She had always known how to read people.
It was how she made scents that could bring back memories, want, and obsession. She looked at movements, breathing patterns, and emotional tics. She paid attention to the spaces between words, the breaks, and pauses.
But she had never looked at someone she had kissed like that.
Someone she almost believed in up until now. The explosion had broken something deeper than her body. Lucien was still alive, looking and changing things. Pointing fingers. But still, not everything made sense.
The night after the explosion, Selene didn't sleep. She lay in the dark of her penthouse, her heart pounding behind her ribs and the smell of Dorian still lingering on her skin: bergamot, dry smoke, and salt. It stuck like a confession.
But this time, she didn't just have feelings for him. She started to learn about him.
The next morning, she put on the skin of her older self, before she became obsessed, cool, and clinical.
Dangerous because she is so detached. She wanted to know what was going on, and the only way to do that was to stop reacting and start watching. He was now her subject. Her dangerous muse.
The first stop was the café on Montclair Avenue, which had simple furniture, concrete tables, and baristas who didn't smile.
Every Tuesday, Dorian came here. 7:15 in the morning, Sharp always by yourself. Always to the back of the booth.
Selene got there at 6:45. She wore a structured black coat, big sunglasses, and red lipstick that looked like a war flag.
She sat three booths down, in the back corner, where she could see through the cafe's metal serviette holder.
Dorian walked in like a man who belonged to spaces: tall, unreadable, and with his charcoal coat folded over his arm. He moved quietly but with purpose, like a man who was used to being watched but never really seen.
She wrote down everything. He ordered a flat white without any hesitation, he always sat with his back to the room and facing the door.•
The little twitch in his left hand before each sip maybe he was nervous? Is Stress that is still there? She wrote notes in a small notebook that was hidden under a fashion magazine.
He looks at every woman who comes in.
But not in a creepy way figuring things out, figuring out the threat or chance. Her heart raced, this man was not just any man. This was a trained evaluator to have fun, to be in charge.
She had kissed that mouth. She let herself fall into that stress like it was a safe place. She saw him look at his phone. Selene followed him five minutes later, staying two shopfronts behind him.
The second place is the building of the Marrins & Vale Foundation. A stark tower made of glass and marble that is too clean not to be hiding something.
He came in through the back not the lobby in front. A door that only you can use.
Selene saw the ID scanner, biometrics, and a lot of security. No visitors by mistake, she walked around the building and took pictures with her phone.
Keeping an eye on who came and went. Employees wearing navy lanyards that match and cleaners with smiles that are clipped.
She didn't come up, not yet. You didn't go into this place unless you had something to give or take away. But she did see him again on the fifth floor in an office in the corner. His shadow moved between tall filing cabinets in the cold daylight.
What are you hiding up there, Dorian Vale??
By the third day, her obsession had settled into a routine. He met with a woman on Thursday morning, a Brunette, heels that are sharp. She hugged him like an old friend.
Selene's stomach turned, and she hated how it felt. This isn't being jealous this is information. She wrote down everything.
The woman's laugh was high-pitched and thin, not normal.
Dorian didn't give her a smile but he let her touch his arm, right above the wrist.
A former lover? A partner? Selene snapped pictures. Looked at the woman's posture. Patchouli, violet leaf, and yuzu were the scents that brought back memories. It was her own recipe.
A different version of a custom blend she made six years ago for a client who went missing not long after.
Her blood turned cold. Did this woman have anything to do with it? Was Dorian giving her work to other people? Or did he meet her through Selene's work? Her job, her work of art. Selene, everything is blending together. And you don't have any control now.
Selene made her most daring move on Friday night. She went into The Glass House, an exclusive lounge that Dorian went to once a month, always alone, and always sat on the upstairs mezzanine where she could see the main floor.
She didn't wear anything that was subtle. Velvet in black, no back. Put your hair up. Perfume was not sprayed on purpose.
She wanted him to know she was there before he saw her. To smell her absence and know it was her. She got a table on the first floor, and she ordered a drink but didn't drink it. After that, she looked up. He was already looking at her.
Dorian didn't move. He didn't grin but his eyes followed her like a sniper on a rooftop, calm and accurate. She didn't turn away and didn't blink.
This was what she said. You're not the only one who looks. He moved after a while. Stood and came down the stairs.
He walked towards her with the scary grace of a man who knew how to build tension. He didn't take a seat. Just hovered next to her, with his hand on the edge of her table.
"You followed me." His voice was soft. Almost funny. Selene took a sip of her drink.
"I looked you up." A break. After that, he sat across from her. Wide legs, arms at ease. But his eyes were like knives.
"And what did you find?" She turned her head.
"That you like to be predictable in ways that seem like chaos." He laughed quietly to himself. She moved closer.
"Who's that woman in the white coat?" What is the Marrins Foundation?
That scent rings a bell. She wore something I made, something made just for you. Dorian didn't say anything.
Selene kept going. "Are you giving my work to other people? Or are you just picking up the ghosts I left behind? His face showed a flash of something...anger? Guilt? Then it was gone. He said,
"You think this is about perfume?"
"Do you think this is just about bottles, ingredients, and formulas?"
"It's always about the formula," she said in a low voice.
"Everything is " Us too. That word, "us," hung in the air between them a beat. Dorian's tone changed after that.
"Selene, why are you really here?" She put down her glass and spoke like smoke.
"Because I don't believe what I feel around you anymore. So I'm looking at you. Like any good perfume maker would look into a rare, unstable chemical. He slowly leaned in until their foreheads were almost touching.
"And what if I study you too?" Her heart raced. She let the silence last longer and didn't answer. He pulled away, his lips twisted. "Be careful, Selene." Some muses set their creators on fire.
Then he got up and put a card on the table. Just a place, and no name and no words, a place to go, a trap or an invitation.
A new weapon is emotional detachment which Changes the power of dynamics that aren't obvious.
She's not being seduced now; she's in charge that brings up new questions: Who is using her formulas?
Who is the woman in the white coat? What does the Marrins & Vale Foundation do?
Dorian gives her an address... but does not tell her what she will find there.