Chapter2

Inside the underground lab on the city's outskirts, the exhaust fans emitted a monotonous hum.

I pushed open the heavy steel security door, instantly hit by the familiar, sharp scent of chemical solvents mixed with botanical extracts. Just a few hours ago, this place had been my sanctuary, the trench where I bled myself dry to build Sylvia's commercial empire. Now, under the harsh glare of the incandescent lights, the neat rows of glass beakers and temperature-controlled incubators looked nothing short of utterly ironic.

There was no turning to alcohol to drown my sorrows, not even a single ripple of emotion. My brain operated like a precision instrument, leaving only a sequence of cold, clear commands.

I walked to the main console, pulled out the chair, and sat down. My fingers danced across the keyboard, pulling up the foundational architecture data, backup synthesis protocols, and the logs of every failed trial run for the "Mirage" perfume line.

For the past five years, I had turned day into night in this very room, solely to find that one perfect ratio that would elevate the fragrance's complexity to an unprecedented level for her.

The cursor hovered over the "Delete All" option. I hit the enter key without a second of hesitation, immediately followed by initiating an irreversible, deep-formatting protocol. A progress bar crawled across the screen, systematically wiping every last digital trace from this lab.

The monitor cast a pale blue glow over my face. I stood up, walked over to the safe, and punched in a passcode known only to me. The heavy door clicked and swung open. Inside lay a single parchment-bound manuscript. This contained the true, core extraction technique for "Mirage"—the vital lifeline that maintained the perfume's molecular stability.

I pulled the manuscript out and slid it into my inner coat pocket. As for the residual, half-finished liquid extracts on the workbench, I pulled their stoppers and watched them drain out entirely into the chemical waste disposal sink.

By the time I finished, the horizon had already begun to turn a pale, ashen grey.

9:00 AM. The first-floor living room of the villa.

The sound of the front door unlocking shattered the morning silence. Sylvia strode in, her high heels clicking sharply against the floor, with Damian following closely behind. They hadn't even bothered to change out of their evening wear from last night's awards gala. Around Damian's neck hung the very amber scent sachet that had once belonged to my mother.

Sylvia spotted me sitting on the sofa. The slightly languid smile she wore instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, condescending glare of scrutiny.

She pulled a thick stack of documents from her Hermes handbag, walked over to the coffee table, and slapped it down right in front of me.

"Elias, since you couldn't even be bothered to attend my victory banquet last night, I suppose there is nothing left for us to talk about." Sylvia looked down at me from her vantage point, her tone dripping with undeniable arrogance. "Sign it."

I cast a brief glance at the cover page. The bold black title glared back at me: Divorce Agreement.

Damian stood to the side, hands tucked easily into his pockets, a provocative smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You'd better take a good look, Elias. Sylvia is being more than generous. Even though the terms state you leave with absolutely nothing, as long as you surrender the naming rights to all the formulas down in that basement, she might consider tossing you a bit of a living allowance. Just to keep you from ending up on the streets."

"Everything in that basement is company property anyway," Sylvia said, tilting her chin up. A flash of utter disgust crossed her eyes, as if merely looking at me was some form of torture. "You need to understand, Elias. Sure, you mixed the base notes, but without my commercial operation backing it, you are a complete nobody. We do not belong to the same world anymore. This agreement is your only chance to walk away with a shred of dignity."

She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for my reaction.

Based on her ingrained perception of me over the last seven years, the script should have dictated that my eyes would turn red. I would stare at her in disbelief, then pathetically beg her for one more chance, even willing to swallow any humiliating condition just to stay by her side.

She had grown far too accustomed to my concessions.

Instead, I simply reached into the pen holder on the coffee table, pulled out a pen, and uncapped it.

I didn't bother reading the long, convoluted, predatory clauses, nor did I raise a single objection to leaving with zero assets. I flipped straight to the very last page and fluidly signed my name on the dotted line.

The entire process took less than five seconds.

Click.

I snapped the cap back on and casually tossed the pen onto the desk. The metal casing clattered sharply against the glass coffee table.

"Signed." I stood up, smoothed down the hem of my jacket, and swept a calm, level gaze over the two of them.

Sylvia froze. The long, rehearsed speeches she had prepared to belittle and humiliate me were suddenly choked back in her throat. A glaring flash of bewilderment and sheer disbelief flickered in her flawlessly made-up eyes.

"You... you aren't even going to read the terms?" Sylvia's voice involuntarily went up a pitch. "All the assets, company shares, everything you've worked on for the past few years—you walk away with absolute zero! And you're just signing it?"

"Keep it." I dropped the words indifferently, turned, and took long, purposeful strides toward the door.

Damian frowned and took a step forward, trying to block my path. "Who are you trying to act so high and mighty for, Elias? Once you walk out that door, who in this industry do you think is going to hire a bottom-barrel perfumer who doesn't even understand marketing?"

I stopped in my tracks. My icy gaze fell upon Damian, lingering for exactly one second on the amber sachet resting on his chest.

"When an item becomes tainted by a cheap, tasteless stench, I usually prefer to throw it straight into the trash." I looked Damian dead in the eye, my tone smooth but carrying an undeniably suffocating pressure. "You're in luck. You get to keep the garbage I didn't want."

"You—!" Damian's face contorted in anger. He wanted to lash out, but my dead, freezing stare paralyzed him right where he stood.

I spared them no further attention. I pushed open the villa doors and strode right out. The frigid morning air flooded my lungs, instantly sweeping clean the stale rot of the last seven years.

Stepping out onto the broad avenue outside the estate, I pulled out a heavily encrypted satellite phone—a device I had kept locked inside a black box for the past five years.

Power on. Signal connected. I dialed a highly classified secure line, parsing the digits directly from the depths of my memory.

The call was answered before it even finished half a ring. A supremely respectful voice sounded from the other end. "Young Master, you have finally called. The Family has been waiting for your orders."

"Albert," I spat into the wind, my voice as cold and hard as steel. "Effective immediately, sever all supply chains of 'Enigma Orchid' raw extract on the global market. Specifically target all orders bound for Sylvia's perfume enterprises. Unilaterally terminate those contracts right now. Deduct all breach-of-contract penalty fees in full directly from my personal accounts."

"Understood, Young Master. The lockdown order will be issued to suppliers across all seventeen global sectors within ten minutes." Albert didn't hesitate for a second. However, he respectfully inquired, "But sir, from what I understand, Ms. Sylvia's new 'Mirage' release is about to hit the mass market. Without 'Enigma Orchid' acting as the neutralizing agent, the highly complex chemical compounds in that perfume will destabilize... and turn into a potent, aggressive toxin."

"I know." I stared at the morning sun just cresting against the distant skyline, my eyes colder than absolute zero.

Sylvia figured she had seized the golden key to dominating the global market. Damian thought he had stolen a shortcut to fame and fortune. Neither of them had the slightest clue that the only reason "Mirage" could perfectly emit that intoxicating aroma was because I had been using astronomical amounts of "Enigma Orchid" to suppress the sheer toxicity caused by their over-purification process.

Without my base note, it was nothing more than a disaster cloaked in a glamorous bottle.

"Do as I said." I hung up the phone.

Since she deemed me a useless piece of trash who didn't understand her high society, then I would gladly let her sit inside her self-made crystal palace and enjoy the taste of a total, systemic backlash. The real game was only just beginning.