The Scent of Neroli

I was Liam Hayes' s human diffuser, a vessel for a scent he owned, a living reminder of his mother' s tragic death that he blamed on my family. Tonight, I watched him with Chloe Thompson, hidden in the shadows where he told me to wait.

Then, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. It was happening again. The baby, our seventh, was only three months along, but I knew the signs.

Liam' s smile vanished when his eyes found mine. He dragged me to our bedroom, screaming, "You are useless, Ava!" He paced like a caged animal, snarling, "I gave you one job, and you can' t even do that." He wanted me to suffer, to feel the same emptiness his mother felt, for the rest of my life. The next day, he paraded me at a gala, a trophy for his business associates to touch. He said, "She' s all for you tonight, Marcus. Enjoy." As Marcus' s hands roamed, Liam whispered, "I own you. Your body, your scent, your shame. This is what Monroes deserve."