Chapter 4
"Cordelia, what are you thinking about? You look lost in thought." Lilith's voice pulled me back.
I blinked and realized I was sitting in a coffee shop, cradling a warm latte in my hands.
"It's nothing," I replied with a smile. "Just wondering when my Newborn will finally be ready."
"It won't be long now. You're seriously talented. Sooner or later, everyone's going to notice." Lilith cheered me on. "Hey, let me show you something interesting."
She slid her phone over to me, looking all mysterious. On the screen was an entertainment news article with a flashy headline: [Vance Group CEO Derek Spotted in Barboian with Rising Artist Iris. Is a Marriage Brewing?]
The article had a few paparazzi shots. In the photos, Derek and Iris were walking side by side along the river, Derek turning his head to listen to her, with a tenderness in his eyes I'd never seen before.
My heart felt a tiny stab, sharp but gone in a blink.
"Oh." I pushed the phone back to Lilith, keeping my cool.
"That's it?" Lilith gave me a look like she couldn't believe it. "Seriously, you don't feel anything at all? That's the guy you loved for twenty years."
I stirred my coffee, watching the white foam spin around in the brown liquid.
"I used to," I said. "But not anymore. Lilith, you know, sometimes your heart goes numb. If you keep pouring cold water over something hot, sooner or later it won't heat up again."
Lilith stared at me for a while, then sighed, "I'm glad you finally see things clearly. Honestly, Cordelia, you deserve so much better."
"I know," I replied.
People had to love themselves before they could love anyone else. It took me twenty years to truly realize that.
With the past finally behind me, a new chapter opened up in my career.
My perfume, Newborn, was finally complete. Its top notes with crisp lemon and bergamot were like the first light of dawn, bracing and full of promise, cutting through the darkness.
The heart revealed jasmine, embodying a sense of calm and quiet strength. The base notes, warm and tranquil cedar blended with musk, lingered softly, telling a story of reflection and growth that stretched on and on.
I sent samples of Newborn to several well-known perfume reviewers. To my surprise, one of them, a big-name influencer called SenseSeeker, gave Newborn an absolutely glowing review.
He wrote: [This is a fragrance with real soul. It doesn't chase market trends or rely on expensive ingredients. Instead, it speaks in the most honest way, telling a story of breaking free, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
[I can sense struggle, resolve, and above all, hope in its scent. I don't know what the creator has been through, but I can feel it must have been an unforgettable journey.]
The review caused a real stir online, and suddenly everyone was obsessed with this mysterious Newborn perfume. Overnight, our Twitter fanbase at Memento Studio shot up by tens of thousands.
Lilith and I jumped on the hype and kicked off an online pre-sale for Newborn without missing a beat.
A thousand limited-edition bottles were snapped up in just ten minutes.
Staring at the order counter ticking up on the dashboard, I was so excited that my eyes stung with tears.
This was my first pot of gold, earned entirely by my effort.
Newborn's success turned Memento Studio into a hot topic overnight. Orders flooded in, and what started as a one-woman show quickly became a small crew of more than ten.
I was running around nonstop every day, but deep down, I felt more fulfilled and happier than ever.
*****
That day, I was in the lab, tweaking a new scent, when Lilith suddenly rushed in with a weird look on her face. "Cordelia, there's someone here for you."
"Who is it?" I asked, not even looking up. "If it's someone wanting to talk business, have them book with my assistant."
"No, it's your ex-husband," Lilith blurted.
My hand trembled, and a single drop of precious rose oil landed on the lab bench.
How long had it been since I last heard anyone call him that?
It had been nearly six months since the divorce. In all that time, Derek had practically vanished from my world. I honestly thought our lives would never intersect again.
I set down the pipette, wiped my hands, and walked out.
*****
In the studio's reception area, Derek was sitting on the off-white sofa I'd picked out myself. He still had that air of superiority, but his face was pale, with faint shadows under his eyes, like he hadn't slept well in ages.
When he saw me, he stood up, his gaze locking onto mine.
That look in his eyes wasn't the old contempt or indifference. It was something complicated, something I couldn't quite decipher. Was it regret? Or maybe curiosity?
"Is there something you need?" I spoke first, keeping my tone distant yet polite.
He looked caught off guard by my response, hesitated for a second, then rasped, "I was passing by."
Passing by?
My studio was buried deep in the creative district, while Vance Group was clear across town. That was a pretty lame excuse.
I didn't bother to call him out. Instead, I gave a quiet nod, took a sip from my water glass, and settled into a posture that made it clear that he was welcome to leave.
Silence stretched between us.
He studied me intently, like he was searching for something in my face. After a long pause, he finally asked, his voice strained, "Are you doing okay?"
"Thanks to you, things are pretty good," I said, a wry smile tugging at my lips.
"Did you make Newborn?" Derek asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"It's really nice," he said.
I nearly laughed. He never used to notice what perfume I wore. He couldn't even tell the different types of roses. And now, he was here talking perfume with me.
"Thank you," I replied, still polite. "If there's nothing else, Mr. Vance, I need to get back to work, so I'll see you out."
My coldness and distance seemed to sting him at last. He took a step forward, reaching for me, but I shifted aside, dodging his touch.
His hand hung awkwardly in the air, and his face darkened in an instant.
"Cordelia," he almost growled my name through clenched teeth. "Do you really have to talk to me like this?"
"So what do you want from me, Mr. Vance?" I looked up at him, my gaze steady and unflinching. "Should I bow and beg you to stay? Or cling to your leg and sob, begging for forgiveness?"
My words cut deep, like a blade straight to his heart. The color drained from his face in an instant.
"That's not what I meant," he fumbled for words, clearly unsettled. "I wanted to see you."
"Well, you've seen me. You can go now," I said flatly.