Allergic to Love: The Inhaler Switch

I looked at Jason, who was shielding his precious one. My unnervingly calm voice was hoarse as I asked, "Done putting on a show?"

His eyes widened.

I didn't look at him again. Instead, my gaze shifted to the face in his arms that was so pale it looked drained of all color. I picked up the "weapon" from the coffee table and walked toward her, step by step.

"Winona." I raised the perfume bottle. "You swapped my asthma inhaler with Dior's spring limited-edition gardenia perfume, didn't you?"

Her body shook violently.

"I remember it well. You were showing it off online just three days ago, bragging that Jas picked it out and said the scent was made for you.

"Over three hundred comments praising your beauty, kindness, and how perfectly the perfume matches you. The irony was sickening."

Her face shifted from ghostly pale to a deep, purplish hue. "You… You're lying!"

"The evidence is right here. Are you going to deny it?"

I didn't wait for her answer. I pulled out my phone and opened an app, turning the screen to face everyone.

The live feed from our living room appeared, along with detailed, real-time air quality data.

"Oops, I forgot to mention that 'crazy woman' you accused of risking her life just to get a man's attention upgraded her smart home the day before yesterday."

I pointed to a spike on the air quality graph. "This purifier recorded everything. From the second you stepped in, the concentration of gardenia scent in the air spiked from zero straight into the danger zone."

My finger glided across the screen, tapping a video clip. It showed Winona sneaking behind me into the bedroom. Thirty seconds later, she came back out alone, glancing around nervously, like she knew exactly what she'd done.

I held the phone up in front of her, my voice barely louder than a whisper. "It even captured how perfectly you staged this accident."

The thirty-second clip looped in the dead-silent living room over and over.

Her face crumpled inch by inch. Her panic became utter despair. Then, with a soft thud, her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor like a heap.

Jason's gaze lifted slowly from the phone screen to my face. There was no guilt or fear in his eyes.

There was only shock and disbelief, and the ugly rage of someone who realized he'd been played.

He asked hoarsely, "Tessa, you set me up?"

I nearly laughed. Set him up? Was survival a crime now?

Before I could even speak, Terence pulled out his phone, dialing 911 with cold efficiency. "Hello, officers. This is Unit 1201, Building 7, Westwood Heights. There's been an attempted murder."

He paused, then added, "Please dispatch paramedics as well. We have a critical patient."

My mom pointed at Winona, who was still trembling on the floor. "Yes! They're in cahoots!"

My dad sat nearby, slapping his thigh in disbelief, muttering, "What a mess… What a damn mess!"

The police and paramedics arrived almost simultaneously. The scene was chaotic and spectacular.

I stayed calm, handing over my phone and the Dior perfume bottle to the officers. "Here's the evidence. And here's the video.

"They are the witnesses," I added, nodding to my parents and Terence.

Jason went insane, lunging forward to stop the police. "Officer, it's a misunderstanding! This is a family matter!"

He turned to me, his voice pleading. "Tessa, stop this. Just let her go for my sake."