"Ha, ha, ha. Who would believe that you and I are lovers?" the man questions incredulously.

"Not even in my dreams could I be interested in someone like you. You're so plain it hurts my eyes just to look at you. Besides, how could I trust the woman behind every one of my failures?"

"Nathan!!" his chauffeur shouts.

"No 'Nathan'—just look at her. She's so unkempt and insignificant, it's unbelievable that she's Lefebvre’s wife. Now I understand why he's been cheating on her for so many years."

"I-I know my appearance isn't the best, but it’s the only way I could think of to humiliate Oliver," I murmur, enduring his insults.

"And what do you mean I’m behind your misfortunes?"

"Your lab is always a strong competitor for us. Stealing our products—that’s something you're great at."

"My lab?"

"Yes, your lab. Everyone knows that ParfumLab belongs to you and that you're the sole owner."

"T-that's not true. My parents' lab went bankrupt."

"Do you think your pathetic crying will convince me otherwise? Everyone knows that Lefebvre’s wife owns that lab—the most coveted in the market for its top formulas."

"That's not true. My lab went bankrupt over six years ago," I insist, shaking my head. "Oliver told me… he… he couldn’t have lied to me…" I sob, covering my mouth as I realize he really did lie.

The lab my parents cherished never went bankrupt—instead, Oliver deceived me and took it from me.

"Here’s the proof, ma’am, that my boss isn’t lying. That lab is pretty famous," the chauffeur murmurs, holding out his phone to show me the latest news.

With a slight tremble, I take it. When reality hits me, I start crying again.

How could I have been so stupid to blindly believe everything Oliver told me?

Now, because of that, I have nothing. I’ve lost everything.

"Earlier, you said my husband has been cheating on me for several years. How do you know that?" I ask, though I don’t really want to hear the answer. I know that once he tells me the truth, it will destroy me.

The man looks at me with disgust, then sighs in irritation before deciding to speak.

"Because it’s no secret that Oliver and his assistant have been lovers for a little over nine years."

When I hear this, I let out a scream and hit my leg in an attempt to relieve the pain that floods my entire body with the weight of that truth.

"Don’t do that, ma’am. You’ll hurt yourself," the chauffeur says gently.

"Have some water, you need it," he offers, handing me a small bottle. Once I calm down a bit, I accept it.

"H-how did you find out about that?"

"How could I not? Don’t you read the news or the gossip online? Or have you been living under a rock?" he asks incredulously.

"I-I… I don’t have a phone. Since I married Oliver, he decided there was no need for me to have something so useless," I mutter, ashamed.

As soon as I say this, both men nearly choke, but they cover it with light coughs to hide their surprise.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from that bastard Lefebvre," mocks the blue-eyed man, shaking his head.

He stares at me for a moment, and due to the intensity of his gaze, I lower my face, deeply embarrassed before this stranger who has just told me more truths than my husband has in our eight years of marriage.

"You said if I helped you separate from your husband, you'd give me the traitor’s name and formulas for new perfumes..."

"I’ve decided to change my conditions. I’ll give you what I promised, but in return, I want something else."

"For hell's sake!! I’m sick of your damn cheap games!" he hisses, grabbing my arms and shaking me so violently that our faces end up mere inches apart.

"I assure you it’s worth it. We both win."

"Nathan!!" his chauffeur intervenes when he realizes his boss isn’t letting go of me.

"What do you want?" he demands, gripping me tighter until I let out a cry of pain.

"Were you raised by jungle monkeys? Let her go!"

Thanks to the chauffeur squeezing his hand, Nathan lets me go, and I can only rub my arm as I carefully consider what I’m about to ask.

"I still want you to pretend to be my lover. It doesn’t matter how long you say we’ve known each other. I also want your help with my divorce. But I also want to propose that we get married—for one or two years…"

"Did hearing about your husband’s infidelity give you a brain aneurysm or something? Are you seriously asking me that?" the man shouts, clenching his hand into a fist and glaring at me with hatred.

"A moment ago, I remembered a news report I saw on TV about you. It said your mother…"

"Stepmother," he growls, moving closer again, but his chauffeur blocks him before he can shake me like a rag doll again.