Chapter 5 Of Velvet and Thorns

– Eden

"Which do you think screams 'I know what I want and I'm not afraid to crush a few egos to get it'?" Aurora called from upstairs.

It was early evening. I was downstairs wiping glass shelves, the last hint of sunlight casting gold across the perfume shop's counter. The light shimmered against crystal bottles like secrets trapped in glass.

She didn't wait for me to answer before strutting down in a deep emerald dress with a slit so high it looked like fabric barely trying to hold on. Her heels clicked with every step-confidence sharp and tailored.

"I have an important event," she said. "Aristocrats, top investors, major press." She spun, letting the dress billow. "You wouldn't understand. These things aren't your crowd."

I raised an eyebrow, wiping my hands on a towel. "You sure you want to wear that with that lipstick?"

Aurora paused mid-spin. "It's Dior."

"It's clashing with the dress. Makes you look... loud."

She gave me a look - the kind that would've withered someone more delicate.

"Whatever. Just help me pick a scent." She waved at the cabinet. "Something seductive. Mysterious."

I didn't say anything. I walked over, opened the bottom drawer, and picked a soft amber perfume. Subtle but sensual. The kind of scent that stayed on a man's pillow the next morning, making him wonder if it was a dream.

Aurora wrinkled her nose. "Too soft."

I handed her another. "Try this. A little muskier. Dark fig and leather undertones."

"Now that's better," she smirked, spraying it over herself liberally. "Anyway, don't wait up. It's invitation only. They only sent one."

I smiled calmly. "No worries. I've got somewhere to be tonight too."

She paused, curious, but I didn't elaborate.

She rolled her eyes, grabbed her bag, and walked out like the main character of a movie nobody asked for.

I waited until her Porsche roared off, the scent of her drama trailing behind like exhaust fumes.

Then I turned back to the studio space and pulled out two perfume boxes.

One, for the mysterious man who haunted my thoughts like a silent song. I had no name for him, but the fragrance I made felt... like him. Cool, dark, and hauntingly warm beneath.

The other - a blend of cardamom, orange blossom, and something sharp - was meant for the host. I didn't know why I felt compelled to offer a gift. Maybe it was just courtesy. Maybe it was something else.

A knock came at the door just as I finished applying my lipstick - muted wine. Nothing flashy.

I opened it to see a man in a dark uniform standing beside a sleek, obsidian-colored 2025 Bentley Flying Spur Mulliner. The kind of car you didn't wave at unless you had a million-dollar tax bracket.

"Miss Monroe?" he asked politely. "Mr. Devereaux sent me to collect you."

I blinked. Mr. who?

Then I remembered the initials on the card that came with the dress-D.

He sent this?

I nodded slowly and stepped out, clutching the small black clutch that held the two perfume boxes and the last of my nerve.

Earlier That Morning...

The package was sitting innocently on the counter when I came down for coffee. A crisp black box wrapped in silver ribbon. A note on top, written in ink I could almost smell - expensive, masculine.

 "I hope you'll wear this tonight. I'd like to see you in it."

- D.

I opened the lid slowly, and the air felt heavier all of a sudden.

The dress inside was silver. Not sparkly, but shimmering - like moonlight poured into silk. The kind of fabric that kissed your skin and knew how to whisper back. It was backless, with a halter neckline and a soft slit that suggested, not screamed.

I'd never owned anything like it. It was soft, elegant... almost dangerous.

I wasn't even sure how he knew my size.

I wasn't even sure why I wanted to wear it so badly.

But I did.

Present - At the Gala...

I stepped out of the Bentley, and my heels clicked against the marble entrance. My fingers clutched the perfume boxes tighter than I meant to.

The Rosewood Royale Hotel was a towering glass castle. The lobby shimmered with golden chandeliers, and the air buzzed with soft jazz, champagne laughter, and too many perfume brands I could name.

A valet took the car. Another led me toward the grand ballroom.

People turned.

I didn't think it was because they recognized me. I was a stranger in this world. But they stared. Maybe it was the dress. Maybe it was the way I walked - like I didn't belong and wasn't afraid of it.

Or maybe it was because my dress-gifted by someone I hadn't even met properly-felt like armor.

The ballroom opened like something out of a dream. Gold-trimmed ceilings, white roses climbing pillars, waiters in tuxedos floating past like chess pieces. I'd never been anywhere this grand.

I found a quiet corner near the curved glass wall and took in the crowd.

Investors, politicians, media moguls. A few faces I recognized from magazines.

And somewhere in this room... the host.

Cassian Devereaux.

A name that meant nothing to me-yet.

