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The Scent of Her Soliloquy

NovelMaster · English · Theater: NovelMaster, Lang: English, Genre: Romance, Genre: Realistic, Genre: Reborn ·

The Scent of Her Soliloquy

Theater: NovelMaster  |  Language: English  |  NEW

Synopsis

I was the useless child of the Vance family.
While my older sister, Aurora, closed a multi-billion-dollar semiconductor acquisition in Europe, I was tucked away in the attic greenhouse, messing around with herbs and petals nobody cared about.
At our father's birthday gala, Aurora—the undisputed heir to the empire—stood on his arm, basking in the roaring applause of Manhattan’s elite.
I stood in the corner shadows. Most guests didn't even know my name.
A man held up his champagne glass to me, his smile polite but aloof. "And who might you be, miss?"
Before I could speak, Mrs. Kensington chimed in with a patronizing chuckle.
"A distant cousin of Charles Vance, I assume. Probably brought along to see how the other half lives."
Her voice was just loud enough for me to hear every syllable.
For twenty years, I had been the silent joke of the Vance family.
My mother, an East Coast socialite from old money, married my father, Wall Street titan Charles Vance.
A power alliance. Out of that union came my sister, Aurora.
Grandpa had named her Aurora in hopes that she would be the dawn of a glorious dynasty.
She never disappointed.
Enrolled at Wharton at fifteen, she returned to the family firm at twenty-two, netting a nine-figure profit on her very first venture.
She was the golden child. The flawless heir.
So when my mother unexpectedly got pregnant with me, everyone assumed lightning would strike twice.
"With Aurora so brilliant, the second child will surely be a prodigy."
I let every single one of them down.
I didn't have Aurora's photographic memory, nor her ruthless business instincts.
I hated numbers. Galas gave me hives. I despised the two-faced socializing that defined our world.
My name was Eve.
Aurora and Eve.
The dawn, and the dusk.
Even our names felt like a cruel, calculated joke.
One rose with the morning sun; the other faded quietly into the dark.
My parents considered themselves enlightened. They swore they never played favorites.
Actions spoke louder than words.
Whenever our family went out, my father’s right hand was reserved for my mother, and his left held Aurora’s.
I trailed behind them like an invisible shadow.
At Aurora’s twenty-fifth birthday bash—the night she was officially crowned the sole successor of the Vance Group—my father drank too much.
Arm around an old friend, he pointed toward Aurora standing beneath the chandeliers, his chest swelling with pride.
"That's my daughter. The single greatest masterpiece of my life."
The friend flattered him. "You're a lucky man, Charles. But don't you have a younger daughter as well?"
The smile on my father's face faded. He waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of regret and annoyance crossing his features.
"Don't bring that up. If only we had stopped after Aurora."
"Unfortunately... we had Eve."
The room went dead silent.
Standing in the crowd, I felt as if someone had stripped me bare and thrown me into a blizzard.
Later that night, the alcohol must have worn off. Realizing he had crossed a line, my father called me into his mahogany-paneled study.
"Eve, don't take it to heart. I had too much to drink."
He pushed a black Amex card across the desk. No limit.
"What I meant was, Aurora can handle the world on her own now. I’m proud of her."
"But you... you still require our care. It’s a heavy burden on my shoulders."
Even billionaire apologies sounded like handouts from above.
I lowered my gaze and picked up the cold plastic. "I understand, Charles."
It wasn't an accident. He had simply spoken the truth he’d bottled up for twenty years.
The year I turned eighteen, Aurora brought her fiancé, Julian Sterling, home for dinner.
The Sterlings were real American aristocracy, and Julian was the golden boy of his generation.
His union with Aurora was hailed by the press as a match made in heaven.
That afternoon, suffering from a severe pollen allergy, I had shut myself in my room, asking the housekeeper to excuse me from dinner.
So when Aurora gave Julian a tour of the penthouse and pushed open my door, everyone froze.
Aurora’s brow furrowed in irritation. "Eve? Why are you still in the house?"
Clearly, no one had bothered to tell me someone so important was coming.
And no one had remembered that I lived under this roof too.Julian stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping past Aurora and landing squarely on me.
He wore a tailored charcoal suit. He carried an air of effortless nobility, but his eyes were gentle.
