“I mean, it’s your usual, right?” Penny asked, half-lounging again. “Could’ve been a freebie from somewhere you ordered before.”
Arden nodded slowly as she carefully set the bottle on the coffee table, like it might shift or shatter if she looked away.
“Yeah. That’s probably it.”
But the lie clung to her skin, heavier than it should have.
He didn’t getto see her this time.
That was the part he hated most.
Every other moment—every gift, every message—he’d been there.
Watching her breath hitch.
Watching the question bloom behind her eyes.
But now...
He could only imagine—her turning the box in her hands, searching for something. A receipt. A note.
Proof that this wasn’t a mistake.
But there wasn’t one.
That was the point.
It was perfect.
Almost.
Next time, he wouldn’t settle for imagination.
This gift.Her perfume—Mon Guerlain.
Warm jasmine, wild lavender, smoldering vanilla.
A storm softened into something wearable.
Not sweet. Not innocent.
A scent like her—strength cloaked in softness, sharp where no one expected it.
The bottle itself was a tribute to everything she didn’t realize she was.
Strong lines and curves. Elegance made physical.
Feminine, yes. But unyielding.
Like flame poured into glass.
He could seethe moment she hesitated.
Her fingers slowing over the gold adornment, her gaze narrowing.
She didn’t remember ordering it.
She would brush it off.
