In the middle of the night, Vivienne Sullivan jolted awake, her head throbbing and her throat burning dry.

Tonight, she had been ridiculously happy.

The perfume she’d been refining forever—“First Love”—was finally perfected. Once she won the award at tomorrow night’s competition, her marriage with Lucas Lockhart would finally be on the agenda.

They’d known each other for five years, dated for three.

She’d tossed aside everything for him, buried herself in fragrance research, and helped him grow the company from scratch. With the future finally looking bright, she let herself drink a little more than usual.

Rubbing her temples, she pushed herself up, planning to find some water—when a strange sound drifted from the room next door.

She lived alone in this tiny rented apartment. Lucas stayed over sometimes, but he always slept in the spare room.

Hearing noise made her pause—maybe he wasn’t feeling well?

But as she stepped closer, she froze at the sound of a woman’s voice—

“Lucas… what if Vivienne hears us?”

“That’s what makes it fun, babe. Relax, I slipped something in her drink. She’ll be knocked out till morning.”

Even mixed with heavy breathing, she’d never mistake that man's voice. It was Lucas.

A chill slid down her spine. Because of long nights spent researching formulas, she had needed sleep meds for years—and had long since built up resistance to them.

“Once tomorrow’s new release wins the award, I’ll officially be a senior perfumer. My status in the industry will be rock solid. Investors will be lining up. Hiring staff? Easy. Vivienne is nothing compared to that.”

Standing outside the door, Vivienne curled her fingers into her palm. She recognized the woman instantly—Vivian Atkins.

Her college friend. The same woman who had been acting suspiciously close to her fiancé.

She had heard the rumors, of course, but she’d stubbornly chosen to trust them. Reality, however, had slapped her clean across the face.

“You little temptress, I even named the company after you—can’t you see how much I… adore you? Vivienne is just a stepping stone. Back at that rookie competition, if it hadn’t been for you, would I have tampered with her formula?”

“Don’t say her name. Tell me—do you love me, or do you love her?”

Vivian’s voice had always been sweet and soft, but now it dragged in a sticky, teasing lilt. Normally it might sound seductive—but to Vivienne, every note sliced like ice.

She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached, eyes wide as if she could burn a hole through the door and see those two traitors inside.

“Of course I… love you!…”

The sounds that followed were so nauseating she almost gagged. Vivienne Sullivan dug her nails into her palm until she felt the sharp sting of broken skin, using the pain to keep herself from kicking the door open.

She never imagined that all her devotion would end like this.

Three years ago, she’d skyrocketed to fame in a provincial perfumery competition. Invitations flooded in—big companies, even Vista Land Group—but she turned every one of them down just to support Lucas Lockhart’s brand‑new business, pouring all her talent and energy into helping him.

But two years ago, when she competed again, her perfume malfunctioned. She was laughed at, mocked as “the perfumer with no nose.” She’d racked her brain, unable to figure out what had gone wrong. And Lucas stayed right beside her, acting all devoted, thoughtfully persuading her to work behind the scenes instead—letting Vivian Atkins handle all the competitions and public appearances.

She used to think they were a team, weathering storms together. Turns out, she was nothing more than a piece on someone else’s chessboard.

He even named the company “Veil Lilt Group,” with the initials V.L. He’d told her it meant something poetic about ripples pushing against the current. And she—fool that she was—had believed him. In reality, it was just the initials of Vivian Atkins and Lucas Lockhart.

They were secretly showing off their little love story, and she’d been out here fighting like hell for them. Thinking about it now just made her feel stupid.

All that rage eventually cooled into icy clarity. Vivienne tossed and turned the whole night, and only around dawn did she hear the two scumbags finally leave.

The moment their footsteps faded, she shot up and rummaged through her drawers like her life depended on it—until she found a gold‑embossed business card.

Three years ago, Dominic Blackwell, the president of Vista Land Group, had personally handed it to her. She had no idea whether the number still worked.

She gripped her phone tight. When the line connected, her breath hitched. “Mr. Blackwell, this is Vivienne Sullivan.”

She hesitated, and hearing that he hadn’t hung up, rushed on, “We met at the provincial perfumery competition three years ago. You even gave me your—”

“I remember.”

Just three simple words, spoken in a low, steady baritone, yet they somehow steadied her nerves.

“It’s like this… I have a business proposal. You might be interested.”

There was a brief pause. Then Dominic Blackwell answered, voice deep and calm, “Nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Come to my office.”

Hearing he was about to hang up, Vivienne panicked. “Wait—Mr. Blackwell, tomorrow might be too late. Can we do it today? And… your office isn’t the best place. Could we meet somewhere else?”

She was speaking fast, her urgency showing. And the second she finished, she felt herself break into a cold sweat.

Vista Land Group was basically a giant sitting on two-thirds of the entire domestic skincare and cosmetics market. Its business spread everywhere, and the capital behind it was even more terrifying.

And Dominic Blackwell, as the president of Vista Land Group, was practically a living legend in the business world. The fact that he was willing to spare time to meet her was already an unbelievable favor. For her to even try negotiating the time and place… yeah, that was insane.

But she genuinely had no other choice.

The new product launch and the perfume competition were happening tonight. If they talked tomorrow, everything would be too late. And going to the company would definitely draw attention, which would wreck her plan.

Clutching her phone, her breathing went shallow. She was literally putting everything she had on this one gamble.

The call stayed silent for three whole minutes. Just when Vivienne Sullivan thought she was about to get rejected, she finally heard Dominic say, “Alright. Thirty minutes later, Garden Road Café.”

“Thank y—”

She didn’t even finish the word before he added, “Bring your ID and household registration.”

“…What?”

His response was to hang up directly.

Vivienne stared at her phone for a couple seconds, wondering if her ears were playing tricks on her—but she didn’t have the luxury to overthink it.

She threw on clean clothes, fixed herself up as quickly as possible, and rushed out.

Thankfully, Garden Road wasn’t far. She made it on time. But just as she was about to enter the café, someone stepped in front of her.

“Ms. Sullivan?”

The man called her by name, but she didn’t recognize him. “?”

“My employer would like to speak with you.”

He gestured politely. Vivienne followed his line of sight and spotted a black stretch Lincoln parked quietly by the curb.

Got it.

She walked toward the car without hesitation. The driver opened the door from the outside. She could only see a pair of long legs inside, polished leather shoes catching the light.

Bending down, she climbed in. The AC inside was so strong she shivered, then looked up at him. “Mr. Blackwell, hi, I—”

“Get to the point.”

Still three words, still cold as ice. Vivienne stopped mid‑sentence and finally saw his face clearly.

——————

Author’s note: All the perfume‑related stuff in this book—aside from a bit I looked up—is basically made up. Don’t take it seriously, just enjoy the story!