Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband?

The lawn was alive with laughter and conversation.

Despite a few hiccups, the engagement party was finally underway. Once the toasts were mostly done, Mila told the guests to make themselves at home-eat, drink, play, and relax as they pleased. After all, the whole resort was booked out for a month. Even after today, she and Forrest would be staying on for a while, so it made sense to let everyone enjoy themselves now.

Mila leaned over to Forrest, murmured a few words, then slipped away toward the back of the estate, planning to catch her breath and change into something more comfortable before rejoining the festivities.

She'd made it halfway down the hall when someone called her name.

Howard hurried up, looking pale. He lowered his voice. "Ms. Sutherland, there's a problem. Mrs. Montgomery... she's gone. Mr. Sutherland took Mr. Montgomery to the security room to check the cameras."

Mila froze.

She blinked, trying to process the words. Had she misheard? Who was missing?

Mrs. Montgomery.

Felicity?

"Mmm... That smell... roses?"

The sun was setting, painting the resort grounds in warm amber. Felicity wandered among the deep green trees at the edge of the property, eyelashes fluttering as she followed the faint scent she'd caught earlier on the lawn.

It was a strange, lovely fragrance.

Like roses.

Felicity knew that scent well.

Not long ago, Mila had gifted her a special bottle of rose perfume. She'd adored it, used it often, even tried to mix her own version, but she could never quite capture the same note. Later, she'd called Mila and learned that the perfume's roses were a rare variety, created by the perfumer's mentor through years of cultivation. No wonder she couldn't replicate it.

Her own garden roses just weren't the same.

She'd given up the idea of recreating the scent, and the little bottle was nearly empty now.

She never expected to stumble across that fragrance today-here, of all places. Not exactly the same, but close. Her nose was sharp; this wasn't the same perfume, but she was certain it was the same kind of rose.

Curious, she followed the scent as it wound deeper into the woods behind the resort.

What kind of rose was it, anyway?

Her thoughts danced as she gently lifted her white skirt, stepping lightly through shadowed trees. She passed through the dusk and into a wooden, gabled cottage tucked at the forest's edge.

She stepped inside and stopped, startled.

From the outside, the building looked old-fashioned, almost like a country chapel. Inside, it was hollowed out-two stories open to the peaked roof, empty save for a pair of stained-glass windows set into the wall. The fading sun blazed through them, scattering red and gold light across the bare floor, filling the space with a surreal, jewel-toned glow.

Standing beneath the windows was a man.

She could only see his back.

He wore his hair long, brushing his shoulders in tawny, golden waves.

But Felicity was an artist. She could tell, just from the sharp lines of his shoulders and neck, that he was a man-and not just any man, but someone tall, with a striking build. Probably very handsome.

She smiled to herself.

Not wanting to intrude, she paused at the door, peeking in. There was nothing

inside-no furniture, not even a single rose.

But the scent was unmistakable.

Her gaze drifted back to the man. He wore a black trench coat, golden

curls tumbling over his collar, standing with his back to her, fixed on the sunset outside. The last light gilded his figure in gold and red, giving him an air both elegant and mysterious.

The fragrance in the air grew richer.

Felicity felt a little lightheaded.

She couldn't explain it, but as she stared at his back, a strange sense of familiarity tugged at her. Had they met before? She was certain she'd remember a presence this striking.noveldrama

A figure like this...

She pressed a hand to her forehead. The scent was growing stronger, almost dizzying.

"Are you coming in?"

His voice was deep, smooth as velvet-warm, familiar, almost as if they'd known each other for years. It was beautiful, she thought, too distracted to wonder why it sounded so intimate.

Still holding her head, she slowly looked up, just in time to see the man turn to face her, the sunset blazing behind him.

The light was blinding.

She could barely make out his features.

He wore a black coat over a dark red shirt, a black tie knotted loosely at his throat Black gloves covered his hands as he leaned on a polished cane Caristocratic, graceful, but with a commanding air. She found herself stepping forward, drawn by curiosity, finally able to see his face.

And she froze.

Bathed in the golden-red light, his face was beautiful-strikingly pale, almost unnaturally so, with lips as red as blood, redder than any rose she'd ever grown.

But it was his eyes that held her.

A brilliant green, deep and hypnotic.

Like emeralds, or the swirling depths of a stormy sea.

She was sure she'd seen them somewhere before.

Before she could chase the thought, a sudden, sharp pain stabbed through her

head. Something searing and electric ripped through her mind. The world spun, the scent of roses closing in, thick and sweet.

She collapsed.

Falling into a pair of arms that smelled of roses.

And as the darkness claimed her, she heard his voice-a low, melodic whisper,

soft as a song, tinged with a hint of laughter and something darker.

"My angel... it's been such a long time."

The world faded to black.