Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Kerena's POV

I followed Wellington into the master bedroom. His tall frame settled into the armchair by the window, his body leaning back slightly, his long legs crossed casually. My gaze couldn't help but sweep over him, and my pulse did that traitorous flutter.

But the next second, his eyes scanned the entire room. I immediately held my breath. Would he notice that something was missing from the room compared to how he remembered it?

But in the end, he said nothing. He didn't seem to have noticed. I let out a breath of relief. Of course—this villa was just one of Wellington's many properties. He hardly ever came here. How could he possibly remember every detail of each room's layout?

"Mr. Learmond, would you like something to drink? Tea? Water?" I asked with a bright smile, my voice soft.

"No need." He shook his head, his gaze finally settling back on me. "You haven't fully recovered yet. Don't fuss. Sit down and rest."

His concern sent a thrill through me. I immediately did as he said, walking over to sit on the longer sofa near him. Perfect. This distance was close enough for him to see me clearly.

I raised my hand as if casually, tucking a strand of blonde hair falling across my chest behind my shoulder. The neckline of my robe slipped down a bit more with the movement. The cool air told me that my neck and shoulder were now exposed—exposed to the air, and to his gaze.

This was a move I'd carefully choreographed. Earlier upstairs, when I'd seen his car pull into the villa courtyard from the window, my heart had sunk. Wellington had personally driven Matilda home?

But I'd quickly composed myself. This was a rare opportunity to be close to him. I'd hastily loosened the ties of my robe, letting one shoulder and collarbone show through suggestively, and sprayed on perfume. Then I'd run downstairs, making it look like I'd accidentally disheveled my clothes in my hurry, while also letting the scent waft around me as I moved.

I wondered if he'd noticed the subtle fragrance on me when he was downstairs with that boring woman, Matilda. But now, I was so close to him. He had to smell it. And from this angle, the light fell perfectly on my carefully maintained, flawless neckline. It had to be enticing enough, right?

I turned my face slightly, watching his reaction from the corner of my eye. Wellington did turn his head, his deep gaze falling on me. My heartbeat quickened. He was definitely going to say something! Or maybe...

"Your blonde hair..." he suddenly spoke, but it was a question I hadn't anticipated at all. "Is it dyed?"

"What?" I instinctively raised my hand to cover the area near my roots. There, the newly grown hair was my natural auburn color. I hadn't had time to touch it up yet.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, I nodded. "Yes, Mr. Learmond. You're very observant. Blonde suits my skin tone better and makes me look more vibrant."

I explained carefully, but my heart started pounding nervously. Why was Wellington suddenly interested in my hair color?

He looked at me, silent for a moment, then made an even more unexpected request. "May I touch your hair?"

"What?"

Touch my hair? What kind of strange request was that? I couldn't refuse him, so I feigned nonchalance. "Of course you can."

He reached out and gently took a strand of hair that had fallen on my shoulder between his fingers. The faint warmth from his body reached me, and my heart raced even faster, my cheeks flushing hot. What did this mean?

"Mr. Learmond, is something wrong with my hair?" I gathered my courage and asked softly. Had he finally noticed my appeal?

But he quickly withdrew his hand and leaned back into the sofa. "Nothing. I just thought your hair quality was nice."

That's it?

The romantic fantasy I'd just started building crumbled instantly, leaving me utterly confused. Wellington had gone to all this trouble just to touch my hair and say it was nice?

"Thank you." I forced a smile, my mouth barely moving. But before I could adjust my emotions, his next question immediately perked me up again.

"Do you have any particular perfume brands you use regularly?" he asked.

Perfume! He'd finally noticed! Was he going to buy me a gift?

Overjoyed, I immediately rattled off several luxury brand names that screamed sophistication and value, even emphasizing one particular evening fragrance with seductive base notes. But Wellington didn't seem to understand the hint in my words.

"Dew Whisper, the Lily of the Valley series—do you use that?" After listening, he was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly mentioned an unfamiliar name.

I blinked in confusion, searching my memory, then shook my head blankly. "No, Mr. Learmond. I've never heard of that brand. Is it some kind of niche boutique fragrance?"

The instant I said no, I clearly saw the relatively mild expression on Wellington's face rapidly fade away, replaced by a cold, distant frost. Even the air pressure around him seemed to drop.

My heart sank. Had I said something wrong? Did this perfume have some special significance?

Before I could figure it out, he'd already stood up abruptly. "It's getting late. You should rest." He dropped that line and headed straight for the door.

"Mr. Learmond!" I hurried to my feet and rushed after him. "Let me see you out."

"No need." He didn't even turn around. He pulled open the door, stepped out sideways, then closed it behind him with a firm click.

I stood frozen in place, staring at the closed door, anxiety churning wildly inside me. What had I done wrong?

Was it the perfume I'd chosen? Or did he not like my hair color? Or had I been too eager?

No, that wasn't it. The problem seemed to lie with that perfume name.

"Dew Whisper... Lily of the Valley..." I unconsciously repeated it, my brow furrowing deeper and deeper. That name—I felt like I'd seen it somewhere before. Not on my vanity, and not at any perfume counter I frequented.

In a flash, an image slammed into my mind. It was at Matilda's rental apartment! Once, when I'd used her bathroom, I'd inadvertently glanced at the corner of the sink and seen a pale green bottle. The name printed on it seemed to be exactly what Wellington had just mentioned!

At the time, I'd sneered at it, assuming that any perfume she could afford had to be some cheap knockoff, so I hadn't looked closely. So Wellington had just asked about the perfume Matilda used?

I finally realized what was happening. He'd touched my hair so carefully, asked about my perfume—was he trying to confirm something? All his strange behavior tonight, and his sudden coldness just now—was it all because what he really wanted to confirm wasn't something he could find with me?

Did he suspect that the woman that night wasn't me?

Panicked, my hands unconsciously tightened and tightened again, until my carefully manicured nails scraped across the skin of my wrist. I raised my hand. There was a red mark on my wrist, the broken skin slightly bleeding.

But I didn't care about the pain. I spun around and rushed to the guest room in a few quick steps, pushing the door open. "Matilda! What did you say to Mr. Learmond?"