Matthew's POV
When Deborah said the name Chad, I felt something strange in the air.
Yes, I've always had this peculiar ability to sense emotions through subtle scents.
I've never told anyone about it, thinking it was just a quirk, a unique trait that made me different.
It wasn't a smell like any ordinary scent—nothing specific or tangible.
It was more abstract, seemed to be a hint of rust and mildew, like a wave of intense emotion rolling through the air, suffocating in its sharpness.
I could almost "smell" the hatred and bitterness in her words, an invisible poison that cut through the air with cold, sharp edges.
This was the first time we had met.
But I didn't know who Chad was or what he had done to make Deborah feel this way.
I felt uneasy, but I couldn't explain why I was so sensitive to it, nor why it seemed like she was directing those feelings at me.
We had been standing close, but as soon as she mentioned Chad, she pulled away, almost as if she was recoiling from some unseen force.
Her eyes were filled with suspicion and something else—something darker.
"What's wrong? Who's Chad?" I asked, my voice laced with confusion. I didn't understand, but I needed to know.
Our eyes locked for a moment, and I searched her gaze, hoping for an answer.
Her face tightened, eyebrows drawn together in disbelief. Her lips pressed into a thin line, as if she couldn't believe I had asked that question.
Her gaze shifted, cautious, guarded, as if she was trying to decide if she could trust me.
She didn't give me any real explanation, only muttering coldly that she was heading home.
Her sudden shift in attitude, her abrupt need to escape, left me confused and slightly hurt.
Her phone rang, breaking the tension.
I couldn't hear much, but I could tell it was Cora on the other end, probably asking where she'd gone.
Deborah's reply was rushed,"I'm not feeling well, I'm leaving." She hung up without looking back and quickly walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
I stood there, watching her figure fade into the distance, a heavy sense of loss settling in my chest.
But deep down, something else stirred inside me—something I had never felt before.
I was sure of one thing: I had fallen for Deborah.
The intensity of the feeling coursed through me like fire in my veins, flooding every cell, every nerve, every muscle.
My entire being screamed at me that she was the one.
I couldn't explain it. It was more than an attraction; it was a deep pull from within, like a string of fate tying me to her.
I couldn't stop myself from following her.
I knew it was wrong, that it might seem creepy, but I couldn't help it.
I told myself I was just worried about her, afraid she might run into trouble again—like that sleazy guy at the bar. I didn't want her to be in danger.
I kept my distance, walking slowly behind her, careful not to let her know I was there.
Before I knew it, she had reached a building—one of the residential complexes for public servants in Murias.
Public servant. I felt a small wave of relief knowing she was safe at her apartment.
She looked so frail, she had to be some kind of scholar or researcher, right?
Someone who spent her days surrounded by books and experiments.
In Murias, being a public servant meant you were part of the upper class.
It didn't matter where you came from; as long as you could pass the public exams, you could climb the social ladder.
As for me, I was branded as part of the slave class.
But I never accepted that. I believed in breaking free from those chains.
The next day arrived too quickly.
I returned to my daily routine, back to working in the Falshi Quarry, digging for that coveted resource.
It was tedious, repetitive work, but it was my life.
I never expected fate to bring me and Deborah back together so soon.
But there she was, standing in the quarry, as if the universe had decided our paths should cross once again.