After My Death, the Love-struck CEO Begs for Reconciliation

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Reborn three years ago, it was the day I first created the perfume called "First Love" for Julian Lancaster's "Muse," Serena Sullivan.

I was sitting in front of the aromatherapy table, my nose surrounded by the intertwining scents of Cymbell roses and white musk, with a sealed sample placed beside me.

Julian Lancaster stood right in front of me, his handsome face showing the gentle smile I was once most enamored with.

"Clara, thank you for your hard work. Serena said she's been out of inspiration lately, but with your 'First Love,' she will definitely be able to design the best works."

At his words, I looked up, meeting his deep eyes.

My heart suddenly ached, the scorching pain from being engulfed by fire in my past life, mixed with his cold words "let her burn clean," flooded my mind like a tide.

In my past life, as the only heir of the Everard Family of perfumers, I fell in love with Julian Lancaster, a senior without any background, at first sight.

For him, I rejected all top perfume company offers and resolutely used the Everard Family's name and resources to help him establish the brand "Aethel."

I thought he loved me, my person, my soul.

But I was wrong.

What he loved was never me, but my nose that could bring him endless wealth.

Once the brand was on track, under the guise of "protecting a national treasure-level aromatherapist," he trapped me in this suburban villa.

I became his caged tool, day after day providing creativity and fragrance bases for Serena Sullivan, that plagiarizing "genius designer."

I watched him holding Serena Sullivan's hand under the spotlight, announcing to the world that Serena Sullivan was his one and only Muse;

watched him use the perfumes I created to earn trophy after trophy for Serena, paving her a floral path to the altars;

further watched him use the money I earned to buy Serena a castle in Valoria, a mansion in Vesperia, making her the envy of women worldwide.

While all I received were his occasional returns, with a weightless "Clara, thank you for your hard work."

Until I, from years of excessive use, gradually lost my sense of smell, unable to create perfumes that amazed him.

He, without hesitation, used a big fire to burn me and what little I had left to the ground.

At the moment of death, I completely awoke.

I realized how outrageously wrong I was.

Julian Lancaster and Serena Sullivan, one greedy, one deceitful, they were truly a match made in heaven.

I should not have blinded myself for so-called love, offering up my family's skills and dignity to these scoundrels.

The love that is forced is not only bitter but deadly.

It's a pity it took a whole life for me to learn this lesson.

"Clara? What's wrong?" Julian's voice interrupted my thoughts.

He took that bottle of "First Love" sample and was about to leave.

I called out to him.

"Julian, about the cooperation agreement..."

He paused, thinking I was rushing him, his voice still gentle but with an undertone of commanding irrefutability.

"Don't worry, since I promised to marry you, I won't go back on my word. I've already had legal draft the agreement, sign it, and once 'Aethel' goes public, you'll rightfully be Mrs. Lancaster. I need to deliver this 'First Love' to Serena; sign the papers and wait for me to come back."