PERFUME AND POISON
1355 Words
The next morning, the city felt colder than usual. Maybe it wasn’t the weather—maybe it was the weight of what she’d signed her name to.
Ivy Cruise stood in front of Holt Tower once again, her small suitcase beside her and her nerves barely holding together. The morning sun glinted off the glass façade of the skyscraper, almost blinding her. It looked like a monument to everything she didn’t belong to.
The revolving doors whooshed open, and the doorman greeted her with the kind of polite indifference reserved for people who didn’t matter. She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
The elevator ride to the penthouse felt endless, each floor chiming like a countdown to something she wasn’t sure she wanted.
When the doors opened, she was greeted by a woman in her mid-forties—tall, sharp, and dressed in a black suit that screamed efficiency. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun so tight it could slice glass.
“Good morning, Ms. Cruise,” the woman said, her tone clipped. “I’m Mrs. Lawson, the house manager. Mr. Holt is in his study.”
“Oh—um, good morning,” Ivy stammered. “You can call me Ivy.”
Mrs. Lawson’s lips twitched, but not into a smile. “Mr. Holt prefers things… formal in this household. Please, follow me.”
Ivy nodded, clutching her small bag a little tighter as she stepped inside.
The penthouse looked different in daylight—less like a gallery, more like a fortress. Cold. Beautiful. Untouched. Everything gleamed. Not a single thing seemed out of place, as if life itself wasn’t allowed to happen here.
Mrs. Lawson led her down a marble hallway and stopped before a set of double doors. “Your room,” she said, pushing them open.
Ivy gasped softly.
The room was stunning—larger than her entire apartment back when she still had one. Pale curtains, a plush bed, a balcony that opened to the city skyline. Everything looked perfect. Too perfect.
There was even a vase of white roses by the window.
“Dinner is at eight,” Mrs. Lawson said. “Mr. Holt expects you to attend. Until then, you may get settled. Someone will bring your schedule for the week.”
“My schedule?” Ivy asked.
Mrs. Lawson’s gaze flicked briefly to her face, unreadable. “You’re Mrs. Holt now. Appearances must be maintained.”
And with that, she turned and left.
Ivy let out a slow breath and sank onto the edge of the bed. Her reflection in the mirror stared back—small, uncertain, wearing borrowed confidence.
Mrs. Holt. The words still didn’t fit her.
She ran her fingers along the ring Sebastian had placed on her hand earlier that morning. It was beautiful—simple, elegant, but cold against her skin.
---
It was almost evening when she finally worked up the courage to step out of her room. The house was silent, too silent, until she heard faint music drifting from somewhere down the hall. Piano music. Soft, melancholic, and hauntingly beautiful.
She followed it, barefoot, her curiosity leading her like a fragile thread.
The sound led her to a room with glass doors. Inside, Sebastian Holt sat at a grand piano, his head bent slightly as his fingers moved over the keys with effortless grace.
He didn’t look like the man she’d met in the boardroom—the one made of iron and distance. He looked… human. Trapped somewhere between memory and regret.
For a moment, she just watched him.
Then, as if he felt her gaze, he stopped playing.
“You can come in,” he said without looking up.
Caught. She stepped inside, her cheeks warm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just—”
“Were curious?” he finished for her, finally lifting his eyes.
They were different tonight. Softer, darker somehow.
“I didn’t know you played,” she said quietly.
He turned back to the piano. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I’m guessing that’s by design,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
For a second, she thought he might smile back. But then, his expression shuttered again.
“Dinner’s in ten minutes,” he said, standing up. “Try not to be late. The press will be watching us soon.”
“The press?” she echoed, alarm flickering in her chest.
“They’re curious about the sudden Mrs. Holt,” he said dryly. “It’s only a matter of time before they start digging.”
Her pulse quickened. “You mean… they might find out—”
“They won’t,” he cut in. “Not if you play your part.”
The way he said it sent a chill down her spine. It wasn’t a threat, but it felt like one anyway.
She nodded slowly. “I’ll try.”
He studied her for a moment—really studied her—as if he was trying to read something she hadn’t written yet.
Then, with the faintest flicker of something that might’ve been approval, he said, “Good.”
He brushed past her, his cologne lingering in the air, and for a moment Ivy stood there, trying to catch her breath.
---
Dinner was a performance.
The table stretched longer than a runway, with enough silverware to confuse royalty. The meal was exquisite, but Ivy barely tasted it. Every move felt rehearsed—the perfect couple in the perfect home.
Sebastian spoke little, his focus on his phone more than her. Mrs. Lawson occasionally entered to refill their glasses, her gaze flicking between them like she was assessing a play she’d seen too many times.
And then came the ring of the intercom.
“Mr. Holt,” Mrs. Lawson said, “Ms. Delacroix is here.”
The name made Sebastian’s hand pause mid-air. Ivy caught the flicker of emotion that crossed his face before he masked it.
“Send her up,” he said finally.
Ivy frowned. “Who’s—”
The front doors opened before she could finish.
A tall, stunning woman stepped in, wrapped in a red designer coat and confidence. Her heels clicked like gunshots against the marble floor. Her dark eyes swept the room before landing on Ivy.
“So,” she said, her lips curving. “This is the new Mrs. Holt.”
Her tone was sweet—but sharp enough to draw blood.
Sebastian stood, his voice calm but low. “Vanessa. This isn’t the time.”
Vanessa Delacroix. The name echoed in Ivy’s head. The one he didn’t talk about. The ghost he’d hinted at.
Vanessa smiled slowly, her gaze never leaving Ivy. “I just wanted to congratulate you both. It must’ve been such a whirlwind… marriage of convenience.”
Ivy felt her pulse quicken. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on, darling,” Vanessa purred, tilting her head. “You didn’t think the tabloids wouldn’t find out, did you? People talk. Especially when a man like Sebastian suddenly marries a woman no one’s ever heard of.”
“Enough, Vanessa,” Sebastian said, his voice cutting through the air.
She turned to him, her eyes gleaming with something between anger and heartbreak. “You think you can replace me with her?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Vanessa’s smirk faltered just slightly as she met Ivy’s steady, confused gaze. “Enjoy it while it lasts, sweetheart,” she said finally. “You’ll soon find out Sebastian Holt doesn’t keep his promises.”
Then she walked out, leaving the scent of expensive perfume and venom in her wake.
Ivy sat frozen, her fork still in her hand.
Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “Ignore her.”
“How?” Ivy asked softly. “She just tore through the door and accused our entire life of being fake.”
He didn’t answer. He just turned away, shoulders stiff.
But in that silence, Ivy knew.
Vanessa hadn’t been lying.
She was only the beginning.
- Writer