No disgust. No shock. He simply gave a polite nod. "Hello. I’m Julian."
Embarrassed, I sat up in bed, wearing an old, pilled set of pajamas, my cheeks red and blotchy from the allergy flare-up.
Beside him stood Aurora in custom Chanel, radiant and flawless.
I wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
"This is my sister, Eve," Aurora said curtly. Her tone carried a reluctant edge, as if introducing an embarrassing second-hand accessory. "She’s frail and rarely leaves her room. We didn't want her disturbing your evening, so we didn't call her down."
My mother hurried over, laughing off the tension. "What a coincidence! Eve and Julian meet after all."
My mumbled, "I'm not feeling well," was instantly smothered.
I was dragged to the dining room and seated right next to the dazzling Aurora Vance.
I didn't need a mirror to know how brutal the contrast was.
While Julian stepped out to take a phone call, I leaned toward my mother.
"Mom, my chest feels tight from the allergy. Can we please call the family doctor..."
My mother shot me a glare, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper.
"Don't cause a scene tonight. Julian is our guest of honor! Grow up, Eve."
I bit my lower lip. "Can I at least go back to my room?"
"Slumping around like an invalid? You want the Sterlings to think we have no manners?"
That dinner felt like torture.
Yet Julian was a true gentleman to the core.
Even as the conversation revolved around private equity and offshore holdings, he never left me out.
"Your room has a very unique aura, Eve," he remarked out of nowhere. "A distinct, beautiful scent."
The entire table went quiet.
Aurora laughed, her tone dripping with disdain. "Eve spends all day tinkering with useless little potions. All those glass bottles give me a headache."
My father shook his head in agreement. "A young woman in this family should study something useful. Finance. Corporate strategy."
For the first time in twenty years, I defended myself.
"It’s not just a scent," I murmured. "I blended it myself. Galbanum at the top, iris and lily of the valley in the heart, resting on a base of wet oakmoss. I call it Valley Rain."
A spark of genuine surprise lit Julian's eyes, quickly followed by admiration.
"Valley Rain. What a poetic name. Crisp, green, and damp with morning mist—it truly feels like a valley after a downpour. You have rare talent."
In twenty years, he was the first person to call my "useless" passion a gift.
In that fleeting second, my heart skipped, sending endless ripples through the dark waters of my soul.
After dinner, Aurora went to fetch her car from the garage.
Julian walked over to me, holding out a sleek, velvet-lined gift box.
"A small token for our first meeting."
Everyone assumed it was expensive jewelry.
Aurora glanced over and smirked.
Back in my room, I opened the box.
It wasn't luxury jewelry. It was a complete set of artisan perfumery instruments and several rare vials of raw botanical absolutes.
Among them was Grasse May Rose absolute—an ingredient I had searched for across months of empty leads.
Tucked inside was a handwritten note in sharp, elegant script:
"To a future master perfumer."Clutching that card, tears threatened to spill from my eyes.
The door swung open. Aurora walked in, spotting the tools, her expression shifting through shock, mockery, and cold sneer.
"Julian certainly has too much time on his hands, humoring a kid with toy chemistry sets."
She picked up the vial of May Rose absolute, brought it to her nose, and wrinkled it in disgust.
"And here I thought Julian had immaculate taste. Even he gets distracted by cheap parlor tricks."
She tossed the priceless vial carelessly onto my vanity.
"Know your place, Eve. Don't think a few polite words from Julian make you somebody. In this family, in his world, this little hobby of yours doesn't even qualify as a joke."
I stayed silent, picked up the glass vial, and carefully nestled it back into its cushioned box.
A quiet voice echoed in my head: "At least he sees me. You never did."
Julian’s gift became the only light in my gray world.
I threw myself into perfumery, spending day and night inside my glass greenhouse.
My allergy symptoms faded. I cut off the heavy bangs I had used to hide behind, revealing a clean forehead.
I wasn't a stunner like Aurora, but I could finally look in the mirror and smile.
My mother was a legendary tastemaker in the fashion circuit.
When Aurora changed a shade of lipstick, my mother could immediately tell whether it was Armani or Louboutin, analyzing the subtle shift in her power aesthetic.
Yet my new haircut went completely unnoticed for an entire week.
I still had a shred of hope.