The moment I stepped into the ballroom, I was swallowed by a sea of glittering gowns, champagne flutes, and eyes that knew how to judge from across the room.

I kept to the side, trying not to shrink under the weight of it all. Cassian hadn't shown up yet-or maybe he had and was just watching. Everyone here seemed like they were watching something.

I found myself smiling politely at strangers who passed by. Some gave tight-lipped nods. Others stared like I didn't belong.

But then a woman in emerald green stepped closer with her date and said, "Excuse me, are you wearing Monroe No. 8?"

I blinked. "Yes... how did you-?"

"I bought one of your samples at the private vendor's market last month. That scent stayed on my coat for days." She leaned in, practically beaming. "You're Eden Monroe, right? The perfumer?"

My throat caught for a second. Then I nodded.

"Well, you're practically famous on my side of the city," she said, then lowered her voice, conspiratorial. "It's about time someone new shook up this stuffy fragrance scene."

A couple more people wandered closer, eavesdropping.

"I love your work," a silver-haired gentleman said. "Do you take custom orders for events?"

I ended up chatting with them-about scents, ingredients, preservation methods, and even whispered about how most mainstream perfumes were basically watered-down alcohol masked with marketing. That got a few laughs.

Some were curious. Some clearly mocking. A few too polite. But I could tell the difference.

Still, I kept my tone warm, open. I saw it-the way sincerity cut through pretension like clean air. It worked. One conversation turned into two, and two into four. Before long, I was passing out contact details and notes about where my shop was located.

Then someone gestured toward the two boxes I had tucked under my arm. "Are those yours too?"

"Oh-yes," I said, smiling too quickly. "Just a little gift. For the host, actually. And another for... someone else."

I didn't realize I'd sounded so... soft, until I noticed the looks they exchanged.

But no one teased. A few even smiled knowingly.

The group was just starting to disperse when a pair of tall men stepped up to me. Fraternal twins-identical height, but one with sharp cheekbones and a cleaner cut suit, the other wearing an earring and loose collar. Both warm-eyed.

"I hear you're the Monroe girl," the first said, extending a hand. "I'm Elias Moreau. This is my brother, Theo."

"We tried your scent in Montecito last summer," Theo added with a wink. "Almost caused a fist fight in the cigar room."

"I didn't know I was an international incident," I joked, shaking their hands.

They liked that. We spoke briefly-pleasant, effortless conversation. Before they left, Elias handed me a small engraved card. "Dinner next week? My wife will adore you. We're always looking for rare minds."

And just like that, I was seen.

The moment they disappeared, I felt a shift behind me.

"I thought it was you."

His voice wasn't loud-but it was deep. Precise. Familiar in the strangest way.

I turned and found myself looking at him.

Cassian.

Dressed in a black tailored suit that looked like it was cut from midnight itself. Dark hair styled neatly. The same piercing eyes-silver like cold light. The same quiet gravity that made air tilt around him.

"Hello," I said. Voice a little too breathy.

I handed him the small gift box I'd picked earlier.

"For you. I made it this morning." I fumbled a little. "It reminded me of-something calm."

He took it gently, like it was more than a box. Lifted it to his nose and closed his eyes for a beat longer than expected.

"It's perfect," he said.

Then he turned, and for the first time, I noticed the silent man in black standing a few feet behind him. Cassian handed him the perfume with a small nod. No words.

I couldn't help but blink. Just who was this guy?

Before I could ask, he extended a gloved hand to me.

"Dance with me."

Upstairs – Aurora's POV

"Your perfume is stunning tonight, Rora. Who made it?" asked Celeste, her voice sugar-sweet as she applied another layer of highlighter in the massive mirror.

Aurora lifted her chin proudly. "Oh, it's mine. Custom blend."

She barely heard the compliment. Her eyes had drifted out the massive floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the ballroom.

She saw her.

That girl.

Eden.

Wearing a silver-grey gown.

Her gown.

The same one she'd ordered months ago only to be told, "Apologies, it's reserved for another client."

Her nails bit into her palm.

Celeste followed her gaze.

"Wait-who is that girl in the Monroe? That dress costs five million, doesn't it?" Celeste squinted. "She looks familiar. Is she from the socialite circle?"

Aurora smiled-tight, brittle. "Don't be silly. She couldn't afford it even if she sold all her silly perfumes for a year."

But her jaw twitched. Because she knew something no one else in that room did.

Charles-her father-was the one who controlled Eden's earnings.

The shop may bear her name, but the account didn't. Her creations sold. Aurora saw the numbers. But Eden only got a fraction.

And the rest?

Aurora adjusted the bracelet on her wrist.

The rest built this.

Still, she forced her smile. But her clenched hands gave her away.