Memory has sharp edges. Like broken glass, under satin sheets. Selene remembered the smell of champagne and roses, the soft hum of guests' compliments, the sparkle of chandeliers, and then the scream.
Six Months Before she was sweating on her palms as she played with the collar of her black silk dress.
The Hôtel des Arts' gala hall was full of Parisian elites, who were dressed in jewels and hidden histories. Wealthy people, do good things and work in the perfume business.
She loves luxury in art, music, fashion, and her perfumes.
There was a crystal bottle on the table next to her that held her most recent formula. "Amor Nocturne." It was meant to be the center of her brand's return.
The smell of desire, of secret nights, and of shadows that turned into beauty. The smell was a mix of orchids, figs in the moonlight, and a hint of ambergris alive and hopeful.
"You've done better than ever, Selene Voss," she said with a smile.
"The base note that stays..." "I had memories that I had never had before." She believed every rumor.
Dorian Vale looked on from across the room. She was far away, in a tuxedo, taking out a glass of old red wine and watching the screen. It felt like betrayal to wear the perfume she made for love here, where I was living in luxury.
She felt sick because she knew she was making someone obsessed and playing with fire. But she thought she could handle it. André Morel, her ex-boyfriend, came up to her at midnight. His voice was smooth, and his eyes were heavy with something she had been trying to forget.
He looked sorry and smelled like wine. He got so close that she could smell the tobacco and regret on him as he whispered,
"You've made something dangerous." She laughed and said, "Dangerous sells." She held up her wine glass, which had a red slice in it. He smiled, but his eyes moved to the bottle, which was still shining on its pedestal: Amor Nocturne. "Selene, promise me you'll cool it down. It shouldn't break people.
She didn't pay attention to him. At Dorian, looking at her hands, at the smell. André, perfume is like a memory. I give people what they already want. He shook his head. "Not always. Some people don't want to remember.
Some people aren't ready, her chest felt tight. The bitterness chased the sweetness as she drank the wine. As the lights at the gala dimmed and guests began to move to the balconies, she found Dorian by myself, looking at the Seine.
His shadow was sharp, beautiful, and far away in the moonlight. As she got closer, her heels made a sound with each step. She said in a soft, open voice,
"You like it?" He didn't answer right away. He turned to look at her, and the city was reflected in his eyes.
"Selene, this is more than just a scent. It is a call, she wanted to laugh. Deflect but she could feel the weight of his words, which were a mix of praise, blame, and worry. She said,
"What did you expect?" "They want to be obsessed." They want longing and he got closer.
"How much does it cost?" He reached for her hand, and she saw it. He stopped and moved away. The silence between them was like a knife to her.
The Scandal Night Press sets up tents outside her studio two nights later cameras that flash, whispers. There was a package, Selene opened it inside and started crying when she opened the envelope.
There are pictures inside at a private party, Lucien Vale was in the shadows with a bottle in his hand and wild eyes.
A woman, someone he shouldn't have been with. Too close to André Morel in the same picture too private.
Her heart was full of betrayal, heartbreak, and shame. The pictures fell from her hands. They were all over the floor, with their faces showing in panic and their feet smearing ink.
The first article then broke: "We don't know how the perfumer got involved in the scandalous affair with his heir, Lucien Vale." Her name is in running type.
Her voice didn't show that she was guilty, but the headline did. She rushed through the media storm, which included emails, whispered rumors, and phone calls.
"Obsession amoral," "chemical scandal," and "perfume designer involved with Vale heir." Lucien also disappeared from the news.
That's what she thought. Her phone was full of text messages asking, "Why did you let this happen?" Is this what you wanted? You knew he would be broken.
Selene is typing and deleting. She passed out in her studio, and the orchids were drooping and the crystal bottle of Amor Nocturne on her desk was shaking.
What happened next when she saw Lucien's fall from grace in real time in scandal magazines. The hidden layer became addiction. Pictures of his decline: his eyes were hollow with grief and his bottles were empty. She had tried to get in touch with him. He didn't say anything. Then came the night he died.
They said, "Overdose." made up evidence. The paper told her about images of his body. The coffin is closed. The Vale family has made a statement. She didn't cry yet.
But the smell of figs and ambergris stayed with her. It was still in her mouth. The Present's Return Go ahead and move on.
Selene's hands shook when she got back to her studio. She touched the dark wood of her perfume cabinet. Breathed in the memory's smell. She remembered the faint smell of figs and orchid petals. She looked at a new sample across the room. It was the base note from Amor Nocturne, but it had been changed and polished.
Every ingredient she had added to the past haunted her present.
Emotional Stress Selene cried quietly, where no one could see her. She felt regret, shame, and love that she didn't say. André's warning rang out the results of what she did and didn't do, she wished she had gone back.
She wished she hadn't given in to what he wanted but the world needed it. They sold obsession. She had to believe that love was stronger than thirst.
She wiped her tears away and made a fist around a piece of cloth. She held it up to her nose. It smells like old rose water and sandalwood.
Was that him? Her heart raced. Did she ever smell that smell on Dorian? That night she saw him at the gala, and she remembered how his leather and rain-soaked coat smelled.
The Cliff of Memory She thought she understood that it was a mix of her own ambition, Lucien's addiction, and André's jealousy, but the memory broke again. A text message was sent hours before Lucien died. Come over to see me at 12:00 AM behind the scenes.
Don't use perfume be alone. She didn't know and she didn't go.
He was a person she had never met before. She could never forgive herself for not being there.
There was no sound in her studio, and the crystal frame broke a little in her hands.
The floor smells like guilt, orchid petals, and spilled ink. And the moonlight outside her window split the night into two.