During a rare family dinner, I took a breath and asked, "Mom, do you notice anything different about me today?"
My mother’s eyes lifted from her Forbes magazine, brushed across my face for half a second, and she waved her hand like swatting an annoying fly.
"Aurora's European project hit a snag, and I have a migraine. Don't bother me with trifles, Eve."
In that instant, every desire to share died inside me.
From that day forward, I stopped talking about myself.
Even when I won the New Talent Award at an international perfumery competition, I kept quiet. If they didn't ask, I didn't speak.
Perhaps my complete silence finally gave them peace of mind.
On my twentieth birthday, my father handed me a bank draft and the deed to a cottage on the outskirts of town.
He called it an "adulthood gift."
In reality, it was an eviction notice. A polite, gilded exile.
My mother delivered the news with practiced grace.
"Eve, you're an adult now. You need space to breathe. Our house is always packed with business associates, and it disrupts your quiet time. It’s better out there."
"Besides, Aurora and Julian are getting engaged soon. We're remodeling the estate, and construction will be dusty. With your weak lungs, we wouldn't want you getting sick."
Every sentence sounded caring.
Every word told me: "There is no room for you here anymore."
I remained quiet, then accepted the keys.
On moving day, Aurora stood by the door in her riding boots, fresh from the polo club, tapping her whip against her leg.
She watched the movers carry my glass flacons with raw contempt.
"Good. Get out. Stop stinking up the house with your concoctions."
She paused, using the tip of her riding crop to tap a box packed with rare resins.
"Do you know the difference between us, Eve?"
She didn't wait for my answer.
"I create billions in market value for the Vance name. And you?" She gave a cold chuckle. "You create fleeting smells that evaporate into thin air."
"Be grateful the family is giving you a house. We don't owe freeloaders a living."I froze, my fingers curling tightly into my palms.
I should be grateful to the family?
Who was ever grateful for me?
I didn't yell. In this house, no one cared to listen anyway.
After twenty years, my existence was erased from the Vance family register.
I moved into the quiet cottage, living among flowers, herbs, and oils.
I thought my life would remain peaceful.
Until the invitation arrived.
Heavy stock, embossed in gold: "The Engagement of Aurora Vance and Julian Sterling."
My name was nowhere on the card.
I was just another name on the general guest list.
My mother called to remind me. "Eve, it’s Aurora's big night. Dress appropriately. Nothing too flashy, nothing too shabby. Sit in the back, stay quiet, and don't embarrass your sister."
I knew what she meant.
My mere presence was an embarrassment.
The engagement gala was held at the Vance Sky Garden, atop our flagship seven-star hotel.
I didn't have designer couture, and though Aurora had an entire walk-in closet of vintage runway pieces, I refused to beg.
Using the prize money from my perfumery competition, I bought a simple, floor-length lavender silk dress.
When I stepped into the ballroom and saw Aurora, the old pang of inadequacy hit me.
She wore a custom Lebanese gown draped in ten thousand micro-diamonds, glittering like a cascading galaxy under the crystal lights.
She looked every bit the queen—commanding, breathtaking, triumphant.
Next to her, I was dust.
I gripped my clutch, clutching the last scrap of my dignity.
I found an empty table in the furthest corner, hoping to blend into the velvet curtains.
Julian spotted me anyway.
Cutting through the sea of socialites, he walked straight to my table.
"You look stunning tonight, Eve," he said softly.
"Thank you," I offered a polite, distant smile. "Congratulations to you and Aurora."
His gaze lingered on me, as if he wanted to say something, but it ended in a quiet, unreadable sigh.
The gala reached its peak.
Charles and Aurora took the stage, microphones in hand.
"The greatest pride of my life is my daughter Aurora!" Charles's voice echoed through the ballroom. "She is my sole successor, and the only future captain of the Vance Group!"
Applause thundered through the hall.
I watched my triumphant father and my glittering sister.
There was no chair for me on that stage.
There was no trace of me in their master plan.
Standing before the vanity mirror in the restroom, a bitter thought crossed my mind: for an ordinary girl, was having a brilliant sister a blessing, or a curse?
Then, a reckless idea sparked in my chest.
If I was destined to live in the shadows, then I would make the shadow burn.
If they only saw Aurora, I would step into her light.
On my own terms.
I took a deep breath and smoothed down my silk dress.

