Trash Husband, I'm the Top novel Chapter 258

Daniel saw it in her eyes—the hatred she no longer bothered to hide.

She still cared about The Almanac of Air. That much was clear.

But did she really intend to destroy everything, knowing full well just how crucial Eleanor’s marriage to Hans was?

Expressionless, he strode over to her, his brow furrowed in a dark scowl.

“Nora.”

He used her full name, his face a mask of indifference.

“That’s enough.”

His eyes warned her in no uncertain terms.

Nora saw the warning, but she chose to ignore it, meeting his gaze with deliberate defiance.

Instead, she raised her chin and provoked, “Ms. Quinn accused me of stealing her perfume. If I want to prove my innocence by competing again, what’s the problem?”

Her tone was steely, her sharpness on full display for once.

“Let it go,” Eleanor murmured, her eyes rimmed red, fingers twisting together in distress and humiliation.

“I’ll do it,” she said, voice trembling as she looked at Nora, “I’ll compete with you if you insist. There’s no need to drag him into this.”

She simply refused to believe she could lose to Nora.

After all, The Almanac of Air was Aurora’s creation. Nora had merely stolen Aurora’s work.

Thinking this, Eleanor’s nerves settled. She even realized that, aside from The Almanac of Air, Nora hadn’t produced anything noteworthy in years.

She was nothing but a fraud chasing fame.

Eleanor’s confidence returned. “Fine, Nora. I’ll compete with you.”

A faint, knowing smile played at the corners of Nora’s lips. From the look in Eleanor’s eyes, she could already guess what Eleanor was thinking—and that was exactly what she wanted.

She didn’t argue further. Instead, she asked Warner to help set up for the contest.

Warner checked with Mr. Frost before arranging a long table at the front of the room.

Two sets of fragrances were placed on the table.

The crowd gathered eagerly, eyes shining with anticipation.

Warner asked, “Anything you’d like to say before we begin?”

Eleanor measured her ingredients with meticulous precision—down to the last gram or milliliter. Nora, on the other hand, ignored the measuring tools altogether, relying on instinct and feel.

“Is Nora even taking this seriously?” someone whispered.

“I know, right? How can she expect to make anything worthwhile being so careless?”

In perfume making, a single drop could change everything; most people were painstakingly cautious, terrified of adding too much.

But Nora seemed to be simply improvising.

Hearing the murmurs, Eleanor’s confidence only grew.

Nora, meanwhile, acted as if she hadn’t heard a word, adding a dash here, a sprinkle there.

Mr. Frost watched with a distant look in his eyes, nostalgia softening his features.

Susan had been the same way—spurning the scales and beakers, trusting her intuition as she blended scents.

The unexpected combinations, the way a new fragrance could emerge from the most daring of mixes—that was what had captivated Susan.

Clearly, Nora had inherited that same spirit.

A tear shimmered in the corner of Mr. Frost’s eye. In Nora, he saw a reflection of Susan.