The delusion stuck to her like perspiration.
Selene sat on the chilly tile floor of her wrecked studio, knees pulled to her breast, and told herself again that the flames she saw were not real.
But her body didn't believe her. The smell was still in the air, heavy and deceptively lovely. White camellia with cedar and vetiver, made softer with crushed iris root.
The formula was never meant to be done. She had stopped using it because it made her brain work differently, bringing back memories of feelings instead of memories of things.
The smell didn't simply bring back memories; it pulled you back into them and made you feel them again. Someone had used her own invention as a weapon against her.
She placed her wrist to her nose, trying to cover the smell with another one. Her hands shook. A neutralizer. Based on Musk. Grounding. But the sound of Lucien's speech still rang in her head.
"You always make pain smell like heaven."
Selene rose slowly, wavering as the edges of her reality adjusted. The studio looked like a ghost scenario now: the air was thick with smoke, the fabric samples were burned, and the perfume bottles were cracked open like bones. A cemetery of wealth.
The journalists will be here the next day.
And the police. But none of that was important. Who had let out the smell was what mattered.
And why? She put the vial in a steel case and walked to her lab at the back of the building, pushing through the automated door with shaky fingers.
She scanned her thumbprint, typed in her override key, and stepped into the cold silence of the room where she had established her empire.
This was where all of her formulas were kept, safe from hackers and chemicals. But suddenly, none of it was safe.
She walked up to the mirrored wall of the refrigerator and turned on the touchscreen.
"Access: Formula Line 09. Not allowed. "Unauthorized download found." Vale Industries. Two days ago. She hadn't thought about it.
Dorian didn't merely come to her for the sake of love.
He had come to get her secrets. He knew just what to ask for... and what to bring. Selene unlocked the vault. Inside, in diamond-cut vials, was Formula 09, which she called "Opus Fade" in her secret notes.
A smell made not to be pleasant, but to help with grief.
A bereaved widow had asked for it, but it was outlawed after test participants suffered mental breakdowns.
Selene had buried it for moral grounds, but it had been copied, reproduced, and tonight, it was used against her. She walked around the room, her robe still wet with sweat and her skin tingling.
How long had he been fooling her? Was the commission a trap from the start? No. It was worse than that.
Dorian didn't want to embarrass her in front of everyone. He wants to take her apart from the inside out, one memory at a time.
Seduction was merely a cover. This was the fire. Her phone rang again. Number not known. A second note. You put him in a grave of smell and stillness. Now take him back up.
There was a picture attached. Vale Lucien. Living. Or at least that's how it seemed. He was sitting on a velvet couch in a sterile, gold-lit room with his head cocked and his pupils wide open.
Was he drugged? The time stamp was from the day before. Selene's blood stopped flowing. Lucien had died. She had read the report on the autopsy. Dorian had promised that he had taken too much.
The story in the papers was: "Luxury heir found dead after scandal involving perfume maker Selene Voss.
" And yet, there he was. Breathing. She looked at the picture, trying to figure out the trick...the deception, the cut. But if it was phony, it was done very well. She called
Eliora. No response. She tried again. Voicemail. After three tries, a text showed up: Stop digging. What you find will make you choke. The smell of terror tasted like metal on her tongue. Selene was hard to scare.
She had based her profession on being in charge of her feelings, thoughts, and desires. But this? This was a mess.
And it smells like a rose-covered trap. Her head was spinning. The whole scandal could be recast if Lucien were still alive. But if he wasn't, someone was using the one thing she couldn't deny: smell to make her think he was remembering, feeling.
She had to leave the lab.
Fresh air. It's time to think. She put on a large wool coat and went outside into the cold Parisian night, where the city breathed quietly under a moon-silver sky. Sirens could be heard from far away.
The wind smells like rain. Alain, her driver, was already waiting at the curb. He was faithful and quiet. She opened the door but didn't move. There was a little velvet envelope on the seat next to the driver.
No name, no stamp, and she grabbed it up slowly.
Inside: one card.
Tomorrow, your formula will be put to the test with real people if you don't stop it. It's midnight.
The address is below. Come by yourself. Leave a trail of your smell. She turned the card over. Coordinates for GPS. Somewhere outside of town. And a signature written in slanted ink: L. Vale. Her heart raced. Lucien.
No. It had to be Dorian. Or someone else could be playing both of them. But what if Lucien hadn't died that night? What if she had left that room too soon? What if the biggest lie she told herself was that she had ever left him?.
Three Hours Later Selene hid in the dark corners of an abandoned mansion on the outskirts of the city, her coat drenched from the rain.
The coordinates had brought her here, to a garden that was overrun with ivy, statues that were cracked and crying, and windows that were boarded up save for one on the upper story that flickered with dull amber light.
There was a smell of mould and old jasmine in the air. The smells of a woman. Known. She quietly crept into the garden, her eyes following movement outside the frosted glass.
A man was sitting in a chair behind a broken window, not moving. Head down, black hair. Get lean.
Lucien? She stopped breathing. It was him. It had to be. But something wasn't right.
She walked closer and pressed against the frigid window. Just then, a second person came into view.
Eliora. Putting on gloves. And holding a needle. Selene pulled back. She took a picture with her phone. But the screen stayed blank. Stuck. No signal. Eliora turned around and gazed right at the window. Selene ducked back, her heart racing.
A moment later, the side door creaked open. A motion sensor went off. She turned around and was ready to run. It's too late. Someone behind her put a gloved palm over her mouth. The smell of cardamom, leather, and citrus oil, which is a manly base note, filled her senses. Pointy. In charge. Familiar. Dorian. He grabbed her close and whispered in her ear.
"You should have stayed in your tower, Selene." She pulled free and pushed him away, her heart thumping.
"Is he in there?" She yelled. "Lucien? "Alive?" Dorian's eyes didn't blink. He stepped into the downpour and remarked,
"You want the truth so badly?" "Then come with me." But you won't like the way it smells. A loud whistle cut through the air before she could say anything. Then a flare. Light. Smoke.
The window above them blew up. Selene shrieked and ducked as glass fell like sharp knives. When she looked up again, there was no one in Lucien's chair.
And on the back of the door, written in scented oil and shimmering in the chemical heat of the fire: She killed me. Selene sees what looks like Lucien alive.
Eliora is up to something wicked and dark. Dorian shows up, but we still don't know why. A real explosion leaves Lucien's chair empty and a message in scented oil that won't go away.