The first thing Hilary noticed was the smell.
It didn't belong in her kitchen.
Too sweet.
Too precise.
Too… intentional.
She stood in the center of the hotel's private test kitchen, hands resting lightly on the cold marble counter, breathing slowly. The familiar orchestra of stainless steel, gas flames, and distant ventilation hummed around her—but something was off.
Gerard was beside her. She could feel him. The warmth of his shoulder close enough to steady her heartbeat.
"You don't have to do this today," he murmured.
"I do," Hilary replied softly. "If I stop now, they win."
He didn't ask who *they* were.
She adjusted her coat, fingers brushing the red ribbon tied discreetly around her wrist. Jessica's idea. Her anchor.
The door opened.
Footsteps—light, confident.
"Mrs. Laurent."
The voice was smooth. Female. Controlled.
Hilary turned toward the sound.
"Yes?"
"I'm Bianca Russo," the woman said. "Your new assistant."
Hilary inhaled.
Her breath stuttered.
The scent hit her immediately.
Cedar.
Amber.
Something warm underneath.
Too close.
Her fingers tightened against the marble.
Gerard shifted beside her. Just slightly.
"This is Bianca," he said neutrally. "She'll be assisting during your recovery."
Hilary smiled, forcing calm into her voice. "Nice to meet you."
Bianca laughed softly. "The honor is mine. I've admired your work for years."
The scent lingered.
Hilary's chest felt tight.
She turned her head a fraction toward Gerard, searching—not with her eyes, but with her breath.
There.
His scent was still there.
But… diluted.
Layered.
Confused.
Bianca stepped closer. "May I?"
Hilary felt fingers brush her sleeve lightly.
Electric. Uninvited.
"Bianca will handle prep today," Gerard said.
"Of course," Bianca replied easily. "I wouldn't dream of overstepping."
She stepped back.
The scent faded—just enough to make Hilary doubt herself.
Was it Bianca?
Or was it Gerard?
Hilary swallowed.
The burners ignited. The kitchen came alive.
She closed her eyes.
Cooking was still hers.
Always had been.
She reached for the knife—paused—then corrected her grip by memory alone.
"Salt," she said.
A pause.
Then a hand placed the container near her right.
Gerard's hand.
She knew.
She seasoned, adjusted, tasted.
Her confidence returned in fragments.
"Your palate is incredible," Bianca said, somewhere across the counter. "Even after… everything."
Hilary smiled faintly. "It never left."
Bianca hummed thoughtfully. "That's rare. Most people lose more than they admit."
The words slid under Hilary's skin.
She continued cooking.
The scent came again.
Closer this time.
Her heart skipped.
"Gerard?" she asked instinctively.
A beat.
"Yes," he answered.
But the voice came from the left.
The scent… from the right.
Her knife froze mid-air.
Bianca laughed lightly. "Oh—I'm sorry. I stepped too close."
Hilary's breath came shallow.
Gerard moved instantly. "Step back."
"Of course," Bianca said sweetly.
The scent vanished.
Hilary's hands trembled.
She set the knife down carefully.
"I need a moment," she said.
Gerard was beside her in seconds. "We're done for today."
"No," she whispered. "Don't."
She lifted her chin.
"I can do this."
Bianca clapped softly. "That's inspiring."
Hilary turned toward her voice.
"Bianca," she said calmly, "what perfume are you wearing?"
A pause.
Then: "None."
Hilary's stomach dropped.
Bianca continued lightly, "I'm allergic. I thought Mr. Laurent told you?"
Silence.
Gerard stiffened.
"I didn't," he said.
"Oh," Bianca replied smoothly. "Must have misunderstood."
Hilary forced a smile.
"Then it must be the kitchen," she said. "Scents travel strangely here."
Bianca agreed too quickly. "Exactly."
They finished in silence.
The dish was perfect.
Unquestionable.
The staff applauded quietly.
Hilary felt nothing but exhaustion.
Later, in the car, she finally spoke.
"Did you change your cologne?"
Gerard turned sharply. "No."
Her chest tightened.
"Then why—"
She stopped herself.
He reached for her hand, slow and careful.
"You recognized me," he said. "Every time."
She shook her head. "I hesitated."
"You're allowed to."
She pressed her lips together.
At home, she went straight to the bathroom.
She stood before the mirror.
A woman stared back.
Familiar shape.
Familiar eyes.
No recognition.
Her breath caught.
She leaned closer.
Still nothing.
Behind her, footsteps.
The scent returned—clear, unmistakable.
Gerard wrapped his arms around her from behind.
"It's me," he said gently.
Her shoulders sagged in relief.
She reached for his hands, gripping them hard.
"I smelled someone else today," she whispered.
His body went still.
"In the kitchen?"
"Yes."
"Did you feel threatened?"
She hesitated. "I felt… replaced."
His jaw tightened.
"That won't happen."
She closed her eyes.
"What if I don't know the difference one day?"
Silence stretched.
