The Scent of His Betrayal

Summary

I have always been able to smell the truth of love on a man's skin.

On our wedding night, Gavin smelled like gardenias—a heavy, suffocating white floral so thick it practically drenched the sheets and clung to the velvet curtains of our bedroom.

Seven years later, he smelled like nothing at all.

Gavin used to tell me that passion had a natural shelf life. He said what replaced it was duty, the quiet machinery of adulthood.