I am Vivian Sterling, a name that is spoken with reverence in the world of American perfumery. My whole life has been dedicated to the world of fragrance. I could break down the scent of a summer rainstorm into seven chemical components. I could determine the vintage of a jasmine harvest from a single drop of oil on a blotter. My nose was my instrument, my gift, my curse, and my fortune. But now, where there used to be a symphony of smells, there was a deaf, muffled silence. I stared at the glass of wine before me. I knew it should smell of black currant, oak, and wet earth, but I felt nothing—only a faint, barely perceptible alcoholic ghost that broke through the congestion that had been plaguing me for months.
Dizziness came in waves. The world slightly swam before my eyes, as if someone had messed with the focus settings.
“Mom, you’re looking pale again.”
The voice of Marcus, my son, was soft and enveloping. He leaned across the table. His face held the kind of concern that is customary to display in polite society.
“You need to rest. You’re exhausting yourself in the lab. Why? You’ve already proven everything to everyone.”
Next to him sat Candace, his wife. She wore an emerald green dress that hugged her figure too tightly and too much gold around her neck. She nodded, her lips pursed in a sympathetic smile.
“Vivien, Marcus is right,” she chimed in, her voice as sweet as an overripe cantaloupe.
“We can see how hard this is for you. The fainting spells, the loss of smell. It’s just age. Nature is taking its course. Why suffer? Sign the power of attorney. Hand the business over to Marcus. We’ll buy you a condo on the coast. You can breathe the ocean air.”
Breathe the ocean air. What irony if I can’t smell my own coffee in the morning. What difference does it make what the sea smells like?
I looked at my son. In his eyes, so much like his late father’s, I searched for support, but saw only impatient expectation. He was my only heir. I built this empire for him. I sacrificed evenings, weekends, and my personal life, spending countless hours over retorts and beakers to create a legacy that would secure his future and that of his children. And now I felt like an old, broken mechanism waiting to be scrapped.
Maybe they were right. Maybe my time really was up. The last fragrance I created came out flat, soulless. I was losing my edge.
“Fine,” I said quietly.
My voice sounded muffled, as if from underwater.
“I’ll sign the papers next week. Get everything ready.”
Candace’s face flashed with a predatory triumph for a split second, which she instantly hid behind a mask of caring. Marcus exhaled, and his shoulders relaxed.
“You’re making the right decision, Mom. The wisest one. We’ll take care of Sterling Sense. It will thrive.”
The dinner ended quickly. I barely touched my food. Citing fatigue, I rose from the table, feeling the floor sway slightly beneath my feet. Marcus offered to walk me to a taxi, but I declined, saying I needed some air before the ride. They stayed behind to finish their wine, celebrating their small victory.
I stepped outside. The evening air was cool, but to me it was empty. No smell of exhaust fumes, no scent of linen, no dust—nothing. A sense of my own inadequacy washed over me. I reached into my purse to pull out my phone and call a car, but my fingers found only the leather lining.
My phone. I’d left it on the table.
With a heavy sigh, I turned and walked back toward the restaurant. It was late and few patrons remained. I entered the lobby expecting the usual hustle of waiters, but the room was strangely empty. The silence felt unnatural.
Suddenly, Sierra—the young waitress who had served our table—emerged from the gloom. I remembered her because she had surprisingly intelligent, sad eyes that didn’t fit the place. Seeing me, she didn’t offer a practiced smile. Instead, her face went white as a sheet. She darted toward me, grabbed my coat sleeve, and practically dragged me inside, instantly clicking the lock on the front door.
“Sierra, what is happening?”
I tried to free myself, but her grip was iron.
“Hush, Vivien. Please hush,” she whispered, glancing at the empty room where my son and daughter-in-law were still sitting in the far corner, hidden from us by a heavy curtain.
“I know who you are. I read the articles about you. I know what a family is supposed to look like. What’s sitting back there? That’s not a family.”
She pulled me toward a service corridor. My heart pounded somewhere in my throat. This felt like a bad dream.
“Where are you taking me? Just give me my phone and I’ll leave.”
“I have your phone,” the girl replied quickly, opening the door to a tiny storage room filled with boxes of napkins. A surveillance monitor glowed on a table.
“But first, you have to see this. Just promise me. Promise you won’t faint. Although, after what you were drinking, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
