Since that morning, the guest room door had never opened for Emma again.
It stood like a cold boundary stone, dividing the space that once belonged to both of them into two isolated worlds. Emma lived in the master bedroom. Gu Liang in the guest room. Shared spaces—like the living room and kitchen—became war zones to be navigated with caution.
Life continued in a strange, muted rhythm.
Gu Liang still prepared breakfast and dinner, but only for himself. He would eat quietly, clean up, and retreat to the guest room. Occasionally, when Emma returned late from work, she'd find a cold, plastic-wrapped meal waiting in the kitchen—like hotel room service: precise, impersonal, devoid of warmth.
He no longer spoke to her. Not even eye contact. If Emma tried to initiate conversation—whether to apologize or make small talk—she was met with silence, or a calm, indifferent back.
Emma felt like she was living with air. Or a ghost. The Gu Liang who used to smile at her, who comforted her during her rut, who handed her warm tea when she was tired—was gone. In his place stood a perfectly programmed machine, fulfilling the bare minimum of a roommate's duties, stripped of all emotion.
This cold, silent punishment was far more unbearable than any fight or tears. At least arguments meant someone still cared. Gu Liang's silence was a complete rejection—a decision to exile her from his world.
Her Alpha instincts grew restless under this prolonged cold war. Her Omega was just a few steps away, yet refused her touch, refused her pheromones. It felt like a constant, silent provocation. Her cedar whiskey pheromones became increasingly unstable—sometimes aggressive, sometimes tinged with a frustration she herself couldn't name.
She started avoiding home. Bars and clubs became her refuge. Deafening music, flashing lights, and Omegas with seductive scents surrounded her—smiling, flirting, trying to catch the attention of the handsome, wealthy Alpha.
But Emma felt nothing.
Her senses had been hijacked by that bitter white tea scent. Every other aroma felt dull. One night, drunk and dazed, an Omega with features vaguely resembling Gu Liang tried to approach her. Instead of desire, Emma felt a surge of irritation and rejection.
She pushed him away and fled, leaving behind a stunned expression.
She drove aimlessly through the empty midnight streets, and somehow—inevitably—returned to the home that now suffocated her.
The moment she opened the door, that faint white tea scent greeted her. And strangely, her restless heart calmed—just a little.
She stood in the living room, staring at the sliver of light beneath the guest room door. A flood of emotions surged: guilt, regret, frustration… and a fear she refused to name—the fear of losing him completely.
She walked to the door, raised her hand to knock, wanting to break the silence with force or shamelessness like before. But her fingers stopped just short of the cold surface.
She remembered his hollow eyes. She remembered that icy "Get out."
She had lost the right to knock.
A wave of helplessness washed over her. Emma, who was used to controlling everything, now stood powerless before the mess she had created.
Inside the guest room, another world existed.
There was no trace of Emma's pheromones. Gu Liang had used a high-grade blocker, sealing the space completely. The air held only pure white tea, and faint hints of turpentine and paint.
He had turned the room into a temporary studio. An easel stood by the window, holding an unfinished oil painting. The palette was heavy with gray-blue and dark red, twisted lines forming two entangled figures—full of pain and struggle. Sketchbooks, palettes, and his laptop were scattered across the desk.
But Gu Liang wasn't painting.
He sat at his computer, the blue glow casting sharp shadows on his face. He wore anti-blue light glasses, his gaze behind them sharp and focused—nothing like the gentle perfumer he once was.
The screen didn't show fragrance formulas or design drafts. It displayed a complex financial modeling interface, alongside several encrypted chat windows.
[Anonymous A]: Data stream analysis complete. Target company (Emma's family business) will focus next quarter on East District real estate and biotech.
[Anonymous B]: Confirmed. Heavy upfront investment. Their cash flow is tight. They're seeking second-round funding.
[Gu Liang]: Good. Prioritize the biotech project—code name Prometheus. I want full background on their core R&D team, especially the lead scientist's publications and unpublished patent filings.
[Anonymous A]: Understood. Gathering now. Preliminary report in three days.
[Anonymous B]: Should we approach their potential investors?
Gu Liang's fingers flew across the keyboard.
[Gu Liang]: Not yet. Let them secure the first round. Fatten the prey. It'll make the slaughter more satisfying.
His lips curled into a cold smile. No warmth. Only calculation.
This wasn't impulsive revenge. From the moment he sensed Emma's growing distance, Gu Liang had been preparing. While appearing immersed in his perfumery, he had quietly leveraged his network and analytical skills to weave a net.
Emma had long forgotten—Gu Liang wasn't just an Omega. Before meeting her, he was a top student in finance and information engineering. He chose perfumery out of passion, not limitation. His mind was sharper than his scent.
The encrypted folder labeled "Project E" contained the Achilles' heel of Emma's family empire. During their honeymoon phase, she had casually bragged about it. She never imagined those fragments would be pieced together by Gu Liang into a full map of vulnerabilities.
The Nirvana Protocol was designed to destroy Emma and her family's business—right when they thought they were about to soar.
He heard Emma's hesitant footsteps outside the door. Heard her pause. Then leave.
His expression didn't change. Not even his heartbeat.
He picked up his cold white tea and took a sip.
Emma, the torment you feel now… is nothing compared to mine.
This is only the beginning.
He turned back to the screen, closed the financial model, and opened a new file—a business proposal to acquire a small, obscure company that held a key patent in fragrance extraction.
Before striking, he needed capital. And weapons.
Revenge required patience. And power.
Outside, the night was ink-dark. Inside, two hearts—once intertwined—were now drowning in silence and storm.