Rolland always made a point to avoid the fashion department of his company. Not because he had anything against it, but simply because he was uninterested. As a man who had built a vast empire of luxury brands, he had long delegated the creative endeavors to others. His talent was in numbers, strategies, and the kind of power that came with being able to outthink and outmaneuver opponents. Fashion, with its whims and subjective nature, felt like a world apart from his own, something best left to the designers and artists under his employ.
But that morning was different.
He found himself there by accident, walking through the polished floors of the department, which buzzed with creativity and energy. Models, designers, and assistants hurried past him, arms filled with fabrics, sketches, and accessories. The energy felt foreign to Rolland, almost chaotic compared to the structured calm of his executive offices. But it wasn't entirely unwelcome.
The reason for his presence was simple—a meeting had run long in a nearby wing of the building, and instead of waiting for his assistant to fetch him, he decided to take a shortcut. His towering figure, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, seemed out of place amid the colorful fabrics and avant-garde designs displayed along the walls. Despite his wealth and the luxury brands his company produced, Rolland himself favored classic, minimalistic clothing. He passed a wall showcasing the upcoming collection: ethereal gowns and tailored suits that had caught the eye of the world's elite. He barely spared them a glance.
His mind was already drifting back to the numbers—the market reports, the profit margins—when something strange caught his attention. A scent.
It was faint at first, like a fleeting breeze carrying a fragrance across a room. A blend of jasmine, sandalwood, and something floral yet spicy. The fragrance wrapped around him gently, almost drawing him in against his will. It was a smell unlike anything he had encountered before—intoxicating, rich, and full of mystery. He paused for a moment, as if listening to the air, trying to trace its source.
That's when he saw her.
She stood a few feet away, near a display of delicate porcelain vases and floral arrangements. Dressed in a soft lavender dress that accentuated her graceful figure, she seemed lost in her own world, inspecting the vases one by one. Her long, chestnut hair cascaded down her back in waves, catching the light as she moved. Rolland couldn't see her face clearly, but he didn't need to. That scent—it belonged to her.
He found himself watching, intrigued. This was absurd. Rolland was a man known for his rationality, his ability to focus. Yet something about this woman—this scent—had broken through that, leaving him standing there, transfixed.
Before he realized what he was doing, he took a step in her direction, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. But just as he was about to approach, she disappeared into the sea of fabrics and mannequins, leaving only the lingering fragrance behind.
Rolland blinked, his mind reeling. What was he doing? This was ridiculous. He wasn't the type to get distracted, especially not by something as fleeting as a scent. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he turned and made his way to the nearest elevator, determined to get back to the part of the building where he belonged.
He stepped inside the elevator, the door closing with a soft whoosh. Alone at last, he exhaled, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, his thoughts returning to business. But as the elevator ascended, that scent came back. It was subtle at first, then stronger. His mind drifted to the woman again. Who was she?
He didn't have long to wonder. With a sudden jolt, the elevator lurched to a stop, the lights flickering ominously before plunging the small space into darkness.
Rolland's hand instinctively reached out to steady himself against the wall, his heart skipping a beat. He'd been in elevators countless times before, but something about the sudden, complete darkness made his pulse quicken. His mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. Power outages were rare, especially in a building as modern and technologically advanced as his.
As he stood there in the darkness, the silence enveloping him, a soft noise broke through—a gasp, followed by the shattering sound of glass hitting the floor.
Startled, Rolland's head snapped toward the source of the sound. He hadn't realized he wasn't alone. A woman was in the elevator with him. The same woman. He could smell her fragrance again—stronger now, trapped in the confined space of the elevator.
"Are you alright?" Rolland's voice cut through the silence, steady but laced with curiosity.
There was a brief pause before she answered, her voice soft and a bit shaky. "Yes… I'm fine. I just dropped something."
His fingers found the emergency button in the darkness, pressing it in hopes that someone would come to their aid soon. There was no response, only more silence. He cleared his throat, unsure of what to say next. Rolland wasn't accustomed to small talk, much less with strangers in darkened elevators.
"A vase," she continued, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It was in my hands when the lights went out."
Rolland found himself oddly comforted by the sound of her voice, though it wasn't the voice that had intrigued him, but the scent. That same, intoxicating scent that now filled the small, dark elevator.
"I'm sure it can be replaced," he replied. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she said quietly, the soft shuffle of her feet indicating she was likely moving away from the broken glass. "Just startled."
He wished he could see her face, but in the dark, they were simply two strangers, forced together in this small space. For several minutes, neither spoke. The silence stretched between them, thick and palpable, but not uncomfortable. Rolland found his mind returning to that moment in the department—how he had been drawn to her, how her presence seemed to linger even now, in this enclosed space.
Finally, he spoke again, more out of the need to break the quiet than anything else. "Your fragrance… it's quite distinctive."
The pause that followed was long enough to make him wonder if he had overstepped.
"It's jasmine," she said at last, her voice softer now, almost