Chapters (4)

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4

Chapter 1

I was the useless child of the Vance family. While my older sister, Aurora, closed a multi-billion-dollar semiconductor acquisition in Europe, I was tucked away in the attic greenhouse, messing around with herbs and petals nobody cared about. At our father's birthday gala, Aurora—the undisputed heir to the empire—stood on his arm, basking in the roaring applause of Manhattan’s elite. I stood in the corner shadows. Most guests didn't even know my name. A man held up his champagne glass to me, his smile polite but aloof. "And who might you be, miss?" Before I could speak, Mrs. Kensington chimed in with a patronizing chuckle. "A distant cousin of Charles Vance, I assume. Probably brought along to see how the other half lives." Her voice was just loud enough for me to hear every syllable. For twenty years, I had been the silent joke of the Vance family. My mother, an East Coast socialite from old money, married my father, Wall Street titan Charles Vance. A power alliance. Out of that union came my sister, Aurora. Grandpa had named her Aurora in hopes that she would be the dawn of a glorious dynasty. She never disappointed. Enrolled at Wharton at fifteen, she returned to the family firm at twenty-two, netting a nine-figure profit on her very first venture. She was the golden child. The flawless heir. So when my mother unexpectedly got pregnant with me, everyone assumed lightning would strike twice. "With Aurora so brilliant, the second child will surely be a prodigy." I let every single one of them down. I didn't have Aurora's photographic memory, nor her ruthless business instincts. I hated numbers. Galas gave me hives. I despised the two-faced socializing that defined our world. My name was Eve. Aurora and Eve. The dawn, and the dusk. Even our names felt like a cruel, calculated joke. One rose with the morning sun; the other faded quietly into the dark. My parents considered themselves enlightened. They swore they never played favorites. Actions spoke louder than words. Whenever our family went out, my father’s right hand was reserved for my mother, and his left held Aurora’s. I trailed behind them like an invisible shadow. At Aurora’s twenty-fifth birthday bash—the night she was officially crowned the sole successor of the Vance Group—my father drank too much. Arm around an old friend, he pointed toward Aurora standing beneath the chandeliers, his chest swelling with pride. "That's my daughter. The single greatest masterpiece of my life." The friend flattered him. "You're a lucky man, Charles. But don't you have a younger daughter as well?" The smile on my father's face faded. He waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of regret and annoyance crossing his features. "Don't bring that up. If only we had stopped after Aurora." "Unfortunately... we had Eve." The room went dead silent. Standing in the crowd, I felt as if someone had stripped me bare and thrown me into a blizzard. Later that night, the alcohol must have worn off. Realizing he had crossed a line, my father called me into his mahogany-paneled study. "Eve, don't take it to heart. I had too much to drink." He pushed a black Amex card across the desk. No limit. "What I meant was, Aurora can handle the world on her own now. I’m proud of her." "But you... you still require our care. It’s a heavy burden on my shoulders." Even billionaire apologies sounded like handouts from above. I lowered my gaze and picked up the cold plastic. "I understand, Charles." It wasn't an accident. He had simply spoken the truth he’d bottled up for twenty years. The year I turned eighteen, Aurora brought her fiancé, Julian Sterling, home for dinner. The Sterlings were real American aristocracy, and Julian was the golden boy of his generation. His union with Aurora was hailed by the press as a match made in heaven. That afternoon, suffering from a severe pollen allergy, I had shut myself in my room, asking the housekeeper to excuse me from dinner. So when Aurora gave Julian a tour of the penthouse and pushed open my door, everyone froze. Aurora’s brow furrowed in irritation. "Eve? Why are you still in the house?" Clearly, no one had bothered to tell me someone so important was coming. And no one had remembered that I lived under this roof too.