Then he said, quietly, "Then I'll make sure you never stand alone with her again."
Hilary nodded.
But later that night, alone in the dark, she replayed the scent in her memory.
Too close.
Too familiar.
And for the first time since waking up in the hospital, a terrible thought settled in her chest.
What if someone could learn to smell like love?
Hilary dreamed of the kitchen.
Not the one she knew.
This one had no walls—only counters stretching endlessly into darkness. Burners ignited by themselves. Knives hovered in the air, motionless, waiting for hands that never came.
And the smell.
Cedar.
Amber.
Warm.
She turned toward it instinctively.
"Gerard?" she called.
Someone answered.
"Yes."
Relief surged through her chest—until the scent shifted.
Sweetened.
Altered.
Wrong.
The voice spoke again, closer now.
"You called me."
Hilary stepped back.
"No," she whispered. "That's not—"
Hands touched her shoulders.
Too light.
Too unfamiliar.
She screamed.
Her eyes snapped open.
She was drenched in sweat, lungs burning, the room spinning violently. The scent still lingered in her nose, vivid and cruel.
Her heart hammered.
"It's not real," she told herself. "It's not real."
The bed dipped.
"Hilary."
Gerard's voice.
Real.
She reached out blindly and grabbed his wrist, fingers digging in hard.
"Don't move," she gasped. "Please."
"I'm here," he said instantly. "I won't move."
She inhaled.
There.
The right scent.
She sagged forward, pressing her forehead against his chest, breathing him in like oxygen.
"I thought—" Her voice broke. "I thought someone else answered."
His arms came around her, firm and protective.
"It was a nightmare."
"I know," she said shakily. "But it felt… trained. Like my brain learned the wrong thing."
He didn't reply immediately.
That scared her more than the dream.
"Gerard?"
"I'm thinking," he said carefully. "That someone crossed a line today."
Her fingers tightened in his shirt.
"You believe me?"
"There's nothing to believe," he said. "I watched you freeze."
Tears slid down her cheeks.
"I don't trust my senses anymore."
He pulled back just enough to cup her face, forcing her attention toward him.
"Then borrow mine," he said. "Until yours are ready again."
She nodded weakly.
From the doorway, a small voice whispered, "Mama?"
Hilary turned sharply.
Jessica stood there in her pajamas, clutching her stuffed rabbit, eyes wide.
"Come here," Hilary said immediately.
Jessica climbed onto the bed without hesitation, curling into Hilary's side. Her small fingers reached for the red ribbon on Hilary's wrist.
"It came off," Jessica said seriously.
Hilary stilled. "What?"
Jessica held up the ribbon. "It was loose."
Hilary's breath caught.
She hadn't felt it slip.
Jessica tied it again with clumsy determination. "There."
Hilary swallowed hard. "Thank you, baby."
Jessica sniffed the air.
Hilary felt her body tense.
"What do you smell?" Hilary asked quietly.
Jessica frowned, thinking. "Papa."
Relief surged—
"And something else," Jessica added.
Hilary froze.
"What else?"
Jessica tilted her head. "Like Papa. But not Papa."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
Gerard's jaw clenched.
Jessica hugged Hilary tighter. "I don't like it."
Hilary kissed the top of her daughter's head. "You're safe."
Jessica nodded, but her fingers stayed curled in Hilary's shirt.
Later, after Jessica fell asleep between them, Hilary lay awake, staring into darkness.
"Children don't imagine things like that," she said softly.
"No," Gerard agreed.
She hesitated. "What if she practices?"
"Practices what?"
"Smelling like you," Hilary whispered.
Silence.
Then: "Then she's smarter than I thought."
Hilary shivered.
"I don't want to be a liability," she said. "To you. To Jessica."
"You're neither," he said immediately.
"I couldn't even tell which direction you were standing in today."
"And yet," he said, "you knew when it wasn't me."
She exhaled shakily. "Barely."
He shifted closer. "That's enough."
She turned toward him. "For how long?"
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
The next morning, Hilary stood alone in the kitchen before sunrise.
She breathed in.
The space smelled neutral.
Clean.
Safe.
Then, faintly—almost imperceptible—
Cedar.
Amber.
Her pulse spiked.
"Gerard?" she called.
No answer.
Footsteps approached.
Light.
Measured.
"Good morning, Mrs. Laurent."
Bianca's voice.
Hilary's hands clenched around the counter.
Bianca smiled somewhere in front of her—Hilary could feel it.
"I thought I'd come early," Bianca continued pleasantly. "To help."
Hilary straightened slowly.
Her voice was calm.
Controlled.
"Next time," she said, "announce yourself from the doorway."
Bianca paused.
Then laughed softly. "Of course."
The scent retreated.
But it didn't disappear.
Not completely.
Hilary closed her eyes.
This was no longer about cooking.
Or recovery.
This was about survival.
And somewhere deep in her chest, a quiet truth settled in.
Bianca wasn't trying to replace her job.
She was trying to replace her reality.