With that, Sebastian turned toward the operating rooms.

His white coat swept through the cold light at the end of the corridor, his back straight and remote.

I lowered my head and breathed in the jacket around my shoulders.

It smelled more familiar than anything else in the world.

For two years, that scent had been the hardest thing to let go of.

Clutching his jacket, I went back to the empty apartment alone.

Late that night, I reheated dinner three times.

By the end of our candlelit anniversary evening, there was nothing left but melted wax and cold steak.

The clock on the wall read two in the morning.

I lay curled on the couch, my forehead burning, my thoughts drifting in and out.

I had developed a fever after all.

My phone lit up with a message from Uncle Xavier Sutton.

[Sophie, your place on the advanced perfumery program in Paris has been confirmed. You have three days to give them your final answer.]

[Have you decided?]

I stared at the messages for a long time without replying.

I had waited so long for this opportunity.

If I went, an entire ocean would separate Sebastian and me. But if I stayed, how much longer could I keep this relationship going?

The sound of the lock interrupted my tangled thoughts.

Sebastian was home.

He came in carrying the chill of the night, his white coat over his arm, his collar loosened. Exhaustion from back-to-back surgeries shadowed his eyes.

The overhead light was off.

He spotted me on the couch immediately. “Why aren't you in bed?”

I opened my eyes. My voice was painfully hoarse.

“I was waiting for you.”

His brow furrowed. “I sent you a message telling you not to wait.”

He went to the dining table and saw the cold food, then the scented candle at one corner that I hadn't even gotten around to lighting.

I had made it myself.

The label read: A Night Just for Sebastian.

He studied the words for a few seconds, then moved the candle farther away.

“You don't need to do all this anymore.”

I stared at him. “Do what?”

“The meals. The candles. These scents.” He rolled up his sleeves as he spoke. “It's a waste of time.”

My chest tightened until drawing breath hurt.

“Do you think everything I do is unnecessary?”

“That's not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

It sounded as though I was picking a fight, but my tears were already falling.

“I've told you so many times. That I want you to come home earlier. That I don't feel well. That I want to have dinner with you.”

“Sebastian, you never listen.”

His eyes darkened.

Noticing the flush in my face, he reached out and touched my forehead.

The moment his palm met my burning skin, his expression changed.

“You have a fever.”

He turned to the cabinet and took out the first-aid kit.

Fever medicine, warm water, and a thermometer appeared in front of me in quick succession.

“Take this first.” He held out the glass. “If the fever hasn't gone down by morning, I'll take you to the hospital.”

I didn't accept it. I only looked up at him.

“Will you stay with me for a little while?”

His hand stopped in midair.

My eyes were wet with fever as I cautiously wrapped my fingers around his arm.

“I feel awful. Could you stay out of your study tonight?”

His throat moved, but he slowly pulled his arm free.

“I'm sorry. I have an early consultation with another hospital tomorrow. I need to review the records and work on a treatment plan. I don't have time to sit with you.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

My hand hung in the air.

Sebastian went into his study and shut the door in front of me.

I looked down at the tablets, gave a bitter little laugh, and swallowed them with the water.

The medicine tasted bitter.

So bitter that I no longer wanted to chase a love I seemed to be living in alone.

I picked up my phone and sent Xavier a message.

[Uncle Xavier, I'm coming with you.]

By the time I woke the next morning, my fever had broken and Sebastian had already left for the hospital.

A note lay on the coffee table.

His handwriting was sharp and concise.

[Take the medication after food, with warm water. Three times a day.]

I stared at the instructions, wondering, as I sometimes did, whether Sebastian saw any difference between his girlfriend and one of his patients.

I put the note at the edge of the table.

My throat was painfully dry. I got up for water, but as my eyes moved around the living room, I slowed to a stop.

Something was wrong.

Our matching mugs, the warm-colored cushions, the fragrance ornaments, the diffuser stones I had made for him: all of them were gone.

Sebastian was particular about scents. It seemed he couldn't bear even a trace of me in his apartment.

If that was true, why had he agreed to live with me at all?