Chapter 2

Julian stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping past Aurora and landing squarely on me. He wore a tailored charcoal suit. He carried an air of effortless nobility, but his eyes were gentle. No disgust. No shock. He simply gave a polite nod. "Hello. I’m Julian." Embarrassed, I sat up in bed, wearing an old, pilled set of pajamas, my cheeks red and blotchy from the allergy flare-up. Beside him stood Aurora in custom Chanel, radiant and flawless. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. "This is my sister, Eve," Aurora said curtly. Her tone carried a reluctant edge, as if introducing an embarrassing second-hand accessory. "She’s frail and rarely leaves her room. We didn't want her disturbing your evening, so we didn't call her down." My mother hurried over, laughing off the tension. "What a coincidence! Eve and Julian meet after all." My mumbled, "I'm not feeling well," was instantly smothered. I was dragged to the dining room and seated right next to the dazzling Aurora Vance. I didn't need a mirror to know how brutal the contrast was. While Julian stepped out to take a phone call, I leaned toward my mother. "Mom, my chest feels tight from the allergy. Can we please call the family doctor..." My mother shot me a glare, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. "Don't cause a scene tonight. Julian is our guest of honor! Grow up, Eve." I bit my lower lip. "Can I at least go back to my room?" "Slumping around like an invalid? You want the Sterlings to think we have no manners?" That dinner felt like torture. Yet Julian was a true gentleman to the core. Even as the conversation revolved around private equity and offshore holdings, he never left me out. "Your room has a very unique aura, Eve," he remarked out of nowhere. "A distinct, beautiful scent." The entire table went quiet. Aurora laughed, her tone dripping with disdain. "Eve spends all day tinkering with useless little potions. All those glass bottles give me a headache." My father shook his head in agreement. "A young woman in this family should study something useful. Finance. Corporate strategy." For the first time in twenty years, I defended myself. "It’s not just a scent," I murmured. "I blended it myself. Galbanum at the top, iris and lily of the valley in the heart, resting on a base of wet oakmoss. I call it Valley Rain." A spark of genuine surprise lit Julian's eyes, quickly followed by admiration. "Valley Rain. What a poetic name. Crisp, green, and damp with morning mist—it truly feels like a valley after a downpour. You have rare talent." In twenty years, he was the first person to call my "useless" passion a gift. In that fleeting second, my heart skipped, sending endless ripples through the dark waters of my soul. After dinner, Aurora went to fetch her car from the garage. Julian walked over to me, holding out a sleek, velvet-lined gift box. "A small token for our first meeting." Everyone assumed it was expensive jewelry. Aurora glanced over and smirked. Back in my room, I opened the box. It wasn't luxury jewelry. It was a complete set of artisan perfumery instruments and several rare vials of raw botanical absolutes. Among them was Grasse May Rose absolute—an ingredient I had searched for across months of empty leads. Tucked inside was a handwritten note in sharp, elegant script: "To a future master perfumer."

