, bursts of laughter echoed intermittently from the bathroom, a sound that grated against Dione’s already strained nerves. Seated on the bed, she sifted through her collection of jewelry and branded handbags, her movements deliberate and detached.
Forty minutes passed before Cedric finally emerged, steam trailing behind him like a lingering shadow. His eyes landed on the array of handbags sprawled across the bed, one brow lifting in mild amusement. "Having trouble deciding which one to take? Need your husband’s impeccable fashion advice?"
Dione, her focus unwavering as she snapped photos to send to a luxury consignment store, replied flatly, "I’m heading out, but these bags don’t feel like me anymore. I’m thinking of selling them."