Part 1Breathing Death Without My Soul Scent

In the rarefied world of luxury fragrance on the East Coast, there was an unwritten rule: no high-grade essential oils or ancient aromatic resins entered the country without the Beaumont family’s approval.

Eight years ago, Camilla “Cami” Beaumont lost her sense of smell in a horrific car crash. The only scent she could register—the only one that anchored her—was the custom-blended Sustaining Scent I created.

That unique power made me the Beaumont House consort, the trophy husband, the man tethered to her side. I was the one who was supposed to be the beating heart of her world.

Then Blaine Maxwell arrived.

The new male assistant had been with the company barely a month when I saw Cami's eyes track him across the mahogany boardroom table. "He smells so... alive," she’d murmured, her voice laced with a raw hunger I hadn't heard in years.

From that day on, she took him to galas and industry meetings I was expected to attend. The nights Cami spent away from our penthouse grew more and more frequent.

Three months later, a pristine white envelope was left on our doorstep. Inside was Cami’s prenatal scan report.

Blaine’s number flashed on my phone. He answered with a victorious, challenging laugh.

“Trophy husband,” he drawled, the words designed to hit low. “My scent is natural. Cami says it’s got a pulse, a real person’s scent. Better than your manufactured dead perfume.”

He didn't hang up. Instead, he sent a video. Cami was lounging on a chaise, her eyes distant and cold.

“If Grandmother Beaumont hadn’t forced me to swear on her deathbed that I wouldn't divorce Caspian Thorne, do you think he’d have lasted a single week as the Beaumont Consort?” She let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Eight years of smelling that one, unchanging scent. It makes me sick to my stomach now.”

I gripped the phone, my knuckles bone-white against the black glass.

Cami didn't know the truth. She died in that car crash eight years ago. The Camilla Beaumont who was walking, laughing, and getting pregnant relied entirely on the Soul Incense—a fragile, forbidden alchemy—to keep her fractured life force tethered to her body.

Grandmother Beaumont had lost her gamble.

It was time for me to walk away.

* * *

Grandmother Beaumont’s will stipulated that on the first day of every month, only I was permitted inside the family’s old Memorial Chamber.

I worked quickly, competently, placing the fine ash of the Sustaining Scent into the small, ancient ritual vessel that held Cami's residual life force.

Before I could finish, I heard a clamor at the door.

Blaine Maxwell burst in, his eyes suspiciously red and brimming with theatrical tears. He dropped to his knees in front of me.

“Mr. Thorne, please. Have mercy on me and the baby,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “You can get divorced and remarry. You don’t have to cling to the title and pretend to be this child’s father.”

I closed my eyes and continued my silent prayer for the Beaumont family’s ancestors. I knew this move. Every time he played the pathetic victim, Cami would arrive, ready for a fight.

Sure enough, a furious shout erupted behind me.

“Caspian Thorne! Blaine was right! You’re using your Consort status to abuse him, forcing him to grovel!” Cami’s face was dark, clouded with fury. “Who gave you the authority to throw your weight around in my family’s sanctuary?”

I stared at the two security guards at the door, who looked away like startled quail. "Why didn't you stop him? Are you all incompetent?"

“Don’t you dare lecture my staff, Caspian.” Cami's voice was sharp with rage. She strode over and gently helped Blaine to his feet. “Don’t be afraid of him, Blaine.”

She tenderly wiped the manufactured tears from his cheek, treating him like a priceless, fragile heirloom.

I pressed my lips together and turned away, trying to mask the tremor of rage in my hands. To cover my distress, I feigned calm and adjusted the ashes in the vessel.

As I closed the lid, a hand slammed down, knocking the small box to the marble floor.

The fine, silver-gray ash exploded upward, clouding my face and stinging my eyes.

“All you ever do is fuss over this junk—this incense for the dead,” Cami spat. “The ashes, the scents, it all smells like a goddamn mausoleum.”

Her gaze suddenly landed on the small, ancient oak plaque in the center of the chamber. Her eyes narrowed.

She grabbed my throat, her grip instantly tightening. “How badly do you want me dead, Caspian? Why did you put my name on a tethering plaque in the family’s Memorial Chamber?”

A bitter, humorless smile touched my lips. She had finally noticed.

Eight years ago, Cami had survived the crash with her body mostly intact, but her psyche was shattered, her soul fragmented. Grandmother Beaumont, desperate, came to me—the last of the Thorne scent-alchemists—begging for a solution.

I agreed on one condition: I would create the Sustaining Scent and use the ancient Thorne Plaque to tether her life force. The debt was mine, the secret was ours, and during the duration of the 'Scent Bond,' she could never be told the truth.

So, when Cami demanded an answer, I said nothing.

But Blaine, ever the opportunist, leaned forward, a look of faux contemplation on his face. “I... I heard of a kind of old-world occult magic. Where you tether a name to a marker to keep a spirit trapped...”

He shook his head quickly, acting horrified. “No, no, that’s impossible. Mr. Thorne would never dabble in anything that dark. I must be wrong.”

Cami didn't hesitate. She grabbed the oak plaque and smashed it to the floor, stomping on the fragments.

I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. "Cami, stop! You’ll destroy yourself!”

Without that anchored fragment of her soul, her time was terrifyingly limited.

My panic only seemed to fuel her conviction. She sneered. “Stop the theatrics, Caspian. What will it take for you to give Blaine his rightful place as the Beaumont consort?”

My throat was tight, choked with despair. I managed to force out one word.

"Divorce."

Cami’s brows knitted together. She massaged the throbbing vein in her temple. “You know Grandmother's Will prohibits it unless ninety percent of the family signs off. You’re asking for the impossible.”

I twisted my mouth into a pained smile. “And aren’t you doing the impossible to me?”

Cami fell silent, the rage briefly replaced by a flicker of confusion.

Blaine immediately pointed to her slightly swollen belly, reminding her of the urgency. “Cami, our baby can’t wait. Why don’t we talk to the elders tonight? Maybe they’ll finally agree.”

After a moment of thought, Cami pulled out her phone and had the house manager summon all the senior Beaumont family members to the old estate.

Half an hour later, Cami stood holding Blaine close, announcing to the gathered assembly, "I want to divorce Caspian Thorne."