Chapter 3

Clutching that card, tears threatened to spill from my eyes. The door swung open. Aurora walked in, spotting the tools, her expression shifting through shock, mockery, and cold sneer. "Julian certainly has too much time on his hands, humoring a kid with toy chemistry sets." She picked up the vial of May Rose absolute, brought it to her nose, and wrinkled it in disgust. "And here I thought Julian had immaculate taste. Even he gets distracted by cheap parlor tricks." She tossed the priceless vial carelessly onto my vanity. "Know your place, Eve. Don't think a few polite words from Julian make you somebody. In this family, in his world, this little hobby of yours doesn't even qualify as a joke." I stayed silent, picked up the glass vial, and carefully nestled it back into its cushioned box. A quiet voice echoed in my head: "At least he sees me. You never did." Julian’s gift became the only light in my gray world. I threw myself into perfumery, spending day and night inside my glass greenhouse. My allergy symptoms faded. I cut off the heavy bangs I had used to hide behind, revealing a clean forehead. I wasn't a stunner like Aurora, but I could finally look in the mirror and smile. My mother was a legendary tastemaker in the fashion circuit. When Aurora changed a shade of lipstick, my mother could immediately tell whether it was Armani or Louboutin, analyzing the subtle shift in her power aesthetic. Yet my new haircut went completely unnoticed for an entire week. I still had a shred of hope. During a rare family dinner, I took a breath and asked, "Mom, do you notice anything different about me today?" My mother’s eyes lifted from her Forbes magazine, brushed across my face for half a second, and she waved her hand like swatting an annoying fly. "Aurora's European project hit a snag, and I have a migraine. Don't bother me with trifles, Eve." In that instant, every desire to share died inside me. From that day forward, I stopped talking about myself. Even when I won the New Talent Award at an international perfumery competition, I kept quiet. If they didn't ask, I didn't speak. Perhaps my complete silence finally gave them peace of mind. On my twentieth birthday, my father handed me a bank draft and the deed to a cottage on the outskirts of town. He called it an "adulthood gift." In reality, it was an eviction notice. A polite, gilded exile. My mother delivered the news with practiced grace. "Eve, you're an adult now. You need space to breathe. Our house is always packed with business associates, and it disrupts your quiet time. It’s better out there." "Besides, Aurora and Julian are getting engaged soon. We're remodeling the estate, and construction will be dusty. With your weak lungs, we wouldn't want you getting sick." Every sentence sounded caring. Every word told me: "There is no room for you here anymore." I remained quiet, then accepted the keys. On moving day, Aurora stood by the door in her riding boots, fresh from the polo club, tapping her whip against her leg. She watched the movers carry my glass flacons with raw contempt. "Good. Get out. Stop stinking up the house with your concoctions." She paused, using the tip of her riding crop to tap a box packed with rare resins. "Do you know the difference between us, Eve?" She didn't wait for my answer. "I create billions in market value for the Vance name. And you?" She gave a cold chuckle. "You create fleeting smells that evaporate into thin air." "Be grateful the family is giving you a house. We don't owe freeloaders a living."

Chapter 4

I froze, my fingers curling tightly into my palms. I should be grateful to the family? Who was ever grateful for me? I didn't yell. In this house, no one cared to listen anyway. After twenty years, my existence was erased from the Vance family register. I moved into the quiet cottage, living among flowers, herbs, and oils. I thought my life would remain peaceful. Until the invitation arrived. Heavy stock, embossed in gold: "The Engagement of Aurora Vance and Julian Sterling." My name was nowhere on the card. I was just another name on the general guest list. My mother called to remind me. "Eve, it’s Aurora's big night. Dress appropriately. Nothing too flashy, nothing too shabby. Sit in the back, stay quiet, and don't embarrass your sister." I knew what she meant. My mere presence was an embarrassment. The engagement gala was held at the Vance Sky Garden, atop our flagship seven-star hotel. I didn't have designer couture, and though Aurora had an entire walk-in closet of vintage runway pieces, I refused to beg. Using the prize money from my perfumery competition, I bought a simple, floor-length lavender silk dress. When I stepped into the ballroom and saw Aurora, the old pang of inadequacy hit me. She wore a custom Lebanese gown draped in ten thousand micro-diamonds, glittering like a cascading galaxy under the crystal lights. She looked every bit the queen—commanding, breathtaking, triumphant. Next to her, I was dust. I gripped my clutch, clutching the last scrap of my dignity. I found an empty table in the furthest corner, hoping to blend into the velvet curtains. Julian spotted me anyway. Cutting through the sea of socialites, he walked straight to my table. "You look stunning tonight, Eve," he said softly. "Thank you," I offered a polite, distant smile. "Congratulations to you and Aurora." His gaze lingered on me, as if he wanted to say something, but it ended in a quiet, unreadable sigh. The gala reached its peak. Charles and Aurora took the stage, microphones in hand. "The greatest pride of my life is my daughter Aurora!" Charles's voice echoed through the ballroom. "She is my sole successor, and the only future captain of the Vance Group!" Applause thundered through the hall. I watched my triumphant father and my glittering sister. There was no chair for me on that stage. There was no trace of me in their master plan. Standing before the vanity mirror in the restroom, a bitter thought crossed my mind: for an ordinary girl, was having a brilliant sister a blessing, or a curse? Then, a reckless idea sparked in my chest. If I was destined to live in the shadows, then I would make the shadow burn. If they only saw Aurora, I would step into her light. On my own terms. I took a deep breath and smoothed down my silk dress.

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